Ruth Barrett had been married to Edmund Dewitt Bukater at the young age of seventeen. She came from a very prominent family in Philadelphia and - being one to the richest heiresses - she had had many suitors from the start. Of course she hadn't been permitted to choose all for herself; however, her parents had at least allowed her to pick up between a few men in their crowd, who were considered marriageable.
Edmund Dewitt Bukater, five years older than herself, had been courting her for two years already, when Ruth had finally given in and accepted his marriage proposal.
Since being a young child, Ruth had been shown especially by her father that she was only second best. Her brother, Albert, had died at ten after a terrible accident, with his mother never leaving his bedside. Ruth, who had due to the fact that she was a little older than him and that their parents were often out and about, thought herself responsible for him.
Albert had been a very sportive boy, riding the horses, climbing the trees. Ruth, though, he had been the star of the family had never hated him, but felt like she needed to protect him.
Once he had fallen off one of those big trees, injuring his rips and had died after some long ailing days.
'I do apologize, but there's nothing more I can do, Mrs Barrett.'
Ruth would never forget her mother's look so full of hurt. Still on the outside she had been completely composing, never shedding a tear in public and for sure not in front of her husband - Ruth's father.
Ruth hadn't been allowed into the room, but had heard the doctors talking and her mother, Georgina, hiding her sorrow from her husband, knowing he wanted a cheery wife. After a week of suffering, her brother had been redeemed, dying with his mother at his side. Somehow Ruth couldn't forgive her mother for not allowing her to say goodbye to him.
From this day force her mother had never smiled again, not even on Ruth's wedding day. She had had to endure her husband silent reproach about her not being able to give him an heir. The way he had looked at her, she had soon like watched her daughter.
Why were you being born a woman?
With Rose history had repeated itself. The only difference being that Edmund had never shown his disappointment to Rose herself, but only to his wife. Their marriage had soon failed, Edmund having one mistress after the other. Ruth had turned a blind eye, pretending not to notice, like she had learnt from society and seen her own mother do. Still it hurt.
At first the young Ruth hadn't even realized why Edmund was so keen on her becoming his wife and had convinced herself that it was, because he cared for her. Then at once, when she had felt sick, seeing the doctor, she had, at last, understood what she was really there for.
'Your husband will be so thrilled.'
She had to bear his children, nothing more and certainly there was nothing about love.
What hurt Ruth even more was that she couldn't make it right to anyone, not her parents, not her husband, but especially not to her daughter.
Edmund had been spoiling her, betraying her in a way and Ruth had always been the bad one, though she only wanted to make it right. Rose, being the young and inexperienced girl she was, had, of course, enjoyed the funny times with her father more than the lectures from her mother.
Edmund had never tought much about woman's education, calling it a waste of time, since they would marry anyway. It had been Ruth, who had insisted on Rose learning more than cooking and sewing, knowing from her own experience how it was like to be dependent on one's spoose.
Speaking of husbands...
"Mr Dawson?" Ruth spoke up wonderingly as she saw him coming into the living room.
She thought that he looked kind of sick. In fact he did so already some time.
Ruth didn't particularly like Jack, after all it had been him, who had destroyed her daughter's perfect match with Mr Hockley, but she had nothing personally against him. And at least a little voice inside her told her how Rose was better off with him.
She certainly wasn't afraid of him like she sometimes was of Mr Lindsay.
Jack sat down on the couch, a beer in his hand.
Ruth, like her daughter, didn't like anyone drinking alcohol.
Hadn't her Rose complained about that habit as well?
"So, Mr Dawson, not having to work today?" her voice sounded scorn though she hadn't meant it.
Jack looked up from his glass, shaking his head. He had never wanted to be here. He wasn't supposed to be. He was supposed to have married some girl back in Chippewa Falls, or at least from his own class. And he would've have, if it hadn't been for that damn fire.
"Rose is still sleeping," he choked out not knowing what else to say.
Rose was probably the only person that he felt they could talk about in a decent way. Despite Ruth's strictness he understood that she loved her daughter very much and cared for her.
Ruth leant back in her chair, observing him closely seeing him putting a hand on his tempts again. For sure he didn't look well at all.
"Aren't you feeling well?" she asked this time really concerned.
"It's just some headache I've got," Jack told her taking a sip from his beer.
Ruth remembering her brother and his death, shook her head in disbelieve.
"Have you told Rose about it?"
Jack shook his head once more.
"I think that maybe it would be better, if you saw a doctor," she added.
Jack looked at her, his eyes growing wide.
Was she concerned for him? Why would Ruth Dewitt Bukater even care about this?
"I said it's just a simple headache. There's no need for anyone to worry, certainly not Rose."
Deep down he knew of course that it was more than this. He had felt limp and tired for quite some time already, feeling faint and drowsy in between, but he kept telling himself that it was just the lack of sleep and that everything would change once Rose and he were out of here.
"Mr Dawson you probably don't know, but…you've to understand I don't have anything personal against you…"
Jack smiled at her weakly; knowing what she wanted to tell him, but not wanting to hear it.
"Thanks," he mumbled rising up again.
He didn't want to get into any conversation with her now, not having the strength to do so.
Ruth watched him leaving the room, looking at the half empty glass on the table.
Something was very wrong here.
She just didn't know what.
When Jack had reached the stairs, leading up to the second floor, he felt faintness overcoming him again. He grabbed the nearest wall to keep himself from falling.
Nothing to worry about…
It was over within a few seconds.