Rose went to work at Mrs. Dawson's house every Thursday and Friday. Spending all those hours in the library made her feel like she was part of royalty. Even during this time of the year, the garden, which she looked out over, still kept its beauty. She was allowed to stroll through it on her break. She adored the smell of the autumn leaves gently floating down, the sounds of the birds singing How could she resist going for a walk after having had lunch with the servants. On Fridays Mrs Dawsons only daughter would come over and stay the weekend. Her name was Rosie, short for Rosamund like her own grandmother used to call her. She loved to sit with Rose as she worked and to watch her every move. She could be in pure hypnoses as the needle went slowly through the fabric and came out the opposite side. Mrs. Rosie Dawson might have had the age of 43, but her mind was still young. Too young. Never allowing her to have a normal life like the rest. During the week she stayed at a special home, with nurses who were trained to take care of her as Mrs. Dawson was too old to do it herself anymore. After 37 years no one in the family took it upon them to take her in. They were all too busy, or so they said.
It took Mrs. Dawson longer to welcome Rose that morning. She was waiting in the hallway when her gaze went to a series of portraits, all hanging next to each other in a perfect line. The two first ones were only babies, followed by a painting of Mrs. Spencer, next to it another young man she didn't recognise and then there was the youngest. Him. There was a resemblance in his face with the others yet he also stood out completely. He looked angrily at her, like he had this wall around him that no one could break through.
"He is a beautiful young man, isn't he?" Mrs. Dawson now stood behind her. Rose quickly recovered her glance and cleared her throat.
"Good morning ma'am. I did not see you there."
"I hope you don't mind he is here today."
"I am afraid I don't know what yo u mean, ma'am."
"Jack, my grandson. There has been some kind of flooding at his office so he has to work here for the day. And don't pay too much attention to him dear, he has been quite irritated."
Great, she thought, exactly what she wasn't hoping for. She hadn't seen the young man after their conversation in the library, which had let her confused and slightly irritated. As she opened the door of her working space he was already there, having a rather unpleasant telephone call. His voice was ranging with anger and he quickly slammed the receiver back down. Rose marched passed his desk towards her own space.
"Good morning, miss Smith, I did not see you there."
Of course not. "Good morning, sir." She tried to be as polite as she could possibly be. Without giving him any further form of acknowledgement, she went straight to work. The time passed in total silence that day. Other than the sound of the sewing machine and his voice during phone calls, they did not exchange a single word. The clock struck three o clock in the afternoon when a tray was put in front of her. It had a sandwich on it all well as a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Rose looked up and looked directly into his eyes.
"I reckon you must be starving, miss. You haven't taken a break for even a minute."
"Thank you." She had totally lost track of time and only came to realise she was extremely hungry as she devoured the sandwich in a single minute. Jack, who was having one himself, gave her his other half.
"You must take good care of yourself. I don't want to find you here unconscious." He said. She reassured him that wouldn't happen and turned her attention back to her work.
"I must apologise to you, miss Smith," Jack had no intention to leave her alone just yet, "for my childish behaviour. I haven't even thanked you for saving my grandmother's life for that matter."
"You're forgiven, sir. And to be fair, I haven't been the kindest myself to you."
"Yes, but you were right." He stayed quiet for a while as if he was finding the courage to continue his speech. "I know what you must be thinking. Poor little rich boy, what does he know about misery."
Rose shook her head, "No, not at all, sir. I've always been taught that you must never compare your story to someone else's " She gave him a smile of sincerity, swirled the orange juice that was in the glass and put it back down. She had almost forgotten that she hated the taste of it. He noticed, asked if she'd like anything else to drink, which she kindly refused.
"Well I have to go now, see how things are at the office."
"Of course. I've heard what happened. I hope the damage isn't too bad."
"We shall see. Have a good day."
Unfortunately, the damage was worse than he had anticipated. The water pipe had sprung, therefore causing most of the upper floors to flood. It leaked through the walls and ceilings, making it impossible for Jack Dawson to work in his usual office. He could stay at home, work in his father's old library. But the sound of his mother constantly having people over, drove him nuts. The only way out was to work at his grandmother's house, sharing the room with her.
The next day as he was on his way over, she was walking ahead him, her red curls lit up by the morning sun. He greeted her from afar, fastened his pace, eventually catching up.
"I did not expect you here, sir." Rose said as he was now walking next to her. May I assume that the situation has not improved?"
"Your assumptions are right. Here let me help." He took some rolls of fabric out of her hands. The weight being lifted from her arms, relaxed her shoulders and she thanked him.
"You didn't bring your horseless carriage with you today?"
"No, even a man like me prefers to go by foot at times. Isn't that surprising?"
"Very." She laughed at him. Not soon after they arrived at the grand manor. The butler had a an expression on his face of pure worry as he opened the door. Mrs. Dawson had been having paranoia the whole night. Now lying in bed lifelessly and with Rosie on her way, there was no one to take care of Mrs. Dawson's daughter. Jack rushed upstairs to inspect the situation and not soon returned back to where Rose was still standing.
"She is sleeping now, can't wake her up." He sighed and looked at his watch. It could be any time not that his aunt arrived. She couldn't be sent back, it would cause a total scene of hysteria if Rosie heard she wasn't able to stay for the weekend. The servants did not know how to handle her as his aunt completely detested the maids. She'd often throw food at them and even started crying if one came near her. Jack had to cancel all his meetings for the day. Just before he was about to walk off, Rose stopped him.
"Wait," she said, "I might have an idea. What if I watch her today? She often likes to sit with me as I sew. It only means that I won't be doing as much work as I ought to do whenever she needs more assistance with things."
"You seriously want to do that?"
Rose nodded her head. "If it's alright with you and Mrs. Dawson of course."
Less work soon became no work at all. Rosie couldn't be more thrilled to spend the day with Rose and took up all of her time. It started with them trying to work in the library, but soon became a game of getting her attention in any way possible. She'd take the scissors off the table and play with the blades, grab pieces of fabric out of Rose's hand and sing songs at the top of her lungs. It surprised Rose how calm she stayed when she was clearly annoyed. It really was like looking after a child, but Rosamund Dawson couldn't help herself. It was a saddening situation. After a few hours Rose decided it was enough and forced her to come outside with her. She protested at first, not wanting to leave the room, but a few firm words from her nephew put her back to her senses.
"Rosie, if you don't listen to miss Smith I'll put you back on the train myself."
"No you won't! You are mean!"
"Rosamund Dawson, I am being dead serious. Now do as you're told."
Rose decided to try a softer approach. "Please, Rosie. I'd really like if you'd show me the garden, and maybe we can get some hot cocoa after that."
The approach clearly worked as she ran out the door. The girls walked the entire afternoon through the rich part of the city. As soon as she left the house Rose came to the realisation that they looked like total outsiders among the upper class. People gave, especially Rosie, nasty stares. Even though her clothing perfectly mixed in with the rest, unlike herself, her facial features and the way she behaved wasn't like anything they'd ever seen. Rose kept her head held high and only focused on her companion. The outside air had rested Rosamund's mind and was now calmly walking next to her, holding her hand tightly. Finally back home they entered the estate through the backyard where there was a secret passageway. Jack, who had given himself a break, was noticeable through the vines. He was slightly bending over his eyes focused on pile of papers that were on his lap. It seemed as if he was living in a totally different world, not noticing the girls had returned from their trip and were heading over to him. Rosie, clearly still angry at her nephew, ignored him and silently went towards the lake. Jack suddenly looked up and put his notebook aside, making space. Rose sat down next to him and let out a deep sigh.
"I was starting to worry about you. You've been gone for hours."
"She is finally a bit more relaxed. And it was a nice walk. It only saddens me how people look at her."
"I know. They are all scared of the unusual. That's why my father didn't want to take her in when my grandmother wasn't able to take care of her anymore. He was too scared of what other's would think of him. The doctor called it Mongolia or something with a life expectancy of no older than twenty-five, but here she still is."
"I've read about the condition once. Can't remember where or when, but your aunt is a lovely woman, Mr. Dawson."
"Please call me, Jack." He suddenly said. It gave a sort of lightness to his presence, the way he spoke his first name so casually. He continued: "I must compliment you, miss Smith."
"Rose." She interrupted him.
"Rose... on your patience."
She let out a slight laugh. "I have a little brother I take care of, so I've had many years on learning how to be patient."
"You don't live with your parents?"
She shook her head, "They both died a few years ago, so it's only the two of us."
"I am sorry to hear that."
"What's this?" She quickly changed subjects and pointed at his notebook.
"Nothing," he said, "just some sketches."
"Drawings? Oh I absolutely love art. May I have a look?"
Jack hesitated at first, but being quite taken by her enthusiasm, he opened his sketchbook and placed it on her lab. Rose's eyes widened in surprise. "You made these?"
He nodded. She took her time, and traced her fingers over each paper as if she could literally feel the people. Jack lit up a cigarette and watched her face as she was watching the art.
"Jack, this is exquisite work."
"You're the first one to say that."
"That can't be true now can it. It's like I can see right through them, really feel their emotions. You have a gift, Jack, you do." She now came across a series portraits of naked women. Her blood rushed to her cheeks and let out a slight laugh of nervousness. They were from his time in Paris, he explained. Whenever he had the time off, he'd stroll around the city searching for where the real people lived.
"I just had to experience it all, Rose, and try to put it on the paper."
"She's a beautiful woman. You must have had a love affair with her. You used her several times."
"No no no. She was a one legged prostitute you see." He flipped the paper, revealing her whole body.
"Oh."
"She had a good sense of humour though. And this woman." Another page was turned over. "See how her clothes are all moth eaten? She'd sit there at this bar every night, wearing every piece of jewellery she owned, just waiting for her long lost love. They called her madame bijoux."
Rose couldn't help but stare at him as he spoke of these people and his adventures abroad. She would have never expected this side of him. From the outside, he looked like a complete penguin, with his suit and tie and hair needly combed back. It did not reflect the way he presented himself to her. There was something more about this man, something she couldn't quite touch yet, but certainly felt drawn to. A few more sketches followed, a collection of all sorts of people.
"Look at this one. See how sad the lines are."
"That's you." He simply said. Rose gasped, took a closer look and saw that indeed was her. It was right here in the garden, next to the pond where she often liked to sit during her break. It had to be on her first day since she hadn't seen Jack more than three times here.
"So you've been secretly spying on me?," she gave him back his drawings, "You're forgiven. I think you should really do something with your talent, Jack."
"Nobody is waiting for some random sketches. They didn't find anything of them en la douce France."
"I disagree. I often dream of just leaving anything behind and travel the world, but I have a little brother to take care of. So you can do it for me at least. And one day, when I have a home for myself, I'll put one of your drawings right up the wall in the hallway, so the whole world can see it."
Jack laughed at her. He found solace in her company. It was like she truly listened to what he had to say, not dismiss his dreams with a chuckle and a pat on his head. They chatted some more about their lives. Her brother was only nine and spend most of his days with their upstairs neighbour so Rose could go to work. It was sad to hear that all of the responsibility was on her. She had no close family in this part of the country she could go to. They were all on their own. One of the maids came outside to say that Mrs. Dawson had woken up and was feeling fine. She didn't remember what had happened that night. Maybe it was for the best. Jack stood up and escorted the women back inside where he watched Rose walk out the door, back to her own world and he went to check on his grandmother.
Amelia Huntington came by every day that weekend. She had known Jack ever since they were children. She was the only child of Henry and Camilla Huntington, both aristocrats from England who came to the Unites States to start a million dollar company. Their fortune was enormous and with Mr. Dawson leaving his family and business in some debt, it would be a great saviour if Jack were to ask for her hand. His mother tried everything to get them closer together. Whenever she knew her son was home, she'd invite Amelia to spend time with him. The girl was beautiful indeed, with her raven black hair and fair skin, her clothes always made according to the latest fashion. Jack liked Amelia in some way, he had known her for most of his life, but the intention of marrying her, never dared to enter his mind.
The whole family came together for dinner that Saturday. And as all of them spend the evening talking about politics, finance and the latest gossip, Jack's mind wondered off to the hour he spend with her in the garden. He couldn't let it go. The urge to get to know her better, to spend more time with her, it rotated in his mind like a dynamo. Who was Rose Smith? But before he could start answering that question for himself, he was put back to reality by Amelia, who shook him by his arm a few times.
"Your family is talking to you, Jack." She said to him, "It is very rude not to pay attention."