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Chapter 5

The old barn stood sturdy in the distance, the fields stretched wide and open, and a distant whinny from a horse echoed across the stillness. The breeze carried the faint scent of hay and earth, just like it always had. Yet, something felt different—perhaps it was him. He had changed, been shaped by the world beyond this place, but there was a quiet comfort in knowing that some things stayed the same. He reached the porch of the farmhouse, pausing for a moment as his hand hovered over the door handle. His heart raced slightly, wondering how they would react, how his sister would react. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

The house was quiet, apart from the soft clatter of dishes and the murmur of a familiar voice from the kitchen. Jack recognized it instantly—it was Sarah's, warm and comforting, carrying through the walls like a song from his childhood. He smiled to himself, leaning against the doorframe for a moment, savoring the sound.

"You're home early, darling," Sarah called out, her voice directed toward the kitchen doorway, likely expecting Mark to step in.

Jack's heart swelled with both excitement and nerves. He stepped further into the room, his voice gentle but unmistakable. "Not quite, Sarah."

There was a sudden pause. The sound of household chores stopped, and then he heard a soft gasp. Jack barely had time to brace himself before Sarah appeared from the kitchen, holding a piece of laundry she'd been folding. When she saw him standing there, everything in her froze. The laundry slipped from her hands, falling to the floor as she stared at him. For a moment, she stood frozen, her eyes wide and disbelieving, as if she couldn't trust what she was seeing. Then, in the next breath, she rushed toward him, throwing her arms around him with a cry. "Jack! Oh my God, Jack!"

He hugged her tightly, the tension in his body easing as he felt her warmth, her familiar presence grounding him in the moment. She clung to him fiercely, as though afraid he might disappear again, tears spilling down her cheeks as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"You're really here," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "You're really home."

Jack pulled back just enough to look at her, wiping a stray tear from her face. "I am," he said quietly. "I'm home."

Sarah shook her head, still struggling to process it, her hands cupping his face as if needing to make sure he was real. "I can't believe it... After all this time. We thought—" She cut herself off, her voice cracking as she held him close again.

"I know," Jack said softly, guilt tugging at him. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I should've written more, should've come back sooner."

She pulled back, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter now," she said, her smile trembling through her tears. "You're here, and that's all that matters. Come let's get you something to eat, you must be starving."

As Jack followed Sarah into the kitchen, the warmth of the home enveloped him. The familiar smell of baked bread and herbs filled the air, a comforting reminder of the life he'd left behind. The light through the window was soft, casting a golden glow across the wooden table that stood at the heart of the room. They sat down, and Sarah busied herself with preparing something for him to eat.

"Everything feels the same," Jack said, glancing around, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. "I mean, the place looks just like it did when I left."

Sarah chuckled, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "Mark's too practical to change much around here. And we've been too busy keeping things running to think about it."

Jack took a sip of tea, the warmth filling him. "You always did like things just so," he teased gently.

She laughed again, a light sound that lifted the mood in the room. "You were always the one to shake things up. After you left, the quiet was... well, it took some getting used to."

They settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, the peace of the house wrapping around them. Jack leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window as memories of the old days drifted through his mind.

"You remember when we used to head out to the lake to skip stones?" Jack asked with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You were terrible at it."

Sarah shook her head, smiling. "I wasn't that bad!"

"You were awful!" Jack laughed, a genuine warmth in his voice. "Could never get more than one skip."

"Well, I had other skills," Sarah retorted, pretending to be offended. "You were always too good at getting into trouble. Like that time you convinced me to climb the oak tree by the barn. I couldn't get down for an hour, and you just sat there, laughing."

He smiled gratefully, then glanced toward the door. "Is Mark around? I'd like to see him."

Sarah shook her head, busying herself with cutting a loaf of bread. "He's out in town with Evelyn and Rose. They should be back soon."

Jack raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. "Rose?"

"Oh, right." Sarah paused, smiling as she realized Jack wouldn't know about her. "Rose Williams. She's been staying with us for the last few weeks, helping around the house and farm. She came here... well, I guess you could say she arrived unexpectedly. She needed a place to stay, and with my pregnancy getting more difficult, I could use the extra hands. She's been a real help. You can say she has somewhat become part of the family."

Jack nodded, noting the way Sarah's voice softened when she spoke about Rose. He was about to ask more when their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a baby's cry coming from one of the rooms upstairs.

Sarah stood quickly, her maternal instincts kicking in. "Speaking of family," she said with a smile, "would you like to meet your new niece?"

Jack's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't realized the baby had already been born. "I'd love to," he said, rising from his chair.

Sarah led him up the creaky staircase to the nursery, her steps careful and measured. As they reached the room, the cries softened, and Sarah gently pushed open the door. Inside, a small cradle stood near the window, bathed in the soft light filtering through the curtains. Jack's heart clenched as he looked down at the tiny baby lying inside.

"Jack, meet Grace," Sarah whispered as she picked up the little bundle, her voice filled with tenderness.

Grace was small and delicate, her little fists clenched, her face scrunched as she blinked up at her uncle for the first time. Jack felt a swell of emotion rise in his chest as he gazed at her, the weight of family and everything he'd missed pressing heavily on him.

"She's beautiful," Jack said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Sarah smiled, watching her brother interact with her daughter. "She is, isn't she?"

"It's bizarre," Jack said, his eyes still fixed on the baby. "She looks exactly like Evelyn did when she was this small. Same tiny nose, same little pout."

Sarah glanced down at her daughter, her own expression softening as she saw the resemblance. "You're right. When she was born, I had the same thought. They could almost be twins." She chuckled lightly, brushing a soft hand over Grace's fine hair.

Jack smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "It's strange to think how much time has passed. Evelyn was only a year old when I left." He hesitated, his tone growing more uncertain. "Do you think she'll even recognize me? I mean... she's what, three now?"

"Almost four," Sarah corrected with a nod, adjusting Grace gently in her arms. "And yes, she might not remember you clearly, but she'll warm up to you fast. She's a friendly little thing, talks just as much as you used to."

Jack grinned, picturing a miniature version of himself running around the farm, getting into trouble. "So she's already causing a ruckus, huh? Good to know she's living up to the family name."

A little over an hour later, the sound of footsteps and the creak of the door announced Mark's return. Jack, sitting in the kitchen again with Sarah and Grace, looked up as his brother-in-law stepped into the house. A wide smile spread across Mark's face when he saw Jack sitting there.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Mark exclaimed, dropping his coat on a nearby chair. "Look who finally made it home."

Jack stood up, grinning as the two men embraced like brothers. "It's good to be back," Jack said, patting Mark on the back. "You've done well here, Mark."

Mark chuckled. "It's been hard work, but worth every minute." He pulled away, clapping Jack on the shoulder. "Evelyn, come here, sweetheart," Mark said, gesturing to the little girl who had been hovering shyly by the door, peeking around her father's leg.

Evelyn took a few hesitant steps forward, her big eyes fixed on Jack. She looked curious but unsure, as if trying to piece together how this man fit into her world.

"Evie," Mark said gently, kneeling down beside her. "Do you remember Uncle Jack? He's the one who's been writing us all those letters."

Evelyn looked at Jack again, tilting her head slightly. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but she didn't speak. Instead, she clutched the hem of her dress and gave a small nod.

Jack crouched down to her level, his smile soft. "Hi, Evie. It's nice to finally see you again."

Evelyn didn't respond but kept staring at him with wide eyes. Jack didn't press her, knowing that sometimes it took a little time for kids to warm up. Just then, Jack noticed movement behind them. His eyes shifted, and that's when he saw her—a young woman standing by the door, still taking off her hat. Her red hair seemed to catch the light just right. Her expression was calm but reserved, as if she was used to holding herself back from people.

Sarah turned to her, gesturing toward Jack. "Jack, this is Rose Williams. Rose, may I introduce my brother, Jack Dawson."

Rose finished removing her hat, her fingers lingering for a moment before she looked up. Her eyes met Jack's for the first time, and something unspoken seemed to pass between them, though neither could quite place it.

"Mr. Dawson," Rose said quietly, offering a polite nod.

"Rose," Jack replied, his voice warm but steady. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard a bit about you from Sarah."

Rose smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Likewise," she said, her tone soft but measured. She glanced around the room, clearly feeling a little out of place amidst this family reunion.

Sarah, sensing the slight awkwardness, clapped his hands together. "Well, we should all sit down for some supper, yeah? Rose, would you mind helping with the food?"

"Of course," Rose said quickly, almost relieved to have something to do. She moved toward the kitchen, her movements graceful and practiced, though Jack could sense a quiet tension about her.

Mark, ever the talker, clapped Jack on the shoulder and steered him toward the table. "Come on, sit. Tell me about Europe. I want to hear all about it. So, where did you go?"

"I spent time in Italy," Jack began, leaning back in his chair. "Venice, Rome, Florence... and then I wandered into France."

At the mention of France, something shifted in the kitchen. Rose's hand froze briefly as she stirred the pot on the stove, her grip tightening just a little. She didn't turn around.

"France was... different," Jack continued, unaware of how his words had stirred something in Rose. "Paris was beautiful, of course. The art, the people... but it felt a little bittersweet, like the city had seen too much history. Like there is peace and agony lingering at the same time. But it makes it so alive, so real."

Rose's heart beat a little faster as she listened to Jack's words. In her old life—the life she had buried deep within her—France had been the only place that represented freedom, a fleeting chance to be someone other than who she was expected to be . She swallowed hard, pushing the memories back down where they belonged, and resumed her work at the stove, stirring the pot mechanically. But even as she tried to focus on the task at hand, the echoes of her past lingered, mingling with the scent of cooking food and the quiet hum of voices from the other room.

The life where she roamed the streets as an epiphany of wealth and glory. The life of comfort within facaded misery. That person she was in that life was now dead. Rose felt her chest tighten at the thought, but she straightened her back and kept moving. She had learned how to survive—how to carry on, even when the past tried to claw its way back.

As supper was laid out and the kitchen filled with the smells of fresh bread and hearty stew, everyone settled in around the table. Mark, Sarah with baby Grace in her arms, Evelyn, and Jack took their seats. Rose, her hands still busy with setting the table, lingered for a moment as if unsure where she fit into this family scene.

"Come on, Rose," Mark said with a smile, gesturing to the seat beside Sarah. "Sit with us."

With a small nod, Rose slipped into the chair, smoothing her dress nervously. As everyone started serving themselves, the soft clatter of cutlery and the occasional quiet murmur filled the room. It was warm and homely. Yet Jack noticed how quiet Rose remained, though her eyes occasionally flicked toward Sarah and Evelyn, as if observing how they interacted. He studied her in return, curious about the layers she seemed to carry, the mystery in her.

"So," Jack began, trying to draw her into the conversation. "I hear you've been helping out quite a bit around here. That must be a change of pace."

Rose looked up, caught a bit off guard. "It is," she replied softly. "But it's peaceful here."

"She's been a lifesaver," Sarah chimed in, smiling warmly at Rose. "Especially now with Grace here and me not being as mobile as I'd like. I don't know what we'd do without her."

Rose's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, and she lowered her gaze, clearly unused to praise. "I'm just happy to help," she said quietly.

Jack nodded, intrigued. "Well, I'd say you've found a good spot here. Sarah and Mark are good people."

Mark laughed. "That we are! But it's Rose who's been a blessing. She's fit right in."

Rose shifted uncomfortably under the attention, but she smiled, grateful for their kindness. The conversation shifted to more lighthearted topics, and soon enough, laughter filled the room as Mark told stories of farm mishaps and Sarah teased Jack about his old adventures. Even Evelyn was giggling as Jack made funny faces at her from across the table. Despite the warmth in the room, Rose felt a strange sense of distance. She laughed along when appropriate and kept herself busy eating, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere—back to the life she left behind, the lies she had woven to escape, and the lingering fear of being found out.

After dinner, the house settled into its usual post-meal rhythm. Sarah was nursing baby Grace in the sitting room, Mark was outside checking on the animals, and Evelyn was already asleep upstairs. Rose, as always, took it upon herself to clear the table and begin washing the dishes. The warm water and clinking of plates were comforting—something to focus on, something simple.

But this time, there was something different. Jack lingered behind, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her for a moment before stepping forward.

"Need a hand?" he offered, already picking up a dish towel.

Rose hesitated, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "You don't have to," she murmured, though she didn't stop him as he began drying the plates she was washing.

The silence between them felt heavy, but Jack, never one to leave a quiet moment unfilled, decided to start with the basics: "So, have you always lived in the country?" he asked, his tone light.

Rose shook her head. "No," she answered simply.

Jack pressed on. "City girl, then?"

"Not exactly," she replied, her voice clipped.

"Where are you originally from, Rose?" Jack asked, his tone still light but now a little more curious.

Rose stiffened slightly, but she kept her gaze on the dishes. "I've moved around a bit," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

"That so? Seems like we have something in common then." Jack smiled, hoping to ease the tension, but there was no response. Jack leaned against the counter, watching her closely. "You don't talk much about yourself, do you?" he continued, his voice still casual, but now there was something sharper in it—something probing.

Rose stopped washing, her breath catching slightly. "I don't see why it matters," she said, her voice controlled but tense.

"I'm just trying to get to know you," Jack said, shrugging, though he could sense the shift in her mood. "I mean, we are about to live in the same house now. Seems natural."

Rose's jaw clenched, irritation building in her chest. "Natural," she repeated, her voice laced with a sarcastic edge. "It's quite intrusive, actually."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. "Intrusive?" he repeated, confused. "I didn't mean—"

"You've asked me more questions in the last five minutes than anyone has in months," Rose snapped, turning to face him. Her eyes were sharp, her face flushed with frustration. "I don't know you, and you don't know me, so stop trying to dig into my life."

Jack raised his hands in defense, surprised by her sudden outburst. "I wasn't trying to pry," he said quickly. "I just thought—"

"You thought what?" Rose interrupted, her voice rising. "That you could waltz in here, ask whatever you want, and we become the bestest of friends? I am here to work, Mr. Dawson. "

They stared at each other for a beat, the tension in the room palpable. Rose's heart raced, her emotions swirling uncontrollably. She couldn't stand it—the questions, the scrutiny, the way Jack was looking at her like he wanted to unravel every part of her.

Without another word, she dropped the dish towel onto the counter, the soft thud echoing in the silence between them. She turned on her heel and hurried out of the kitchen, her footsteps quick and determined, as though fleeing from something she couldn't quite explain.