Chapter 15
Rose rested her head on Jack's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His fingers ran lazily through her hair, and every so often, he would press a tender kiss to the top of her head.
Her laughter broke the silence, light and content. "I could get used to this," she said, her voice still tinged with a little breathlessness.
Jack chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest beneath her. He looked down at her, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Me too," he replied, his tone soft but filled with a quiet sincerity.
Rose tilted her head up, their eyes meeting. "I wish we could just be like this forever," she murmured. "Just in this moment."
Jack smiled, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. "No arguments here. Out here, it's just us. No one else, no worries—just...this."
The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of crickets chirping outside the open window. The warm breeze carried the faint scent of summer, ruffling the curtains as Jack and Rose lay entwined in each other's arms. The moonlight spilled across the room, casting soft shadows on the walls. Jack's fingers absentmindedly traced circles on Rose's arm, his touch light and comforting.
For a long moment, they lay in silence, the kind of silence that wasn't awkward but rather peaceful, shared between two people who had begun to understand each other. Then Jack broke it, his voice soft and contemplative.
"Rose," he began, "did you really hate me when we first met?"
Rose blinked, caught off guard by the question. She tilted her head up to look at him, his face partially illuminated by the silver light. His expression was earnest, tinged with curiosity.
She took a deep breath, considering her words carefully. "I never hated you, Jack," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him more directly. "It was never hate."
He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful smile. "Could've fooled me."
Rose smiled softly, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "The truth is," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "when you walked through that door, when I first saw you… it scared me."
"Scared you?" Jack echoed, his brow furrowing.
She nodded, searching for the right words to explain the tangled emotions that had consumed her. "When you looked at me, Jack, it felt like you saw everything. Like you could see right through me—past all the walls I'd put up, past the person I was trying so hard to be."
Her voice grew quieter, as though she were confessing something she hadn't even admitted to herself before. "It was as if you knew all my secrets, all the pieces of my past I've been trying to bury and forget."
Jack watched her intently, his gaze unwavering. "Rose…" he murmured, his voice soft with understanding.
"I've spent so long running from it all," she continued, her words spilling out now. "From the girl I used to be, from the life I used to have. And then you showed up, and you looked at me like you knew. Like you could see the real me beneath everything."
Her eyes glistened as she paused, struggling to put the depth of her feelings into words. "I didn't know how to handle that. I didn't know what to do with someone who could see me that way. So I pushed you away. Because it was easier than letting myself be vulnerable."
Jack reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, and his eyes held a depth of understanding that made her chest ache. "I understand."
"I was horrible to you." She whispered almost too embarrassed to say it out loud.
"You did what you thought was best."
Then, Rose sighed deeply and rested her head back on Jack's chest. "I am just glad it's over. Everything that used to haunt me is over."
The early morning light filtered softly through the cracks in the stable walls, casting golden streaks across the hay. The rooster crowed sharply, breaking the tranquil silence. Jack stirred first, his eyes blinking open to see Rose curled up against him, her red hair glowing in the morning light. For a moment, he let himself marvel at the sight, but reality came rushing back to him when the rooster crowed again, louder this time.
"Rose," he whispered urgently, giving her a gentle shake. "Rose, wake up."
She mumbled something incoherent, her eyes fluttering open as she groggily took in her surroundings. The sight of the barn, the hay, and then Jack's face hovering over hers jolted her awake.
"Oh no," she gasped, sitting upright. "What time is it?"
Jack glanced out the barn door at the rising sun. "Early. But not early enough," he said, the tension in his voice evident.
Rose's heart raced. "Do you think Sarah and Mark are awake yet?"
Jack stood, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let's hope not," he muttered, grabbing his clothes from where it was scattered around them and hastily pulling them on. "We need to get back to the house. Fast."
Rose looked down at herself, realizing she was still completely naked from the night before. She snatched her dress off the floor and put it on as best as neatly as she could, her cheeks burning with the anxiety of getting caught. "This is a disaster," she whispered, glancing nervously toward the barn door.
Jack chuckled softly, trying to ease her panic. "Relax, Rose. We'll be fine. Just... act normal."
"Normal?" she shot back, her voice a frantic whisper. "We blew the grounsils then fell asleep on a stack of hay, Jack. I doubt there is anything normal about this… Now help me with my dress, will you?"
He smirked and stepped forward, pressing the buttons on the fabric. "Well, we're about to find out how convincing we are." He kissed the crook of her neck.
Together, they peeked out of the barn, the farmyard still quiet except for the occasional cluck of a hen. Jack motioned for Rose to follow him, and they crept across the yard toward the house, their steps quick but careful.
As they reached the back door, Jack paused, his hand on the handle. "You ready?" he asked, a glint of humor in his eyes despite the situation.
"No," Rose whispered back, her heart pounding. But she gave a sharp nod anyway.
Jack pushed the door open, and they stepped inside as quietly as possible. The house was still, no sound of footsteps or voices. Rose exhaled a sigh of relief.
"See?" Jack whispered. "They're still asleep."
But as they moved toward the stairs, they froze at the sound of a soft cough. Turning toward the kitchen, they saw Sarah standing by the stove, her arms crossed and an amused, knowing smile on her face.
"Good morning," Sarah said casually, her voice laced with suspicion. "You two are up early."
Rose felt her stomach drop, her face heating up. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.
Jack, ever quick on his feet, offered a lopsided grin. "Morning, Sarah. Just, uh, checking on the garden and all. You know, making sure everything's in order."
"In your good clothes?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, you know Jack," Rose blurted out nervously, trying to sound nonchalant. "Always unpredictable."
Sarah chuckled, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Uh-huh. Well, breakfast will be ready soon. Why don't you both freshen up?"
Jack nodded, grabbing Rose's hand and tugging her toward the stairs before Sarah could say anything else. Once they were out of earshot, Rose let out a groan.
"She knows," Rose hissed.
Jack smirked, leaning in close as they climbed the stairs. "She doesn't know everything."
"She knows everything," Rose muttered, but despite her panic, there was a small part of her that couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. They gave each other one more look filled with both embarrassment and a mischievous satisfaction before they disappeared inside their rooms.
Nothing further was said about that night, but a sense of knowing whirled around the house. Especially Sarah happened to keep a watchful eye on the secret lovers. She clung to Rose even more than during her pregnancy, asking her to accompany her to every possible errand in town.
A few evenings later, the heat clung to the skin even as the evening cooled. The crickets had begun their nightly symphony, and the occasional clink of cutlery broke the comfortable quiet. Rose sat across from Jack, stealing a glance at him now and then when she thought no one was looking. He, too, seemed acutely aware of her presence, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to draw attention. Sarah, however, noticed everything. She had a knack for reading between the lines, and while she kept her observations to herself, her knowing smile spoke volumes.
Midway through the meal, as Evelyn happily recounted an adventure she'd had with one of the barn cats, Sarah wiped her hands on a napkin and cleared her throat.
"Mark and I have an announcement," she said casually, as though the words carried no particular weight.
Rose looked up from her plate, curious, while Jack raised an eyebrow.
"We'll be heading to Bloomer for a little while," Sarah continued, resting a hand on her husband's arm. "Mark's great aunt isn't doing well, and we've been asked to come visit."
"How long will you be gone?" Jack asked, leaning back in his chair, his tone neutral but his gaze flicking briefly to Rose.
"A week, maybe two," Sarah replied. She reached for her glass of lemonade, taking a slow sip before adding, "In the meantime, I've made arrangements to ensure everything here runs smoothly."
Rose and Jack exchanged a quick glance, the edges of their excitement barely contained. A week or two alone? The thought was almost too good to be true. But just as their silent celebration began, Sarah shattered it with her next words.
"I've asked Mrs. Turner to stay here while we're gone," she said brightly, her eyes flicking to Jack, though her expression remained innocent.
Jack nearly choked on his drink. "Mrs. Turner?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "Why would she stay here?"
"Because there's a lot to be done," Sarah replied smoothly, her tone nonchalant. "And the woman could use some company. She's been awfully lonely since her youngest moved to Minneapolis."
Jack narrowed his eyes slightly. "I thought you said she didn't like being away from her own house for long."
"Well, she'll make an exception this time," Sarah said breezily, slicing into her roasted chicken. "I thought you were very fond of her, Jack."
Jack shifted uncomfortably, picking at his food. "I am," he mumbled.
Rose stifled a laugh, hiding her smirk behind her napkin. She could feel Sarah's quiet amusement radiating from across the table, as though the woman was thoroughly enjoying their predicament.
Mark, oblivious to the tension, nodded approvingly. "Mrs. Turner's a fine choice. She knows the farm well, and she'll keep you two in line."
Jack muttered something under his breath, earning a playful nudge from Rose under the table. He shot her a look, his lips twitching into the faintest of smirks despite his irritation. As the conversation shifted back to Evelyn's chatter about her adventures, Rose found herself both exasperated and relieved. The promise of stolen moments with Jack still lingered, but Sarah's clever maneuver had ensured there would be no complete freedom. Later that night, as they cleaned up after dinner, Jack leaned in close to Rose as they worked side by side. His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
"Well, that changes things," he said, a mixture of irritation and humor in his tone.
Rose suppressed a grin, brushing her hand against his ever so lightly. "It's not the end of the world."
"It might be," he said with a dramatic sigh, earning a stifled laugh from her.
From the other room, Sarah's voice called out, "Don't dawdle too much in there, you two. Plenty to do before we leave!"
Rose flushed, stepping away from Jack with a flustered smile. He only chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he returned to drying the dishes.
The days under Mrs. Turner's supervision had proven to be more tolerable than either Jack or Rose had anticipated. The elderly woman, with her kind eyes and penchant for storytelling, seemed more invested in reliving her past than scrutinizing their every move. Her tales of life as a young girl during the Civil War and her time as a nurse often filled the quiet evenings on the porch, her voice weaving a vivid tapestry of memories that captivated even Evelyn.
For Jack and Rose, her frequent need for solitude offered an unexpected freedom. She spent long afternoons napping or tending to her own projects, leaving them to handle the day's chores and their interactions to remain quietly charged with unspoken words and fleeting touches. One particularly oppressive afternoon, the August heat seemed to sap everyone's energy. Mrs. Turner, sitting by the open kitchen window with a fan in one hand, sighed heavily as she waved herself back and forth.
"Jack," she said, her voice feigning sternness, "if you don't stop pacing, you'll wear a hole in this floor."
Jack stopped abruptly, leaning against the counter with a sheepish grin. "You're right, Mrs. Turner. I was just thinking, maybe we could do with some refreshment."
The old woman peered at him over her glasses. "Refreshment?"
"A trip to the lake," he said, casually but with a hint of persuasion in his tone. "It'd do Rose and me some good to get out for a bit. Evelyn's napping, and I'd make sure we're back before she wakes up."
Mrs. Turner squinted at him, her lips pursing thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure about that, Jack. Sarah left me to keep an eye on things."
"And you're doing a fine job," Jack assured her, his tone warm and disarming. "But I promise, we'll only be gone for two hours. Three at most," he added with a grin.
Mrs. Turner raised an eyebrow. "Two hours."
"Two hours," Jack repeated firmly.
After a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Turner sighed, relenting. "Fine. But you're responsible for keeping the clock, young man."
Jack nodded his thanks and left the kitchen to find Rose. She was near the hen house, carefully gathering eggs from the hens. When she saw him approach, she tilted her head in mild suspicion.
"What's that look for?" Jack teased.
"You've got a glint in your eye," she replied, setting down the basket of eggs. "What scheme have you concocted this time?"
"Not a scheme. An invitation." He leaned casually against the barn door. "Where do you want to go?"
Rose frowned. "Go where?"
"To cool off. I suggested to Mrs. Turner we head out for a couple of hours, and she agreed."
Rose brushed her hands on her apron. "And where exactly do you think you're taking me?"
"Lake Wissota," Jack said without hesitation.
Her expression darkened immediately. "Absolutely not."
"Rose," he said gently, stepping closer. "I know what you're thinking. I know it might be a scary place for you, but I'm not forcing you to swim if you don't want to. I just want to show you that it's worth being there. Trust me."
Her lips parted, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but his steady gaze disarmed her. She glanced away, conflicted.
"Jack," she said softly. "You don't understand. The water… it's not just a memory. It's a weight I carry every day."
"I know," he said, his voice low and earnest. "But maybe this is a chance to make it feel lighter. I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to let it be something new. With me."
She looked up at him, her expression still hesitant, but his sincerity was undeniable. With a deep breath, she nodded slowly.
"Fine," she said, though her tone was reluctant. "But I'm holding you to your word. No swimming."
"Deal," he said with a lopsided grin, extending his hand.
In the water, Jack swam effortlessly, slicing through the cool expanse with the grace of someone who belonged there. His carefree laughter echoed across the stillness, punctuated by the occasional splash as he dove and resurfaced. On the shore, Rose sat perched at the edge of the lake, her feet dangling just below the surface. A book rested on her lap, but her eyes frequently wandered from the page. She couldn't help but steal glances at Jack. There was something about the way he moved, so free and unburdened, that drew her attention. She watched him with a mixture of amusement and envy. How could he be so at ease in something that terrified her?
As Jack disappeared beneath the surface for the umpteenth time, Rose's gaze lingered on the ripples where he had vanished. Her chest tightened at the thought of him not coming back up, but then, with a burst of water and air, there he was again, laughing and running a hand through his wet hair. Her lips curved into a small smile despite herself.
She looked down at the book, the words blurring into meaninglessness. With a sigh, she snapped it shut, set it aside, and rose to her feet. Her heart thudded nervously as she began to undo the buttons of her dress. Layer by layer, the garment fell away until she was clad only in her underclothing, her pale skin glowing in the sunlight. She took a deep breath and stepped to the edge of the water.
Jack turned toward the shore just in time to see her. His eyes widened with surprise and delight as he registered what she was about to do. Swimming closer, he stopped a few feet away from her, his arms outstretched.
"Rose," he said, his voice laced with encouragement, "take my hands. I've got you."
She hesitated, her toes curling against the warm sand beneath the shallow water. Her body tensed, and for a moment, Jack thought she might change her mind. But then she took a step forward, reached for his hands, and allowed him to pull her gently toward him. The moment her feet left the ground, she let out a startled gasp, clutching at him with an almost desperate grip. Jack caught her easily, his strong arms wrapping around her waist as her body adjusted to the sensation of floating. The water was cool and soothing against her skin, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat.
"You're doing it," Jack said softly, his grin spreading from ear to ear. "You're really doing it!"
Rose managed a shaky laugh, her fear slowly giving way to exhilaration. "It's not so bad," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jack couldn't hide the joy in his voice. "I'm so proud of you!" He grinned wide, his eyes shining with pride as he held her closer. Without thinking, he peppered her face with kisses—her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose. Rose giggled, her nerves giving way to the thrill of the moment.
"Stop that," she said with mock indignation, though her laughter betrayed her delight.
"Not a chance," Jack said, spinning her gently in the water. "Do you feel it? That freedom?"
Rose paused, letting herself float just enough to feel weightless. The water supported her, its coolness wrapping around her like a gentle embrace. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt unshackled.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice soft but resolute. "I do."
They floated together in the cool water of Lake Wissota, their laughter mingling with the rustling of the trees. Rose splashed him playfully, and he retaliated by sending a small wave her way, causing her to squeal with delight.
"You fight dirty, Dawson," she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
"You're just upset because I'm better at it," Jack shot back, grinning.
"Oh, please!" Rose rolled her eyes dramatically, floating on her back. "Let me guess—you invented swimming too, along with Europe?"
Jack burst out laughing, his hand reaching to pull her back toward him. "That's right, Miss Williams. And next, I'll teach you the ancient art of not getting your hair wet while swimming."
"Too late for that," she said, pushing her soaked hair out of her face before leaning closer and stealing a quick kiss.
The moment felt endless—until it wasn't.
Jack's head turned sharply at the sound of crunching footsteps on the path near the lake. He instinctively pulled Rose closer to him, shielding her with his body. The playful mood evaporated in an instant as both of them froze, watching the treeline. A figure emerged, and Jack's heart sank. It was Betty, holding a basket of wildflowers and herbs. Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene before her: Jack and Rose in the water, their clothes abandoned on the edge, their expressions a mixture of surprise and guilt.
Betty's hands trembled, and she almost dropped the basket. Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, her face twisted briefly—hurt, confusion, perhaps even anger flickering in her eyes. She turned quickly, disappearing back into the trees without a word. The sound of her footsteps grew distant until it faded completely.