Minneapolis

November 1923

Jack quickly closed the door behind him, shutting out the frigid air. He stomped the snow from his boots. The house was delightfully warm, even in the front hall, which didn't get much heat. He smelled tea and soup. His stomach growled. As he moved toward the kitchen, he heard voices, first the children's, and then Rose's. He paused in the doorway, watching them. The twins were five and as identical as a brother and sister could be. They had his bright blue eyes and her curls, which were red tinged with gold. Dominoes littered the table. Rose moved quickly, despite her swollen belly, refilling tea cups and buttering toast. Jack wanted to preserve the scene forever. Rose caught sight of him. "Jack," she said brightly. She kissed him, shivering at his touch. "You're freezing. Het in here and get warm," she said. She pulled him toward an empty chair. "I'll get you some dinner."

"You're not supposed to be up," he reminded her. He grinned at the twins. "Is she?" he added, knowing he could get them on his side. They shook their heads in unison.

"No," Ben said.

"We asked her to," Emily said guiltily.

Rose placed a steaming bowl before Jack. "I didn't take much persuading," she said. "I would've gotten up on my own even if they hadn't asked."

"You shouldn't do that," Jack said, reaching for her. Carefully, he pulled her down so she was perched on his leg. "You're supposed to be—"

"Resting, I know," she said. "But sometimes that makes me feel worse." He laid a hand on her belly. "Eat," she added. "We'll talk about this later."

"Where's your mother?" he asked.

"She went out. She should be back soon." Rose turned to the children. "Come on, it's almost time for your baths."

"I'll do it," Jack offered. "Go lie down for a while."

"Jack, I can—"

"I know, but do it for me? I'll clean up in here and get the kids clean too. We'll come sit with you when we're finished, alright?"

She sighed. "Alright."

…

Jack was helping Emily dry her hair when she said, "We should leave Mama alone, shouldn't we?"

"No," he replied. "No, no-one's tellin you to do that. But you gotta try and remember she can't do a lot right now. She thinks she can," he added, in a confidential tone. "And maybe she's right, but we don't want her to hurt herself, do we?"

Emily shook her head. "No."

"I know it's not easy," Jack said. "But you you're making it easier."

"How?"

"By being such a good girl," he said. He pulled her into a hug. "You're wonderful Emily-Moon."

"You say that all the time."

"And I mean it," he said, tickling her. Laughing, she tried to squirm away. He gave her one last squeeze before letting go. "Go sit with your mother. Me and Ben'll be there in a minute."

…

The living room was bright and warm. Outside the wind howled and snow fell steadily. Rose reclined on the sofa, winding a ball of yarn. Ben and Emily settled on the rug, a checkerboard between them. Jack sat against the sofa, his head leaning on Rose's leg. His sketchbook was propped on his knees, but he wasn't drawing. He twirled the pencil through his fingers and observed the scene. The room was small but clean and carefully arranged. Photos lined the mantel, and a few of his drawings hung in frames on the walls. They didn't have a wedding photo, so he'd drawn the scene from memory, Rose in her princess gown—as he thought of it—with a crown of purple flowers and a mosquito net for a veil, he with his threadbare suit and fresh haircut. He'd worn a small flower crown of his own, at Rose's insistence. They still had them, pressed between the pages of a book. Sighing contentedly, he reached up and laid a hand on her knee. She ruffled his hair.

Rose glanced at the clock. "It's nearly seven," she said, a hint of worry in her voice.

"I'm sure she's alright," Jack said. "Want me to go check?"

"Would you? She underestimates the weather here."

Jack pulled on his coat and wound a thick scarf around his neck before stepping outside. The wind cut through him like a newly sharpened razor. Ruth had more than underestimated the weather if she went out voluntarily on such a day. She was heading up the sidewalk, carrying several bags. He hurried toward her. "Here, gimme a few," he offered.

"Why'd you go out in this?" he asked, once they were inside.

"Someone had to make sure you have enough food," was her reply.

Jack swallowed his words. They had plenty of everything, but there was no point in arguing with her. He was never right, not as far as she was concerned, and arguing only increased the tension between them. And that upset Rose and the children. It bothered Ben and Emily more because they didn't understand how anyone could ever dislike their father. They were still young enough to have no concept of wealth, and they didn't know how low their barely middle-class existence was considered, by Ruth and by others. They never saw people with more money. When she lamented about the advantages they should have had, they wondered what she meant. They were always warm and fed. They had each other, and their parents were always there with a story, a game, or a skill to teach. There was never yelling; no-one was ever hit. The twins' fears came only from their imaginations. Instinctively, they sensed the goodness of their small world.

"Well, with this weather I guess we can't be too careful," was all he said.

The energy in the room changed when Ruth entered it. The twins became more subdued, and Rose ceased the little activity she'd been engaged in. Jack took back his spot on the floor. Ruth sat in the chair by the fire, shooting him disapproving looks. He ignored them and focused his attention on the twins, who were combining the checkers and chess sets in an attempt to create a whole new game. The rules weren't clear, but they were happy with it.

Rose's hand rested on his shoulder, and from time to time he laid his own over it, almost to remind himself she was indeed still there. She was so quiet around her mother. He didn't like it. He didn't want them arguing, but he didn't want Rose holding in her feelings or stifling herself. After all, it was their house. They could do and say what they pleased. They were married; they had children; their lives were stable. Ruth had no reason to disapprove of them anymore. And yet, she did. Not for the first time, Jack wished she hadn't offered to come and help. She was the best choice. Neither of them had any other close relatives, but he wondered if they wouldn't have managed better on their own.

Jack gave Rose's hand a squeeze as the memory played before his eyes. Rose's face had been so pale, a deathly white that went beyond her usual fairness. Her voice shook, and when he touched her she was cold. There had been so much blood; too much, he'd thought. She couldn't survive such a loss. But she had, and somehow, so had the baby. They'd thought things would be easier this time. After the twins, why wouldn't it be? But they were wrong.

It was the thought of losing her that scared him the most. They already had two children, and they could probably have others, but they wouldn't have another her. What would the three of them do without her? He couldn't take care of the twins on his own. It took both of them to make things work. And how could he live without Rose, his best friend? She knew how he drank his tea and how to make him laugh, even when he didn't think he could. She held him and whispered stories when he couldn't sleep. Rose, who did a thousand small things every day he could no longer remember living without. Rose was his home, even when he didn't want one. When they moved from one place to another every few weeks, searching for something new, something better, something he wouldn't lose, she'd been his home, though he hadn't admitted it. Part of his wandering came from a desire to see and experience all he could; he never lied when he said that. But part of it also came from fear. If he stayed in one place too long, got too close to people, he would lost them, and he couldn't face more grief. He'd never had that fear with Rose. Until now. Their bond was so strong being without her hadn't seemed possible until he found himself facing the very real prospect of her death. He wanted this child but not if it cost her.

Rose leaned down and kissed his hair, as if sensing his thoughts. She ignored Ruth's chastising gaze.

…..

There were no comfortable positions for Rose anymore. She couldn't sleep on her side. Sleeping on her stomach was obviously out of the question. That left only her back, when she never slept on normally, and which was sore from the weight of her belly. Even extra pillows didn't help. Jack rubbed her aching muscles, from her back to her ankles, but she only felt relief when he did so. He slept on his side, facing her, his head on her shoulder and his arm around her as best he could. She held him, grateful for his closeness. She felt safer with him pressed against her. It was absurd, but it gave her the feeling that he could stop anything bad from happening.

And didn't he, most of the time? Even if it was just in small ways? He'd been able to stop the twins' crying when all her efforts failed, and she was ready to give up and cry herself. He did the dishes while she slept and finished the laundry. He always came home after work, which she knew shouldn't be an accomplishment, but after nearly twelve years together and two children, it was. He spent all of his free time with the three of them. He still brought her flowers, usually ones he'd picked, but she liked those best.

Rose laid her cheek against his hair and breathed in its scent. Unless he had just washed it, the faint smell of ink always clung to it now, the result of his job at the newspaper. It wasn't printed there, and yet the whole office smelled of it. She didn't know how he could stand it, day after day. But it was a good job. It wasn't idea, but at least he got to draw every day, and he added to their small income by doing illustrations for magazines. Sometimes she worried, though.

They had lived in the same place for over five years, and in the same house for three. It was more rootedness than they had planned, but with to babies at once, how could they keep moving? Traveling with one would have been difficult enough, but two would have been impossible. Briefly, she had been afraid he might leave after the twins were born. It might all be too much for him. It felt like too much for her sometimes, and she didn't have his restless spirit. But he hadn't left, and now she wondered how she could ever have doubted he would stay.

…..

The office was filled with yelling, the ringing of telephones, the clacking of typewriter keys, and the mechanical clicking of the teletype machine. Somewhere a radio played. Women's heels clicked briskly on the wooden floors. Jack loved the music of the office. He loved the constant activity. No matter what time of day or night, there was always something happening, always some story breaking, some crisis being averted or created. He sat as his desk and drew—cartoons, ads, caricatures, whatever was asked for, and mostly he stayed out of the ocean flowing around him, but he liked being in it all the same. It was familiar yet different each day. It reminded him of his years on the road, and sometimes he could forget where he was and imagine he was still traveling.

The horizon called to him still, but he ignored it. Those days were over. He and Rose had wandered for five years, and when they settled down he had almost been relieved. It was nice waking up in the same bed every morning and always having his things unpacked, always knowing how to get anywhere he needed to go, seeing familiar faces. And even with the children, they had more money now. They were able to save. If something happened to him, Rose wouldn't be stranded, without a home.

"Don't you get tired of just sitting here all day?" George asked, dropping into an empty chair near Jack's desk.

"I'm not just sitting," Jack pointed out. "I'm drawing."

"I don't see much difference." George leaned over and peered at the drawing. It was an ad for perfume. "Do they give you models for these?" he asked.

"No. I guess they might if I asked," Jack replied.

"You don't ask? Why not?"

"Don't need one." Jack kept his eyes on the shading he was doing. "There's plenty of girls here if I need a new face."

"True. But we see them every day," George said. "And you draw the same woman over and over."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. Every time. Going to give this one red hair too?" George said with a chuckle. "Or just the curls?" When Jack didn't respond he added, "I'm only joking. You know I don't mean anything by it, not really. I don't care if you draw your wife incessantly. It's just funny."

"Why's it funny?"

The question startled George. "Well, because you're married to her. You've been married, what, ten years?"

"Almost twelve."

"Exactly. And you act like the honeymoon was yesterday," George said. "It's just hard to believe you never think about taking one of these lovely stenographers buzzing around the office to lunch." There was a suggestive note in his tone.

"Believe it," Jack said, not unpleasantly. "I'm happy just like this."

"You know, I really think you are." George regarded him with a blend of curiosity and amusement. "Better hope it lasts," he added. "You've got two kids already, don't you?"

"Nearly three." Jack smiled as he said it.

"You'll be looking at the stenographers soon," George predicted.

…

The twins were careful not to make noise during Rose's afternoon nap, and they resented Ruth's constant reminders to be quiet. They sat in the kitchen, practicing their writing. Rose had begun teaching them a few months earlier, and she did her best to keep it up now, though between Ruth and Jack she got little time to do it. Jack hadn't argued with her decision to teach them at home for a while, agreeing with her reasoning that the weather alone made sending them to school difficult. There were days when it was just too cold to leave the house, and he wished he didn't have to, but at least Rose and the children were safely warm. And at least Jack didn't think contact with the children would exhaust her beyond all recovery. Ruth never said so explicitly, but Rose knew that's what she thought. She sensed Ben and Emily did too, and she tried to make them see that it wasn't so.

Ben wrote slowly, carefully putting each letter in order before moving on to words. Emily went through the alphabet quickly, filling the page with every word she knew in large, flourishing script that wasn't quite cursive but wasn't quite printing either. She liked the way it looked, but mostly, she just wanted to be finished. She wanted the snow to stop and the sun to come out long enough for them to go out and play. She wanted her grandmothers to leave and for their lives to go back to the way they were before. She took Ruth's words more to heart than Ben, who had inherited Jack's ability to shrug things off. They bothered him, but he tried not to think about it. If, as he kept reminding Emily, they just did as she said, she'd leave them alone. She would leave eventually, and their mother would be back. And there would be a baby. This interested them more than anything else, and they spent hours discussing it when they were supposed to be asleep.

Emily flipped her paper over and began filling the other side, writing her name over and over: Emily Maris Dawson. Ruth frowned when she saw it but remained silent. Both twins felt the unspoken words. She hated anything that reminded her of their father, another topic they often discussed in the privacy of their room.

"You should write more neatly," Ruth said. "Look at the way your brother writes."

"But I don't wanna write like him," Emily replied.

"Want," Ruth said, emphasizing each letter. "You don't want to, but you should. It's the correct way."

"But I don't wanna," Emily argued, not caring if she made Ruth angry.

"That's not how Emmy writes," Ben said, trying to make peace.

Ruth stared at her for a long moment. Their eyes locked, and it was like she was looking at Rose. The expression was the same, the defiance was the same. But it wasn't Rose. Rose was a grown woman now, and these were her children, and all at once Ruth felt sad. Where had the time gone? Seven years had passed between Titanic and the next time she saw Rose. The twins had been born by then, and Rose wasn't the girl she remembered anymore. And Jack wasn't just some shiftless boy vying for her attention. He was her husband, and the father of the babies Rose held so proudly. And the one she was carrying now. It was a thought Ruth couldn't stand. They were beautiful children, and no doubt the new one would be as well, but they shouldn't have been his. Rose was meant for better things, and so were they. Jack's attentiveness only made her dislike him more. It was easy to always be there when time was all you had to offer. She didn't suspect him of being unfaithful. No, Jack loved Rose, and he loved the children. His affection was genuine, and that was the problem. Rose would never see her mistake because those blue eyes of his always blinded her.

…..

Rose hummed as she straightened up the living room. She held a finger to her lips as the twins came in. She gestured for them to come over as she sat down. They climbed onto the couch next to her and presented their papers. "Well, what's this?" she asked, pretending not to know. She gasped. "You're getting better." Ben and Emily exchanged glances and smiled.

"Very neat," Rose said to Ben. "It's almost like type."

"And that's good?" he asked.

"Yes." Rose turned to Emily. "And yours is lovely."

"I want them to look like they'll move," Emily said.

Rose laughed warmly. "Yes, I can see that. Darling, why don't you try writing a little more slowly next time, alright?"

"Alright," Emily said reluctantly.

"If you want to draw, you can, but maybe don't combine them." Rose smoothed Ben's curls. "And you don't have to worry so much about neatness. It's alright if everything isn't perfect."

"But I want it to be," he said.

"I know," Rose said gently. "But that's not always possible, and you're too young to be worrying about it."

Emily's solemn eyes always sparkled or flashed, but Ben's were solemn most of the time. Rose didn't know why. He was happy, and yet, there was a seriousness about him, as if he were older than his five years. Emily understood him better than anyone. They had a language all their own, as so many twins do. Rose was glad they had each other, and she was happy there would be another sibling. Being an only child was lonely. She remembered that all too well, as did Jack, though he at last had had affectionate parents.

"Grandmother says it's possible," he said.

Rose frowned slightly. "Don't believe everything your grandmother says. She means well, and you should respect her, but some of her ideas are—" Rose searched for the right word.

"Stupid," Emily offered.

"Old-fashioned," Rose said diplomatically. "Limited." She agreed with her daughter, but she knew better than to let her know that. Ruth and Emily clashed enough without help.

"Is that why she doesn't like Dad?" Ben asked.

Rose was taken aback by the question. "Did she say that to you?" She looked from Ben to Emily. "Tell me. Did she?"

They felt their mother's rising anger. "No," Emily said. "Not really."

"What exactly did she say?" Rose kept her tone even.

Ben looked at the rug and wished he hadn't said anything. "She says you shouldn'tve married him," Emily said. "He's not good enough."

Anger set Rose's heart beating faster. "Did she say anything else?"

The twins looked at one another. "No," they said in unison.

Rose could tell they were lying, but she let the matter drop. "Go in your room and play for a while," she said.

…..

Rose found her mother in her room, dusting the already spotless furniture. Rose's mouth was a thin line; she planted her feet firmly. "Mother, I need to speak with you," she said.

"Of course. What's wrong?" Ruth took in her sever expression. "You shouldn't be up. Did the children—"

"The children are what I need to speak to you about."

"I told them not to bother you—"

"They don't bother me," Rose said.

"In your condition—"

"I know what I can handle, and they are not too much for me." Rose took a deep breath. Getting upset wouldn't help anything, and secretly, she knew she couldn't handle it. "I don't want you sharing your opinions with them anymore."

"Rose, what do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. If you can't respect Jack, my husband and their father, at all, then you shouldn't be here. We appreciate you coming to help, but I won't have you saying such things to them. Or to me, or to him. If you want to be part of my life and theirs, you have to accept he's a part of things too."

"Rose—"

"I don't want to discuss it anymore," Rose said, turning to go.

AN: This will probably be a short story with just a few chapters. I'm still working on my other stories, and I'm working on at least one non-Titanic story, which will probably be posted after the holidays, along with a slew of new chapters.