RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Seventy-Six
August 16, 1917
Jack awoke to the bright summer sunlight shining
through the small window of the bedroom. Yawning, he sat up, reaching out to
Rose as he did every morning.
She wasn’t there.
Puzzled, he swung his legs over the side of
the bed and picked up his walking stick, pulling himself to his feet. He wondered
vaguely where she was, but dismissed the thought, assuming that she had gotten
up early.
Half an hour later, he finished dressing and
made his way into the kitchen. There was no sign of Rose. He frowned, wondering
if she had been asked to work early or had an early filming session. As he
walked towards the icebox to find something to eat, he saw the note on the
table.
Reaching for it, he read it quickly, his face
paling slightly at the words.
Dear Jack,
I can’t stay. I’m sorry. Things aren’t
going to work out as I hoped they would. I love you, I truly do, but this is
for the best for both of us. Please try to understand. I’ll love you always,
but I have to leave.
With all my love,
Rose
The paper was spotted with water droplets, as
though she had been crying when she wrote it. He could see where she had
written and erased her words repeatedly, trying to find the best way to tell
him she was leaving. He tried to read the faint outlines of the erased words,
but they were obscured by what she had finally written.
Still clutching the note, he sank down into a
chair. What did she mean, things weren’t going to work out? Everything had
seemed fine to him. Had there been something going on that he hadn’t realized?
He hoped not. He and Rose had always been
very open with each other. What had made her run this time?
Try as he might, Jack couldn’t think of the
reason. Rose had seemed happy, working at her waitressing job and taking extra
jobs in moving pictures. Their apartment wasn’t fancy, but it was a roof over
their heads, and according to her, she had lived in much more rundown places.
It was only the past three days that things
had changed somewhat. Rose had been quiet, lost in thought. Several times she
had shaken her head, as though trying to convince herself that something wasn’t
true, or trying to put a thought from her mind. She had been almost silent the
evening before, picking at her dinner and cleaning the kitchen in silence.
Later, when they had made love, she had clung to him, reacting with energy and
passion as though it would be the last time.
Jack cursed to himself and tossed the paper
on the table. She had been saying good-bye, and he hadn’t realized it in the
slightest. Now she was gone, out of his life again as though she had never been
there.
A quick perusal of the apartment told him
that she had taken all of her belongings with her. She wasn’t planning on
coming back.
Where could she have gone? He sat back down,
trying to think. Was she some place in Los Angeles, or had she left for another
city? Why had she gone at all, and without a word to him?
Knowing that he was going to be late for
work, and not caring, Jack limped out of the apartment and down the stairs. His
first stop was the landlord’s apartment on the first floor. If Rose had been
planning on leaving, she might have mentioned something to him.
Knocking on the door, he waited while the man
stomped over to the door and threw it open.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
"Have you seen Rose Calvert last night
or this morning? I woke up this morning and she was gone, along with everything
she owns. She left a note, but no clue as to where she was going or why."
The landlord was no help. Scratching his
head, he looked at Jack. "I haven’t seen her, Mr. Dawson. You say she left
some time during the night?"
"Or early this morning. I woke up and
she was gone. She left a note and all of her things are gone."
"I really don’t know what to tell you.
Have you asked her boss if she came to work?"
"Not yet. That’s my next stop."
"Good luck."
The next two stops, at the restaurant Rose
waitressed at and the studio she was currently working on a moving picture for,
yielded nothing. Her boss at the restaurant was furious, wanting to know why
she hadn’t shown up for work.
"She was supposed to be in at 6:30 this
morning. Where is she?"
"I don’t know. She just up and left. She
didn’t inform you of where she was going either, I take it?"
"No. I’ve made a lot of concessions for
her, with her moving picture work and everything, but she just never showed up.
Never said a word, either. She was supposed to work until eight, and then take
a couple of hours for her filming. The studio is down the street."
"I’m checking there next."
"Well, if you find her, tell her that
she’d better hope her acting career gets off the ground pretty fast, because
I’ve had enough of her. I can never count on her to be here at a particular
time, and this is the last straw. She’s fired."
Jack sighed. "Yes, sir. I’ll tell her
when I find her."
And I will find her, he promised himself. He had lived without her for too
long to just let her go without an explanation. If she truly wanted to leave
him, he would let her go, but he wanted to know why.
Upon reaching the movie studio down the
street, he was pointed in the direction of the set. The director was easy to
find, striding around and shouting at everyone as people scurried to do his
bidding.
Jack approached him tentatively. "Excuse
me, sir."
The director turned to look at him.
"You’d better have a damned good reason for interrupting me like
this."
Jack couldn’t see that he was doing much
besides yelling, but he hurried to say his piece anyway. "I’m looking for
Rose Calvert. She’s one of the extras in your film..."
"I haven’t seen her. Little slut almost
ruined this scene. I told everyone what their places were, and she just didn’t
show up. I had to call the agency and get someone in her place. This is going
to delay shooting for an hour and a half." The director dismissed him,
turning to shout at a cameraman.
Jack walked off. No one had seen her. His
walking stick thumping along the ground, he walked as quickly as he could in
the direction of his office, realizing that it was almost mid-morning. Much as
he was loath to give up his search, Rose would have to wait.
"Dawson, you’re late," his boss
growled as soon as he walked in the door.
"I’m sorry, sir. An emergency came up. I
got here as quickly as I could." He glanced at the clock, confirming that
he should have been at work two hours earlier. "I can work late, if you
want."
"The office closes at five. You know
that."
"I would lock up behind me."
"No. Just work as you usually do. I’m
docking you two hours’ pay."
"Yes, sir." Leaning on his walking
stick, Jack made his way to his table in a back room and began his work.
He was distracted throughout the day.
Nothing, not even designing ads for the newspaper, could keep his attention.
Where is Rose? Is she all right? Why did
she leave? It was this question that
weighed the most heavily on his mind. She knew her way around and could take
care of herself, but he was still at a loss as to why she had left at all. She
had seemed happy, but maybe it was all an act.
Was it because of the fact that he was
crippled? He had thought that she had accepted him the way he was, but had it
been more than she could deal with? He was perfectly capable of taking care of
himself; his bad leg only impeded him somewhat, but he knew how many people
felt about those who were crippled. He hadn’t thought Rose to be like them, but
maybe he had been wrong.
But if she had felt so uncomfortable with him
as he was, why had she left Riverside with him in the first place? She could
have stayed and continued to work. She had made friends there, had found a good
job. If she had been so uncomfortable with him, why had she come to Los Angeles
with him?
Jack shook his head. He didn’t know what to
think.
After work, he went straight back to the
apartment, hoping that by some miracle Rose had come back, or that one of the
neighbors had seen her when she left.
Before he returned to his own apartment, he
went from door to door, asking if anyone had seen Rose. No one had any idea
where she had gone until he spoke to the woman in the very last apartment in
the building.
Discouraged, he knocked on her door. If she
hadn’t seen Rose, he had no idea where to look. He supposed his next stop would
be the train station, but with so many people coming and going, what was the
likelihood that anyone would remember her—if she had even taken a train. She
could as easily have hitched a ride out of town in a motorcar or wagon, taken
off on a boat, or simply walked away. If she had left any way but by train, it
was unlikely that he would ever find her.
The resident of the last apartment, Agnes
Carlyle, a woman in her early seventies, opened the door and gave him a severe
look. She had disapproved of the living arrangement between Rose and him since
the day they had moved in, shocked that they were living together without the
benefit of marriage. Worse yet, in her opinion, was the fact that Rose was Mrs.
Calvert, never stopping to consider that something might have happened to Mr.
Calvert. As far as she was concerned, Rose was an immoral hussy who had left
her lawful husband to live in sin with a cripple. Jack would have been more
annoyed but for the fact that the old woman had little of interest in her life,
and the opportunity to gossip about himself and Rose was the most excitement
she’d had in a long time.
"Miss Carlyle, have you seen Rose
anywhere? I woke up this morning and she was gone."
"Ah…yes. I saw her late last night. It’s
hard to sleep at my age, you know, with these aching joints, so I was looking
out my window. She tiptoed out of the building and headed down the street with
a suitcase."
"Do you know where she went?"
Miss Carlyle shook her head. "No. She
went that way." She pointed down the street.
That was the direction of the train station.
Maybe she had taken a train out of town. Jack started to thank her, but the
woman went on.
"I’m guessing she got tired of your
little arrangement and went back to her husband, God forgive her for leaving
him in the first place." She smirked, pleased at her theory.
Jack knew Rose hadn’t gone back to her
husband—he was several years dead—but Miss Carlyle’s words gave him another
idea. Who had Rose spoken of as the person she could always turn to when things
got rough? He thought for a moment, trying to remember the name. Deborah
Hutchison. Yes, that was it. Deborah Hutchison in San Francisco. If anyone
would know where Rose had gone, it would be her.
"Thank you, Miss Carlyle. You’ve helped
me a great deal." He turned to walk away, ignoring the elderly woman’s
affronted look. Before she closed the door, he turned with one last parting
shot. "By the way, Miss Carlyle, Rose is a widow." He tipped his hat
to her and walked off, heading downstairs.
It was too late in the day to send a
telegram. The telegraph office in town had closed at six, but he would be there
as soon as it opened at seven the next morning. He didn’t know Deborah
Hutchison’s address, but Rose had said she was from a prominent San Francisco
family. Hopefully, giving her name would be enough to find her.
*****
The next morning, Jack sent a telegram to
Deborah Hutchison of San Francisco.
MY NAME IS JACK DAWSON. STOP. I’M A FRIEND OF
ROSE’S. STOP. HAVE YOU SEEN HER? STOP. ROSE DISAPPEARED NIGHT BEFORE LAST.
STOP. IF ANY INFORMATION, PLEASE CONTACT JACK DAWSON AT ALLENBAUGH ASSOCIATES
IN LOS ANGELES. STOP.
JACK DAWSON
He waited throughout the day, hoping that the
telegram had reached her, hoping that she had some idea of where Rose was. The
wait seemed interminable. Every time someone walked past his door, he hoped
that a telegram had arrived.
Finally, just before five o’clock, another
clerk brought him a message. Thanking him quickly, Jack read it.
MR. DAWSON, ROSE IS HERE IN SAN FRANCISCO.
STOP. COME AND TALK SOME SENSE INTO HER. STOP. SHE NEEDS TO STOP RUNNING. STOP.
DEBORAH HUTCHISON