RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Ninety-Six

March 19, 1918

Rose lay on her side, nestled within the layers of covers. Jack was asleep beside her, his arms wrapped around her from behind. She snuggled more deeply into the blankets and Jack's embrace, her hand moving to touch her swollen stomach.

The baby moved inside her, tiny arms and legs squirming against the confinement. It would be born soon. Very soon, Rose thought as her back and stomach muscles tightened. The pains had been coming since midnight, growing stronger and closer together. Soon, very soon, she would bring their child into the world.

Glancing out the window, Rose could see that it was still dark outside. In a little while, she and Jack would rise and begin the daily work of life on their farm. But for a few minutes more, she could relax beside him.

Jack stirred, sensing her restlessness. Opening his eyes, he pulled her closer, one hand resting on her abdomen. The baby moved under his touch, bringing a smile to his face.

"Good morning," Rose murmured, awkwardly turning to face him. Even in the darkness, she could see him smiling at her.

"Morning." She smiled, kissing him softly.

He kissed her back, his lips moving to her neck as he moved his hands over her. In the months since they had returned to California, it had become their custom to make love every morning before they began the day's work. Even as Rose's middle had swollen and grown larger with their coming child, they had continued their morning ritual.

So Jack was surprised when Rose pulled away from him, pushing his hands away. "Jack, no."

He looked at her in surprise, wondering at her sudden reticence. She had never told him no before. Then, as she sat up, rubbing her back, he realized what was happening.

"You're having the baby." He sat up, too, looking at her in the gradually lightening room.

"Yes." Rose relaxed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Maybe it would be better if you stayed in bed." There was a hint of worry in Jack's voice.

"I'm fine, Jack," Rose told him, though she was a little worried herself. Not so much about the birth itself, but about the potential for things to go wrong. She had lost one baby years ago in a violent manner; what if that loss affected her ability to give birth successfully? What if something happened to the baby?

She had wanted a child for years, and she would be devastated if she lost this one. For her own self, she had little worry—whatever happened, happened, and she was strong and healthy; but for her child she was concerned.

Jack was concerned, too—for both mother and child. As he crouched down to help Rose put her shoes on, he couldn't help but remember Amelia's slow, agonizing death, and the tiny, stillborn baby boy, who had never had a chance to draw his first breath. Rose was strong and healthy, but he still worried.

As Rose headed for the back door to start the morning chores, he grabbed her hand. "Wait, Rose. I'll take of the animals this morning. You should rest."

"That's a lot of work," Rose protested. "Anyway, I'm fine. I'm not an invalid."

"I know, but...I still think you should stay here. What if something happens? How would I get you back to the house? Besides, it's not so much work. I've been doing most of the mucking out of stalls and hauling feed anyway. It won't be too much more work to pump water, milk the cow, and collect the eggs."

Rose put her hands to her back as another contraction began. She was sure she could do the work, but it would be a relief not to have to this morning. When the pain ended, she nodded.

"If you're sure..."

"I'll take care of things. If you want to do something, you could make breakfast. That's easier than working with the animals."

"I'm not really hungry."

"I am." He gave her a look of mock indignation. "If I'm going to do all the work, the least you could do is feed me."

Rose laughed, her worries forgotten for the moment. "I'll cook up something. You'd better take care of the animals before they figure out how to break out of their pens and get to the food."

Jack grinned, giving her a mock salute as he headed out the door, his limp barely noticeable.

*****

In spite of their moment of light-heartedness, Jack became increasingly concerned for Rose as the day passed. Her labor progressed quickly, the contractions growing ever stronger and closer together. At noon, Rose finally agreed to lay down and rest. She had been up and about since early morning, first getting the few household tasks completed, and then sitting on the porch and sewing, enjoying the pleasant day. She had stopped her work more and more frequently as her labor progressed, until at last she took Jack's advice and lay down. Though the contractions were hard, she didn't feel tired; instead, she was filled with a strange kind of energy.

After Rose had gone back to bed, Jack sent Gabe into town for the doctor, pacing anxiously back and forth as he waited. As usually happened in times of strain, his limp returned, reminding him again of Amelia's death. He paced from the front door to the bedroom, checking on Rose every few minutes.

Rose lay in the bed, propped up against a stack of pillows. She was almost sitting up, an odd position for giving birth, but it helped to ease the pain of her contractions. She sat patiently as Jack paced in and out, asking every few minutes how she was doing. His concern for her was obvious, and touching, but there really wasn't anything he could do to help her. Giving birth was something she had to do for herself.

Gabe finally returned with the doctor, showing him to the front door of the house. Jack let him in, showing him to the bedroom while he grabbed Tripper by the scruff of the neck and dragged him outside, not wanting the anxious animal to get in the way. Tripper immediately ran around to the bedroom window, whining and pressing his nose against the glass, trying to see through the crack between the drawn curtains.

Jack returned to the bedroom, only to be shooed away again by the doctor. He had planned to be present for the birth, but fathers were not usually allowed at the mother's side while she labored. The doctor considered Jack's presence inappropriate and unnecessary.

Rose, however, had other ideas. She had long since stopped caring what others thought was right or wrong, and she wanted Jack there. Gripping his hand, she glared at the doctor.

"He's staying. I want him here."

"Mrs. Dawson, I can't allow that..."

"Of course you can. We're the ones paying your bill."

"That isn't the point. Your husband should not be present for the birth."

"You've got a wife, haven't you?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "Yes. And two children."

"And you were present for those births, weren't you?"

"Of course. I'm a doctor."

"Well, if you could be present when your wife gave birth, why can't my husband be present when I give birth?"

"He's not a doctor."

"So what?" Rose began, but Jack interrupted her.

"I'm staying," he told the doctor, pulling the chair over from the desk and sinking into it. "I was there when my first wife gave birth, and I'll be damned if I'll miss this one."

"Mr. Dawson—"

"No!" Jack and Rose both glared at him, daring him to refuse.

At last, he sighed, giving up. "You can stay," he told Jack. "But I want no interference and no panic. If I see either one, you'll have to wait outside."

Jack nodded. "I'm just going to watch," he promised, "and be there for Rose."

*****

It was late afternoon before Rose was ready to give birth. As the pains grew stronger and harder, she breathed heavily, sweat drenching her hair and nightgown. She held onto Jack's hand, squeezing it so tightly that he sometimes winced.

But he refused to let go of her hand, refused to leave her for even a moment. Six years before, he had saved her life, promising that he wouldn't let go of her hand. Now, there was nothing he could do but keep holding on.

Rose cried out, arching her back as another pain lanced through her. When it was over, the doctor examined her again, nodding his head.

"You're ready now. When the next contraction comes, I want you to push."

Rose nodded tiredly, then turned her head to look at Jack. He tried to smile, but the worry on his face was unmistakable. It was at this point that things had gone so horribly wrong for Amelia, leaving her pushing for hours to deliver a baby that would not come, and when it finally was born, it had been too late for either of them.

Rose tried to give him a reassuring look, but she wasn't so confident herself. Please, God, she prayed, though she had never been very religious. Please let this baby be all right.

Then there was no more time for thought; she bore down with all her strength as another contraction ripped through her. Clutching Jack's hand tightly, she cried out, pushing as hard as she could.

It hurt, but it wasn't over yet. The baby was slowly making its way into the world, but it had not yet appeared. It was still inside her, waiting for her to push it out.

Jack watched anxiously as Rose labored to give birth, his worry giving way to fear as Rose bore down several more times without results.

She's going to die, he thought, watching her strain again. She'll die, and the baby with her. It was inevitable, right from the start. And there's nothing I can do but watch. How will I go on without her? It was hard enough when Amelia died, but Rose...Rose has been in my heart since the first time I saw her, far above me on the Titanic. What will I do without her? To have found her again, and to lose her this way...

He was pulled from his thoughts by Rose's shriek. She clutched his hand with all her strength, her other hand pulling at the sheet, almost ripping it. In a gush of fluid, the top of the baby's head appeared.

A moment later, she pushed again. Jack's face paled, watching her struggle to deliver the baby. In a moment, it would be born, and then...he remembered the other baby, the tiny stillborn son, so perfect and fragile—and so still and unmoving.

Rose groaned, bearing down with all her strength. It seemed to take forever, and yet, after a moment, she felt the pressure ease as the baby slid from her body. Panting, she pushed herself up on her elbows, hoping against hope that everything would be all right.

For a moment, there was silence. The baby wiggled its tiny limbs, trying them out in the newfound freedom. Then its cry split the air as it drew its first breath, clearing its lungs and announcing its presence to the world.

"It's a boy!" the doctor announced, cutting the cord and wrapping the newborn in a blanket, handing him to his mother.

Rose took her newborn eagerly, pulling back the blanket to look at him. His little face was red, his tiny limbs moving furiously as he wailed. His head was covered with pale blond hair, much like his father's, and his little face was perfect, if slightly distorted as he cried indignantly. Her eyes lit with joy as she realized that she had brought a healthy baby into the world. Losing her first baby hadn't hurt this one at all.

Jack stared at the baby, almost afraid to believe his eyes. Rose was all right, and his son...his son was alive, kicking and wailing with life. Tentatively, he reached out and touched the little hands, proving to himself that his eyes and ears weren't deceiving him. The baby grasped his fingers, holding on with a strong grip.

Rose looked at Jack, the relief on her face mirroring his. In spite of everything, in spite of all their fears and worries, they had brought a healthy child into the world.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Jack sank back into his chair, his eyes never leaving Rose and his son. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had come to this day, this moment. Who would have even thought it possible?

And even as Rose turned to him, her free hand reaching out to take his, Jack broke down and cried with joy and relief.

Epilogue
Stories