1927
The familiar man knelt before her, lifting her chin as he did so.
"Rose," he whispered, unable to look away from her. He remained unaware of my existence, but in that moment, I felt as if I had forgotten myself too.
"I'm going crazy," she sobbed harder, "I'm going crazy."
He shook his head, somewhat violently, "I think I am, too. You can't be-"
"You're dead," mamma held her face in her hands, "you're dead."
From where I hid away, incased in the shadow of a lopsided bookcase, I watched as he moved forward. The stranger remained knelt on the floor, shifting towards her. He reached out with a tentative hand, gentle and steady, as if he was trying to calm a startled horse.
"No, I'm not," he rubbed her arm, drawing her attention to him.
It was then that mamma flew forward, looping her arms around his neck. She sobbed into his shoulder, her own shaking, latched on as if she couldn't let go. It was as if she thought she would slip down into the waves of her own sorrow if she did- maybe she would.
After a while, mamma lifted her head from his shoulder and struggled to her feet. He followed suit and she slipped free of his grasp to stand beside me.
She gently forced me into the light of the room, and we stood side by side.
We looked closer to sisters than mother-and-daughter, purely because she had only been seventeen when she had me. Almost everything about us was alike - I had the same mass of curly hair, albeit blonde; we had similar face shapes; and we shared the same, fiery temperament. Side by side, it was unmistakable that we shared blood. The only thing that separated us was our height as I was a few inches shorter, and my eyes that were not her shade of blue-green.
I held my breath, just as mamma did beside me.
It was then that the man - Jack - walked across the room to us. His azure eyes watched her, cautious of what she might be hiding, and fluttered over me.
"Jack," her voice took on a tone I was not accustom to, "this is Josephine. She's my daughter, and-" she shut her eyes, "and Jack, this is your daughter."
He took a cautious step forward. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he let out an awkward, half-laugh, half-sigh.
"What? Y-you mean I have a child? I-I'm a father?" He rubbed the back of his neck, "Rose, are you sure?"
Mamma offered a shaky nod and a sort-of smile and lowers her voice, "The time frame would suggest so."
He grinned at me, boyish and gentle, and turned back to Mamma, "I can't believe this- how?"
"I don't know, but a lifeboat found me, and the officer, Lowe, dragged me on board. But you- Jack- I though I'd lost you. I watched you sink-" her voice cracked, and Jack's face dropped as he took her hand. Her voice steadied, and she continued, "then, I was completing everything in Santa Monica when I realised I was going to have Josie. So I found a job while I could and settled."
"You did all that, huh?" His smile returned as he recalled whatever was between him and mamma.
Mamma and Jack held each other's gaze for a moment. He then turned back to me, more serious, before raising my hand to his lips, "it's good to meet you, Josephine."
I beamed at him, and offered a mock curtsy, "good to meet you too, Mr. Dawson."
I suddenly realised that our surnames were not truly all the same; Mamma had lied to protect my legitimacy so that the last name I and my father shared wouldn't be of question. I blushed at the realisation.
"Jack, please," he dropped my hand, "would you both like to stay here tonight?"
Mamma nodded, "if we wouldn't be a bother," she offered a gentle hand on his arm, "Josie and I can take the couch."
"No, Rose, I'll take the couch. There's two made beds upstairs, you and Josie can have them," he gave a boyish wink to her.
Mamma smiled, and thanked him, before refusing dinner and heading upstairs. It had gone midnight and we had been travelling for days, so I followed her upstairs to bed.
I shut the door on the spare bedroom Jack showed me to. The room itself was a modest size with traditional furniture. Everything had been kept somewhat clean by Jack, with the kerosene lamp still full. The bed was covered with a handmade quilt, and the rug on the floor screamed of careful, hard work. Against the simple furniture and whitewashed walls, the cheery, slaved-over quilts, and rugs, and curtains made the room feel somewhat homely.
It's likeness to my own room was unsettling- of course, mamma had not made those furnishings like she had mine, but the similarities were striking.
Relived that the bed looked so comfortable, I turned back to my bag that I had dumped by the door and retrieve my nightgown.
The spot by the door was empty. Realising I must of left it downstairs, I made my way to landing. Peering over it, however, I heard mamma talking, "Jack, I know there's more to explain, but I think we should get some sleep."
Mamma must have left her room and went to talk to Jack. I listened carefully, and heard her voice once more, "Jack, you can sleep in your bed with me, if you want."
They continued talking for a while longer until he finally agreed. Realising they must be heading upstairs, I slipped back inside my room so I wouldn't be seen.