JOHN AND ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Four
June 12, 1930
Rose knelt in the vegetable garden behind the
house, wiping the sweat from her forehead with one dirt-covered hand, unmindful
of the streak it left on her face. Summer was rapidly approaching, the heat
increasing each day, and she was grateful for the brief respite from acting and
directing that she had given herself. She had finished the last picture—a short
comedy about a magical dog—two days before, and wasn’t going to start on her
next picture until July first, giving her a break from work.
Pulling up one last weed and tossing it into
the bucket for the compost heap, Rose got to her feet, seeking the shade of an
old oak tree some distance from the garden. Jane raced over to her, oblivious
to the heat, a handful of bright yellow dandelions clutched in one fist.
Rose smiled as the little girl rushed up to
her, picking her up and accepting the proffered flowers. Never mind that
dandelions were weeds—the two-year-old thought the bright yellow color was
pretty, and picked them whenever she could. As the toddler grinned and held
onto her mother’s shoulders, Rose picked up the bucket and took it to the
compost bin, dumping it in.
"Rose! Jane! Lunch is ready!"
Ruth’s voice sounded from the house.
Setting the toddler down, Rose watched her
run across the lawn to the open back door, grinning happily at the thought of
eating. Mealtimes were Jane’s favorite parts of the day. Following more slowly,
Rose picked up the trowel and hoe and set them on the porch with the weed
bucket, turning to look proudly at her garden. It wasn’t as large as the one
they’d at the old house, but this one was all hers, and she was pleased with
it.
Jane was already in her high chair, eating a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when Rose walked in. Signaling to her mother
that she would be at the table in a moment, she hurried to wash her hands,
examining herself critically in the mirror as she did so. Her face was slightly
flushed from the heat, but she saw nothing else to indicate that something
might be wrong.
Drying her hands, Rose thought back over the
past few weeks since they had moved into the new house, convinced now that the
symptoms she had begun experiencing soon after they arrived had nothing to do
with illness. Fatigue, morning nausea that sometimes lasted longer, cessation
of her monthlies…all could be attributed to a number of causes, but together
they were familiar to her. Sometime within the following months, she was almost
certain, another baby would join the Calvert family.
Turning from the mirror, she brushed her
now-collarbone-length hair from her eyes and hurried to join her mother and
daughter in the kitchen. John was at work, holding the now-stable company
together, its future still uncertain in light of the continuing economic
turmoil. Christopher was at school, finishing the last few days before
vacation, thinking longingly of the freedom of summer.
Rose picked at her lunch, her appetite still
small after her earlier bout with morning sickness. What would John say about
her having another baby, if indeed there was one? She was fairly certain that
there was, but she would have to visit the doctor first to be sure.
Would he want another child now, with their
circumstances and future so uncertain? They were doing all right, for the time
being, but having another child would necessitate Rose taking some time off
from her work, and if something went wrong at Anders Cedar Rapids, they could
be in trouble indeed.
Granted, they were much better off than many
families with young children—they were together, and they were employed. Even
Christopher would have work in the summer, working for Dawson Films with his
mother. But Nadia was still in college, unable to find a job in her town,
Christopher could only work for a short time before he went back to school, and
Jane was only two years old, not yet able to work at all and constantly in need
of food and clothing. Then there was Ruth, who had not yet found another job
and who refused to work for her daughter, instead pleading with John for a job
he couldn’t offer her.
Ruth looked up as Rose sighed, frowning at
the sight of her daughter picking unhungrily at the lunch she had prepared.
"What’s wrong, Rose?"
Rose shrugged, unable to share her suspicions
with her mother just yet. If she was indeed having another baby, Ruth would be
thrilled, but Rose wasn’t completely sure that her suspicions were correct, and
she didn’t want to get her mother’s hopes up—or have her spread the word—before
she was sure.
"Nothing. I’m fine. Really."
Ruth looked at her daughter suspiciously,
then smiled as she watched Rose pushing her food around on her plate.
"You’re in a family way again, aren’t you?"
"Mother!" Rose exploded, then
pushed her plate away, knowing that her reaction had just confirmed her
mother’s suspicions. "I don’t know. Maybe."
"You take naps when your daughter does,
refuse to eat in the morning, and you’re developing a bulge in your middle. It
looks pretty sure to me."
Rose’s mouth dropped open as she stared at
her mother, blushing. "Mother, any number of things could make me tired
and ill, and the bulge in my middle is fat!"
"Fat? With the way you eat, Rose? I
think I’m going to be a grandmother again."
"Mother, please. I think I might be
expecting again, but I have to go to the doctor to confirm it. I have an
appointment this afternoon, so I’ll need you to watch Jane. But whatever I find
out, don’t tell John. If there’s anything to tell him, I’ll do it."
"You’re worried about his reaction,
aren’t you? Rose, from what you’ve told me, he comes from a good-sized family
in London’s East End, and you all lived in the slums in New York after getting
off the Carpathia. Surely the both of you know how to economize and make the
best of things."
Rose crossed her arms, leaning back in her
chair. "Yes, Mother, we do, but there are some things we don’t want to
have to sacrifice, like Nadia’s college education, or Christopher’s, when he
finishes high school."
"Things may be better by then, and don’t
you have most of your money saved away?"
"Most of it, yes. But if this economic
depression goes on for too long, we may need it just to survive. You know as
well as I do how hard times are out there."
"I imagine you’ll survive. After all,
you’re a movie star, even if you aren’t so famous as you were a few years ago.
Someone will always give you work, even if you have to beg for Mary’s help. And
if Nadia has to leave college, she can always go back later. There are schools
that cater to older students, I am given to understand. I thought of enrolling
in one myself after you disappeared, but I didn’t have the money. Your own
husband went to college at a much later age than most. The same thing goes for
Christopher. You’ll survive, whatever happens."
Rose stared at Ruth, acknowledging the truth
of her words but unable to believe who she was hearing it from. "This from
the woman who tried to marry me off to a wealthy man to improve her own
fortunes."
She regretted her words as soon as she said
them, but Ruth did not appear angry. "That was a long time ago, Rose. I’ve
changed since then. I’ll admit that I still prefer luxury, but I won’t ruin
your life to get it. Besides, you’re much better off with John than you would
have been with Cal—he’s still alive and still solvent."
"Mother!" Rose sighed, tossing her
napkin on the table. "It’s not wealth that I care about. It never was. I
don’t care whether I live in a mansion or a shack, or anything in between. But
I do care about having a roof over my children’s heads, and food and clothing
for them. I don’t want to make sacrifices at their expense."
"And that’s why the idea of having
another baby upsets you, isn’t it? You’re afraid that it will tip the balance
the wrong way, allowing your children to suffer." Ruth paused, pushing away
her now-empty plate. "Rose, I don’t know if you remember, but even when
you were a little girl you liked to figure out how things worked, how to make
one object useful for something else. There you were, in the lap of luxury,
with everything a child could want, but if you couldn’t find something, or
didn’t have it, you would make do with something else. It aggravated me no end,
but you never did outgrow it. You’ll always be able to make do, whatever
happens."
"I do remember, Mother, and I can take
anything thrown at me in stride. I’ve lived from hand-to-mouth many times in my
adult life, and managed to keep the children going at the same time, but I’ve
seen so many people who weren’t so lucky—and there’s even more of them now. So
much unemployment, families on relief, long lines at soup kitchens—we can do it
if we have to, but it’s a hard life."
"There isn’t much you can do if you are
going to have another child. I know you, Rose. However much it might worry you,
you’ll make the best of it."
Rose didn’t reply. There were things that a
woman could do about an unwanted child, or one that she couldn’t care for, but
apparently Ruth didn’t know about them. Besides, such things were illegal and
very dangerous—after her years in Hollywood, she knew just how dangerous such
things could be—but she doubted that she could bring herself to abort her own
child. Each of her children was precious to her, whether they had been born to
her or brought to her through her marriage to John, and if she was indeed
expecting another, she would love and care for it as she had the others, no
matter what their circumstances became.