THE CALVERTS
Chapter Seven

June, 1912

The arrangement with Rose as caretaker for Mary and Nadia went well. Despite the fact that she had little previous experience with children, Rose soon learned how to care for them, and John no longer worried about their welfare when he went to work each day.

Mary adored Rose, even when Rose made her do things that she didn’t like, such as bathing, eating with utensils instead of her fingers, and holding hands when they were crossing the street. Nadia was initially frightened of her new caretaker, but soon grew used to her, just as Rose has predicted. She still didn’t speak, and clung to those familiar to her, especially in situations that were unfamiliar or frightening.

John and Rose tolerated Nadia’s clinginess, and Rose often found that Nadia was easier to care for than Mary, who had a stubborn independent streak. Nadia never objected to holding hands, and often clung to Rose instead of going off to play when she took them to a local park.

Mary was not so tolerant of Nadia’s clinginess, and on more than one occasion sent her adopted sister running in tears to Rose or John. The adults understood the reason for the little girl’s fears, but Mary, at two years old, lacked the maturity of the adults, and made no secret of the fact that she wanted to play by herself at times when Nadia wanted to be with her, and would screech furiously at the other girl for interrupting her games. She tried slapping her once, but John promptly spanked her and sent her to her room with nothing to play with.

John had anticipated that any trouble would come from Rose’s inexperience with children--he had learned that she had grown up as an only child, and had had almost no experience with children outside her own age group--or from Mary’s two-year-old independence, or Nadia’s fearfulness. But Rose handled the task with aplomb, sweet-talking Mary into doing what she wanted, or forcing her to do so when the child balked at important issues, especially those regarding her safety. She also worked constantly to bring Nadia out of her shell, talking to her, even when she was certain the little girl couldn’t understand her, encouraging her to play with other children, and trying to get Nadia to tell her what she wanted or needed, even if it was only through gestures. She listened quietly at the rare times when Nadia would whisper a few words in her own language, sitting in a corner of the main room with Allegro curled up beside her. Allegro had taken strongly to Nadia, and he was the only one she would ever speak aloud to, and even then it was only in a whisper.

It was only after a few weeks had passed that John had encountered, not a problem, but a worry, with his children’s caretaker. Rose was ill, though she often felt just fine, and tried to hide the fact that she wasn’t feeling well at other times. She frequently refused breakfast, finding some task to do in another room of the apartment, looking sick at the very smell of food. At times, she would hurry from the apartment to the bathroom shared by several families on their floor, though she always felt better later, and ate voraciously. When the toddlers went down for their afternoon naps, she joined them, grateful for the rest, and sometimes fell asleep shortly after the children were put to bed for the night.

At first, John had feared that she had caught some contagious disease, one that she might pass on to the children, but after a few days he decided that his initial idea had been wrong, and began to get an inkling of what the real problem was. After about three weeks, he insisted that Rose see a doctor.

Rose had refused at first, insisting that she fine, looking as though she were afraid that the doctor would find something wrong with her, but when John insisted that she either see a doctor, or find a new job, she did as he asked.

That evening, after the children had gone to sleep, John and Rose sat at the small, scarred table in the main room, Rose folding and unfolding a pile of the children’s freshly laundered clothes nervously.

"Did you find out what was wrong?" John asked her after a moment.

"Yes." Rose ducked her head, suddenly finding a missing button on Nadia’s dress extraordinarily interesting.

"What is it?" He already had a fair idea of what it was, but he wanted Rose to confirm it.

She finally looked at him, her face set, as though daring him to put her out on the street after he heard her news.

"I’m pregnant," she told him bluntly. "The baby is due in January."

John nodded, dismayed but not surprised. Having outlived two wives, he recognized the visible symptoms of pregnancy, but he had half-hoped that he was wrong about Rose. She wasn’t married, and he knew what the neighbors would think, how they would gossip. He wasn’t the father of her baby; he had never laid a hand on her, but they wouldn’t believe that.

"Who is the father?" he asked her, equally bluntly.

She stared back at him. "That’s none of your business."

"I think it is."

"It isn’t."

"You do know who he is, don’t you?"

Rose’s face reddened. She gave him an angry look. "Yes," she told him tersely.

"Your ex-fiance?"

"No!" Rose told him sharply, then clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing that she had said more than she intended. John had also been on the Titanic, in third class, and he might well know about Jack, might have seen them dancing together that night in steerage. If he remembered that, he might put the pieces of the puzzle together, and realize who her baby’s father was. Rose winced at the idea. She wasn’t ready to talk about Jack; she didn’t know if she would ever be ready.

"So it was the other one, then? The one you were dancing with that night?" He couldn’t remember the young man’s name.

Rose glared at him, irritated that he had figured it out so easily. "I’m his widow," she lied. "We were married the last night on Titanic, and then he died in the sinking."

John looked at her levelly. "You weren’t married to him. You just took his name. I saw your fiance walking around looking for you on the Carpathia." He remembered that much.

"I’m his widow," Rose told him firmly, her voice even and steady. "That’s all you need to know. That’s what the neighbors will learn if they ask questions."

"They’ll ask questions. They already wonder why I have an unmarried woman living in my apartment."

"If I’m still here."

"Are you planning on leaving?"

"That’s up to you." Rose looked at him. "This is your apartment, and those are your children. I will understand, of course, if you wish for me to leave."

John looked at the table, thinking. What would he do with another child in the apartment? They were already crowded with the two adults, the two toddlers, and the dog. What would you have done if Miriam had lived? his conscience nagged him. If Miriam had lived, there might have been another child on the way, and even if she had lost the baby she was carrying, there was a good possibility that she would have conceived again within a short time. Would Rose be able to support her baby on the three dollars a week he paid her? He might be able to afford to give her few cents more, but that was all. Of course, the baby wouldn’t be born until January, and she probably wouldn’t have to buy food for the child for several months after that.

"Do you want me to leave?" Rose’s voice interrupted his thoughts. "If you do, I need to know now, so that I’ll have time to try to find a job before my condition becomes visible."

John didn’t answer her. Instead, he asked, "Where is...Mr. Dawson?"

Rose stared at him. "He’s dead. I told you that. He died in the sinking."

A look of grief came over her face, and John could have kicked himself for asking her that. Of course, she had told him that--at the same time she had said she was his widow. He hadn’t believed her, but seeing the near tearful expression on her face, he realized that she was telling the truth. But what to do about her?

He knew what Miriam would have done. She would have allowed Rose to stay there, standing with her against society’s condemnation. He could almost sense her watching him, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for him to make the right decision. What right did he have to put Rose out on the streets? Miriam had been a bastard, and he still loved her in spite of it. How could he condemn Rose for the situation she was in? He didn’t why she had done what she had done, or why she had abandoned her fiance, or how she had wound up living on her own in New York City, and he knew that she wasn’t going to tell him.

Aside from that, he realized that Mary and Nadia were already attached to her, and after the trauma of the sinking, and the loss of their mothers, it would be cruel to suddenly send Rose away, leaving them alone or with strangers during the day. Nadia was beginning to come out of herself, and Mary adored her.

He sighed, his mind made up. "You can stay," he told her, "if you want to."

"Thank you for your kindness." Her voice was sarcastic.

"Look, Rose, I can’t say that I approve of the situation you’re in, but the girls love you, and I’m not going to tear their lives apart again by sending you away."

It was on the tip of Rose’s tongue to tell him to find someone else to care for his children, but she knew that he was right. Mary and Nadia had grown attached to her, and she wouldn’t simply leave them if she didn’t have to.

"I’ll stay," she told him quietly. "You can tell the nosy neighbors that I’m your cousin or some such thing if they ask. In my heart, I am a widow, and I will tell people as much--if they ask."

"How are you going to convince people that you’re a widow? You don’t have a ring."

"A woman has to do something to stay alive when her husband is gone and she is alone. Even if it means selling her wedding ring to survive. I’m obviously not a wealthy woman."

John nodded, still thoughtful. He was concerned about the gossip that would undoubtedly surround them, but he hoped that Rose’s story would quiet the wagging tongues. For the sake of Mary and Nadia, he had no choice but to keep things as they were.

Chapter Eight
Stories