THE CALVERTS
Chapter Nine

January 14, 1913

John put the last bite of his breakfast in his mouth and pushed himself back from the table, heading for the door to go to work. Mary and Nadia waved good-bye to him, their little voices chorusing as they shouted to him.

Rose set about cleaning off the table as soon as John’s footsteps had faded away. She moved a bit awkwardly, her swollen middle making it hard to carry the stacks of dishes. At her direction, Mary and Nadia cleared their own dishes from the table and brought them over to the counter, where Rose took them and began to wash them.

Her time was near, Rose knew. It had been exactly nine months to the night she had pulled Jack into the back seat of the Renault with her, and the baby could be born any time. One of the women in the next building had been a midwife in the old country, and she had explained to Rose what to expect. Rose wasn’t frightened, not exactly, but the prospect of childbirth did make her nervous.

Rose shrugged off her thoughts as she finished washing the dishes and put them away. The baby would come when it was ready; she had no control over it. She wished that Jack could see the child, but pushed that thought away, too. He was gone; there was no bringing him back, and she would love and care for their child alone.

When the dishes were done, she led Mary and Nadia to their room, where she bundled them up in coats, scarves, and gloves against the chill January weather. Over the months that she had been caring for them, their morning walk had become a ritual, on that they engaged in rain or shine. She would take the children shopping with her when need be, or visit with other women who had young children, or walk with them to the park to play. Every day, she pointed out all the sights and sounds of the city around them, helping the girls grow accustomed to their new home.

This morning, the weather was cold but clear, so Rose took them to the neighborhood park to play. The girls skipped along at her side, chattering to each other and stopping every few feet to examine something interesting. Mary, at three, considered herself to be an expert on everything, bossing Nadia around and trying to command Allegro, neither of whom were particularly inclined to listen to her. Rose and John had estimated Nadia to be a bit younger than Mary, and John had chosen April 15--the day he taken Nadia into his care--as her birthday.

When they reached the park, Rose let Allegro off of his leash, and he followed the girls, barking, to a flat stretch of still-white snow. He ran through it, leaving footprints, as the two small girls slipped and slid in the cold powder. Initially, both Mary and Nadia had feared the cold, the snow, and the ice of the New York winter, remembering subconsciously the ordeal when the Titanic had sank. Both had ended up in the water, Nadia for just a short time before a woman in the lifeboat she had fallen from had picked her up, Mary for a longer time, after Miriam had thrown her in the direction of the boat in hopes that she would find a place in it and survive.

Neither girl consciously remembered much of what had happened, but Rose did. The memories of the little girls were not yet developed enough for them to consciously remember the disaster in more than bits and pieces, but Rose remembered it as though it had been the night before--the bitterly cold water, the screams of the people slowly freezing to death, her own sorrow as she had broken the ice that had frozen her hand to Jack’s and watched him sink into the water.

In spite of her memories of that terrible night, Rose knew that the only way to get over her fear of the cold, and to help the children overcome their fears, was to confront it. As winter had approached, and the weather had grown progressively colder, Rose had continued taking them out for walks in the morning chill, showing them ice-encrusted puddles, and later, drifts of snow. Neither girl had wanted to play in the snow at first, afraid of the cold. Rose had pushed down her own dread of the cold and shown them how much fun snow could be to play with, showing them how to build a snowman and how to throw snowballs. Neither child had much experience with the snow; it rarely snowed in London, and seldom lasted long when it did snow, so Mary didn’t know what snow was, and Nadia had originally come from the Middle East, a land known for its deserts. Rose, however, had grown up in Philadelphia, and was familiar with snow, and what could be done with it.

The three of them set about building a snowman, while the dog ran around, sniffing and yapping at passers-by, and trying to see what the humans were doing. He finally curled up in a cleared space, insulted, after Mary shoved him away for trying to sit on the snowball she was making.

Rose laughed at the antics of the children and dog as she helped the girls lift the balls of snow on top of each other, constructing a short, lop-sided snowman, which had to be put back together after Nadia slipped and fell against it, knocking it over.

It was late in the morning, when they were searching for sticks and pebbles to make the face of the snowman, that Rose felt the first pains.

She ignored them at first. For several weeks, she had been having occasional pains, false labor, that never progressed. She had been alarmed initially, fearing that something was wrong, but as the weeks passed and she continued to carry her child, she had relaxed, realizing that there was no need to worry.

After a time, however, as Rose and the children were walking home, she realized that these pains were not going to stop. They were coming at closer intervals, tightening around her back and midsection, and she realized that her baby was indeed ready to make an appearance. Her pulse jumped with nervous excitement at the realization, and she hurried the children the rest of the way back to the apartment.

*****

When they got home, Rose puttered around, making lunch for the girls and straightening up the main room. She ate nothing herself, her appetite gone.

"Aunt Wosie? Why you not eat?" Mary asked, watching her straighten up the room.

"I...I’m just not very hungry right now, Mary," she told the child. Her excitement and nervousness over the coming birth, combined with the contractions of her muscles as her body prepared to deliver the child, had robbed her of her appetite.

Mary seemed to accept this, though she still watched curiously as Rose occasionally stopped, holding her distended stomach, waiting for a pain to end.

When the girls had finished eating, Rose put them down for their naps, laying down on her own bed and trying to rest. She hadn’t washed the lunch dishes, but that could wait. She stretched out, trying to find a comfortable position.

About an hour later, Nadia awoke, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She saw Rose lying on her bed, her arms wrapped around her middle.

"Aunt Wose? Wha’s wrong?"

Rose opened her eyes to see Nadia looking at her worriedly. Making an effort to smile, she sat up, relieved that pain had ended, and picked the little girl up off her bed, setting her beside her.

"I’m getting ready to have the baby, Nadia," she explained, not expecting the child to understand.

"I wanna see stork."

Rose looked over to see that Mary had awakened and was looking at them excitedly. John had finally told her that babies were brought by storks to quiet her questions about where babies came from. Ever since, Mary had been hoping to see the stork when Rose’s baby was born.

Rose thought for a moment, trying to decide how to explain to Mary that she couldn’t see the stork without explaining where babies really came from. Mary was a curious child, always asking why, and she wouldn’t be satisfied with being told that there was no stork. She would want to know why, and then the questions would start again.

"Only the baby’s mother can see the stork," Rose told her. "It’s invisible to everyone else. You’ll be able to see the baby when it comes, though."

"When it come?"

"Soon."

"I wanna see baby now."

Rose sighed. "You can’t, Mary. You can’t see it until it’s born--"

"Wanna see it now!" Mary screeched and pounded on her mattress, kicking her feet angrily. "Now! Now! Now!"

"Mary, that’s enough," Rose warned her. She had no patience with Mary’s tantrums right now.

"Yeah, shut up, Ma-wy," Nadia told her, standing on Rose’s bed and giving the other girl a superior look. Mary was in trouble, and not her.

"Nadia, that’s not nice," Rose told her, making her sit back down.

Surprisingly, Mary quieted, looking angrily at Nadia. "Dumb Nada," she mumbled, sliding off the bed and heading for the main room.

Rose set Nadia on the floor and followed Mary out, the younger child trailing after her.

*****

For the rest of the afternoon, Rose supervised the children. Mary soon forgave Nadia for telling her to shut up, and the two played companionably with a set of wooden blocks that John had given them for Christmas. Rose washed the dishes and dusted the room between contractions, anxious for something to pass the time.

Finally, she sat down in one of chairs, watching the girls play, waiting as the contractions grew closer and closer together. Around six o’clock, she forced herself to get up and prepare a meal for John, Mary, and Nadia, though the pains were growing longer and harder to stand through.

At 6:30, John walked in the door, home from another day at the factory. The girls ran to greet him, Mary shouting out the news before Nadia could beat her to it.

"Daddy, Aunt Wosie waiting for stork!"

John looked inquiringly at Rose, wondering what was happening.

"The baby’s coming," Rose told him, turning from the stove. Another contraction hit her at that moment, and she grimaced, holding her belly until the pain had passed. "Would you please go find Mrs. Anderson?"

"The midwife?"

Rose nodded. "She lives in the building to our left, in apartment 3R. She already agreed to help me when the baby is born."

"How long have you been in labor?" John asked her.

"Since about mid-morning."

"Why didn’t you get her earlier?"

"I was watching the children," Rose pointed out. "Besides, there’s time. It will be a while before the baby is born, I think."

Shaking his head, John left to find the midwife. Marian Anderson was originally from a small village in northern England, and had been a well-respected midwife there. When she and her husband had come to the United States, she had continued practicing among the neighborhood women, charging them much less than a doctor would have, but providing them with decent care, not always available to the poorer women of the area. She sometimes bragged about how few babies had been lost under her care, and in an area with a relatively high infant mortality rate, that was something that people respected, and she had no shortage of work.

Hoping that John would hurry back with Mrs. Anderson, Rose gave the children their dinner, working around the ever more frequent contractions.

*****

John returned about fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Anderson walking beside him, a bag of instruments in her hand. She ushered Rose into the small bedroom she shared with the children, while John finished feeding them and cleaned up.

Escorting the children into his own room, he got them ready for bed. Rose had brought out their nightgowns before settling down to await the birth of her child, so he got them changed and tucked them into his bed, sitting down beside them to tell them a bedtime story. The bedtime story was a nightly ritual, usually conducted in their own room while Rose took a break from the girls’ constant demands.

Mary and Nadia were distracted this night, frightened by the occasional sounds coming from the other room--Rose crying out in pain, the midwife trying to soothe her. They paid little attention to the story he told them, though it was one of their favorites, Little Red Riding Hood. When he got to the part where the wolf gobbled Red Riding Hood up, Mary usually squealed with delight, while Nadia hid under the covers as he pretended to pounce on them. Tonight, however, they were too distracted by the activity in the next room to pay attention.

John finally gave up, tucking them into bed and giving them each a kiss on the forehead, telling them to go to sleep. Five minutes after he left the room, Mary came out, saying that she was thirsty, and soon Nadia followed, saying that she was scared. Finally acknowledging that they were not going to sleep as long as they were waiting for Rose’s baby to be born, he set them both in his lap, trying to distract them with more stories.

After half-listening to him for a few minutes, Mary wanted to know what was going on in the other room.

"Wha’s wong with Aunt Wosie, Daddy?"

"She’s having a baby, Mary. Sometimes, when women have babies, it hurts."

"What about stork? Doesn’t stork bwing baby?"

"Sort of." John thought for a moment, then explained, "You know how she has that big tummy, and the baby keeps kicking inside her?"

Mary nodded.

"Well, the baby has to come out of her, and the stork is going to help."

Mary screwed her face up, trying to picture this. Then she nodded, satisfied that she knew the answer. "The stork opens her tummy with i’s beak, and takes out the baby. Wight, Daddy?"

John shuddered at the mental picture of a stork opening a woman’s abdomen to deliver a baby, but didn’t correct the child. "That’s right, Mary. The stork helps get the baby out."

*****

Rose gasped, her body drenched in sweat. It was well past midnight, and she had been in labor for hours. The pains were so close together as to allow almost no break, but the baby was not yet born. Mrs. Anderson examined her repeatedly, assuring her that she was doing fine, and that the baby would be born before long.

Just after two o’clock in the morning, Rose sensed a change in her body, and, at the midwife’s direction, commenced pushing. It was hard work, but she continued to bear down, breathing hard and crying out in pain, as she struggled to bring her child into the world.

At 2:20, Rose half sat up, giving one last push. The baby slid from her body, announcing its arrival with a wail as it took its first breath.

Mrs. Anderson cut the umbilical cord, cleaning the baby and checking it over. "You have a healthy son," she told Rose, giving her the baby. "He has a mass of hair on his head and a strong set of lungs."

Rose took the baby, noticing the time on the midwife’s pocket watch. 2:20 AM. How fitting, she thought. Her baby had been born exactly nine months after the disaster that had taken his father.

Cradling the newborn close, she examined him, counting the tiny fingers and toes, smoothing the thicket of pale blonde hair on the infant’s head. He opened his eyes for a moment before returning to crying, and Rose saw that his eyes were a deep shade of blue, just like his father’s. Thank you, Jack, she thought silently. We have a beautiful, healthy baby boy, who looks just like you. I promise, I will do my best for him.

"What are you going to name him?" Mrs. Anderson asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Rose considered that for only a moment. "Christopher Jack Dawson," she told her, looking at the tiny boy in her arms. Christopher, for his maternal grandfather, and Jack, for his father. Neither man would ever see his namesake, but she had known when she looked at the baby what his name should be.

*****

Once Mrs. Anderson had Rose cleaned up and settled into bed, she allowed the other members of the household to see her and the child. Mary and Nadia had finally fallen asleep in John’s arms, but had awakened at the sound of the baby’s cry, and were eager to see the new member of their "family." As soon as they were allowed, they dashed into the room to see their caretaker and her new baby.

John followed more slowly, seeing the girls standing beside Rose’s bed, staring in fascination at the newborn. Rose was sitting up, several pillows propped up behind her, holding the infant in her arms. She was dressed in a warm, clean nightgown, looking exhausted but content. At her nod of consent, he lifted the children up onto her bed to see the infant more clearly.

They were both in awe of the tiny baby, reaching out to touch the little face and hands. Christopher turned his head when Nadia touched his cheek, his mouth working. One tiny fist curled around Mary’s fingers as she touched the infant’s hands.

"Wha’s his name?" Mary asked, tugging on Rose’s sleeve to get her attention. Rose was growing drowsy.

"His name is Christopher," Rose told her. "Christopher Dawson."

"Chistoph," Mary repeated, trying to pronounce the name.

"You can call him Chris," Rose told her, trying to make it easier to pronounce.

"Kiss," Mary replied, taking her fingers away from the baby.

"Cwis," Nadia added, giggling as the baby got one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked on it. "Funny."

"He likes you," Rose told the girls, sitting up a bit more and cradling the newborn against her chest.

"He does?" Mary shook the tiny fist. "I’m Mary, and this is Nada."

Rose laughed at the little girl’s imitation of adult greetings. "He can’t talk yet, Mary, but he will soon. Will you and Nadia help him learn?"

"Uh-huh." Nadia slid down from the bed as John came over to take a closer look at the baby. "Daddy, look!"

"Yes, Nadia. He’s cute, isn’t he?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now, it’s time for you and Mary to go to bed."

"No!" Mary whined.

"The baby will still be here in the morning," Rose assured her. "He’s going to sleep in here with us." She pointed to the second-hand cradle she had bought and set up for the baby.

"Okay." Mary yawned tiredly, allowing John to tuck her into bed. "’Night, Aunt Wosie. ‘Night, Kiss."

"Yeah," Nadia added. "Night-night."

It was only minutes before the two little girls, worn out by the long, exciting day, were sound asleep. John sat down on the edge of Rose’s bed, looking more closely at the infant.

The now-sleeping baby had unruly blonde hair, a little lighter than Miriam’s had been. Looking at the infant, he couldn’t help but wonder what a child of Miriam and himself would have looked like. With Miriam’s pale blonde hair and blue eyes, a baby of theirs might have looked very much like this one.

Rose seemed to sense what he was thinking, for she reached out and patted his hand, looking at him understandingly. She, too, had lost a loved one to the Titanic, but she had his child to remember him by.

John took the baby from a very sleepy Rose, tucking him into his cradle and rocking him until he fell back asleep. Rose was asleep by the time he looked up, and he felt a surprising wave of tenderness as he tucked the blankets up around her chin.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the sleeping group. As his eyes passed over Rose, he thought, for the first time in a long time, about her last name. Dawson. Miriam’s birth father had also been named Dawson, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some relation between the father of Rose’s child, and Miriam’s father. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed infant looked so like Miriam, he could have been her son, and remembered that the young man Rose had taken up with, whose name she had taken, looked very much the same.

He wondered, briefly, if they might be related, and thought about questioning Rose to see if she knew anything about the family of her young man, but he knew that she wouldn’t answer him. She seemed to want to keep her past a secret, and he could no more make her tell him what she knew than he could make the speechless infant talk. Any connection between Miriam and Christopher’s father would remain a secret, something only hinted at in his mind.

Chapter Ten
Stories