A FIRE IN THE WIND
Chapter Seventeen
"Miss Bukater? Miss Bukater?"
Rose was lying somewhere, half-asleep. She
had forgotten what had happened by the oak tree with Allison. She opened her
eyes for a second, but quickly closed them after taking in too much light.
"Where am I?" Rose started out,
bewildered. "What happened?"
"Rose, you fainted. You're ill with the
flu."
Rose recognized her mother's voice and once
again tried to open her eyes. She was lying in her bed, still in her dress.
Around her stood her mother, Cal, and the family doctor, Dr. Kaplan.
"Miss Bukater, you do have a mild case
of the flu. I want you to stay in bed and get as much rest as possible. I don't
want you to eat anything just yet. Your system won't be able to take in food
for a few days. If you get very thirsty you may drink something. Just avoid
things containing caffeine. With a few days rest you should be feeling better.
For now just try your best to get some sleep," Dr. Kaplan said, in an
authoritative tone of voice.
Rose nodded, noticing that she was now too
sick and fatigued to say anything.
"Good," Dr. Kaplan said, exiting
the room with Ruth close behind him.
"Sweetpea? Are you all right? You have
been out for quite a while," Cal said, trying to sound indulgent.
"What time is it?" Rose asked,
having trouble mouthing out the words.
"8:30," Cal replied, coolly.
"You've been out for nearly seven hours, ever since the Conner's party. I
believe you and Allison were taking a walk."
"I--I don't remember," Rose
replied, perplexed.
Cal nodded. "How strange. Well, you'd
better get some rest. You look absolutely fatigued. Good night."
Cal got up and left Rose alone in her room.
Did Allison and her take a walk? Rose couldn't remember. She remembered the
beginning of the party, but remembered nothing of Allison at the party.
Rose was much too tired and sick to think
straight, so she somehow managed to get out of bed and put on her nightgown. It
was a difficult task and took twice as long as it normally would. Rose's body
was frail and weak; she could hardly make it to the other end of her room. Rose
was relieved when she was underneath the sheets of her bed, ready to go to
sleep.
That night, Rose's head played through a
memory that was long since forgotten. It was a joyous memory of Rose and her
father, which had been stored deep in Rose's mind.
*****
Rose, at age six, lay on her bed, her father
sitting beside her. They had just finished reading The Little Mermaid,
by Hans Christian Anderson. Outside the rain beat softly in rhythm like a snare
drum.
"I don't understand it," Rose let
out softly, but firmly.
Jon Bukater laughed cheerily. "What
don't you get, my little Rose?"
"Why did the mermaid leave her whole
world behind just for a prince?" Rose asked, still bewildered.
Jon gently stroked his daughter's red curls.
"Sometimes you have to do crazy things for love. Sometimes leaving
everything behind you, just for one thing you have passion for, is the
answer."
Rose was still confused. "But I don't
want to turn into sea foam like she did."
Jon kissed Rose good night on the cheek.
"Well, she was willing to take the risk. Sometimes love doesn't work out,
but other times it does."
Rose smiled at her father, grateful for the
answer.
"Now, you had better get to sleep before
your mother finds out I let you stay up this late." Jon stood up, sighing.
"Good night, my Rose."
*****
"Sweetpea? Sweetpea?"
Rose woke up to hear the sound of Cal's
voice. He had broken her dream. She opened her eyes to see the whole room
spinning. Her flu was getting worse.
"Cal?" Rose replied softly.
"I'm sorry to have to wake you,"
Cal said, lacking emotion. "Your mother wanted to see you. It's rather
late in the day. I'd say about 5:15. How are you feeling?"
"It's gotten worse. I can't see
straight. Everything's spinning," Rose replied, more open than usual.
"I'm sure you'll be feeling better in a
few days. I'll go send for your mother," Cal said, getting up to exit
Rose's room.
Five minutes later, Ruth came in Rose's room,
looking quite concerned about her daughter's health. "Rose, are you all
right?" The question was rhetorical, because Ruth continued to talk.
"I don't think you've slept that long in years. I told Joanna to come give
you some medicine. Hopefully, it will make you feel better. You had quite a
fall. Poor Allison was scared to death."
Rose nodded. "I hope she's all right. I
don't remember going for a walk with her at all."
"It's to be expected, dear."
Joanna, coming in through the door,
interrupted the two. She came in with a bottle of medicine, a spoon, and a
glass of water. Joanna diligently poured the medicine into the spoon and gave
it to Rose with the water, and then hastily left the room.
"Well, I'll let you get some rest,"
Ruth said, noticing Rose was beginning to look tired again. "You must be
in good shape for the wedding. It's only a week away."
Rose cringed at her mother's last comment,
although Ruth didn't notice. Rose once again fell asleep, and was haunted by
visions of her past.
*****
Eight-year-old Rose DeWitt Bukater sat alone
in the corner of the parlor, dressed in black. Around the room were family and
friends of her father, talking low to one another.
Usually, Rose would be swinging her feet back
and forth restlessly, but not this time. Tears softly dripped down her cheeks
as she tried to comfort herself as best she could. Rose didn't want to make a
big production out of crying, for she didn't want people coming up to her. She
wasn't in the mood to socialize, and didn't know if she would ever be in the
mood again.
Unfortunately, her grandmother, Mary Bukater,
came up to her. Mary was Jon's mother and was missing him as much as Rose,
although she didn't show it. She took a seat next to Rose. "You know he
wouldn't want to see you like this," Rose's grandmother began. "Poor
child. You're only eight years old, yet your mother insists you be in mourning.
It's not right."
Rose continued to look at the ground, crying
as if she had not heard a word.
"He wanted you to have this, " said
Mary, handing Rose a letter with her name printed on it. "I'm so sorry you
didn't get top see him before his death, but a hospital is no place for a
child. Too…depressing. He wouldn't want you to see him the way he was. So he
wrote this to say good-bye."
Rose was once again left alone with her
thoughts and her father's note. She opened the envelope diligently, making sure
not to rip it. She unfolded the note, reluctant to read it. Rose didn't feel
ready to say good-bye, but her eyes took in the dreadful words anyway. It said:
My Rose--
I'm sorry it had to end so soon. I wasn't
ready to die yet. Keep me in your memory and remember everything we did
together. Please listen to your mother. I'm sorry that I can't be there to protect
you from her, but it's time for you to grow up. It's time for you to listen to
her. I want you to promise me to live a full and accomplished life. Life
doesn't have to turn out the way your mother says it does. Please try to be a
good girl, though. I know it's hard sometimes, but you have to try your best.
Remember that I'm looking down on you. I
wish I could have seen you get married, meet my grandchildren, and tell you
what a beautiful woman you have become. You'll have to rely on your mother for
that. I'll always be in your heart, and you'll always be in mine. Life is a
precious gift. You only get it once. Don't waste yours. I didn't waste mine. I
helped make a wonderful daughter, you. Thank you, Rose. I love you.
Rose read the note over four or five times,
and then put it back in the envelope. It was the first time in her life that
she felt utterly alone. Her mother had basically ignored her since the time of
Jon's death, and Rose didn't think that her mother was capable of giving love.
*****
Rose sat up in bed, breathing heavily. Sweat
poured down her face as she gasped for breath. Rose hated thinking about her
father's death, but she couldn't bear to relive it. The dream had seemed real,
way too real to be a dream, really. It discomforted Rose, immensely.
Everything, from the smell of the parlor, to the feel of her grandmother's
touch, felt exactly the same.
Rose turned on the light, trying to comfort
herself. She felt awful. Everything was spinning faster then it was before.
Rose began to get a headache, so she turned the lamp off. She knew she had to
get back to sleep, even if the chances of having another nightmare were
inevitable.
*****
Twelve-year-old Rose DeWitt Bukater jogged
into the front hall of her home, gasping for breath. She was so tired that she
didn't notice the figure of her mother standing in front of her.
"Rose?" Ruth started off in a
nagging voice.
Rose jumped at the sound of her mother's
voice. She thought she could sneak into the house without her mother seeing
her, but she was wrong.
Ruth shook her head in disgust. "You had
better had a pretty good excuse for coming in here a half hour late, young
lady. Why are you out of breath? Have you been running?"
Rose looked down at the rug. She had warned
Allison that if they went to the park she wouldn't be able to make it home on
time. "I'm--sorry. Allison and I talked for a while after school and we
lost track of time."
Ruth was furious at her daughter. She gave
Rose a mortified stare, and she continued with her lecture. "Does that explain
running across streets like some--common girl? You're acting like such a
tomboy."
"Mother, I am really sorry. I shouldn't
have run," Rose replied, uncertain how to answer her mother.
"My God, Rose. When are you going to
grow up? You're twelve years old. Isn't that old enough to stop acting like a
little girl?" Ruth sighed.
Rose moved her hands around, fidgeting, and
once again looked towards the ground, intimidated by her mother's words.
"I won't do it again. I promise," Rose said softly.
"Good," Ruth said, cooling down a
bit. "If you intend to grow up and marry well, I suggest you stop acting
this way now!"