Rose stirred uncomfortably in her sleep, her hand moving to her throat. Over the past few weeks, she had been awakened numerous times by an overwhelming feeling of nausea, forcing her out of bed when she would have preferred to still be sleeping.
The first few times it had happened, she had raced down the hall to the bathroom, but if someone else was inside, or if the nausea was too overwhelming, she didn’t always make it there before she got sick. From the smell of the hallway and the stains on the floor, Rose knew that she wasn’t the only person to have ever gotten sick there, but it embarrassed her, and after the first couple of times that it happened, she had placed an old, bent pot under her bed so that she could easily get to it if she needed it.
This morning, she needed it. Retching miserably, she held her hair out of the way with one hand and waited for the spasms to stop. When she was finally done, she shoved the pot back under the bed and staggered dizzily to the sink to wash her mouth out.
The first rays of sunlight were appearing over the city, so she decided against going back to bed. Pulling out the mirror she had bought secondhand, she examined her pale face, trying to push her niggling worries aside.
When she had gotten sick the first time, she had assumed that it was because of her lack of skill as a cook. The previous evening’s meal had come out half-burned and half-raw, and with no other explanation for her illness, she had blamed the bad-tasting mess she had consumed the night before.
But it had happened again. And again, although her cooking skills had improved. And now, late in June, she was beginning to have an inkling of what the real problem was.
Rose sank down on her bed, the mirror still clutched in her hands. No one had told her much about the symptoms of pregnancy when she was growing up, but when she had become engaged to Cal, her mother had given her a very brief overview of what to expect. Ruth hadn’t gone into much detail—the whole subject embarrassed her, with her Victorian upbringing—but it had been enough for Rose to have a basic idea of what it would be like to be in the family way.
Rose pulled her knees up to her chest and stared blankly at the dark, plain wall across the room. Logically, she knew that she would be in a bad position if she were pregnant, with no husband and needing to support herself and the baby alone. She knew that she should hope that her suspicions were wrong.
But another part hoped that she was right, that was expecting a baby. She had loved Jack with all her heart, and the thought of having his child, of having a piece of him still in the world, filled her with joy. She knew that she shouldn’t hope for a such a thing, but she wanted it to be true. She wanted to have Jack’s baby.
Realizing that she had to get ready for work if she wanted to be there on time, Rose slowly got to her feet, holding onto the battered metal headboard for a moment as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Not for the first time, she wished that she could stay home, but if she didn’t go to work, she wouldn’t be paid, and then she might not be able to pay her rent, or buy food. So far, she was scraping by, but she couldn’t take any chances.
She needed to see a doctor to see if her suspicions were correct. That would cost money, but she would have to go in order to confirm her suspicions and make sure that her symptoms weren’t actually from illness. She admitted that she could wait to see if she was pregnant, wait to see if her stomach started to swell, but if it didn’t, if she was actually sick, she needed to get medicine to cure whatever the problem was before it got worse—because whatever it was, it wasn’t going away.
*****
It was early evening when Rose made her way to the small clinic located a few blocks from her work. She had carefully placed twenty dollars of Cal’s money in her bodice when she had left for work that morning, hoping that it would be enough to pay for the doctor’s visit. She had never had to pay for medical care herself when she was growing up—it had always been billed to her father, who had paid those bills and never said a word to his daughter about the cost. But as wealthy as they had been, the cost of the occasional doctor’s visit to their home hadn’t been worthy of much notice.
Rose entered the clinic a bit timidly, not sure what she would find there. The doctor she had seen when growing up had always come to her home to see her, and she had never had to go to a public place to see a doctor before. She wasn’t at all sure what to expect.
The walls of the clinic were painted a sterile white, and the wooden floorboards were scrubbed clean—or they had been before the patients that day had walked over it, leaving trails of dirt and some substances Rose did not care to identify. A desk was near the opposite wall from where she had come in, and a young woman sat there, her hands flying as she went over a pile of paperwork. Hard, straight-backed chairs sat in neat rows across the room. Two doors behind the desk led to what Rose presumed were the doctors’ offices.
Rose approached the receptionist slowly, not sure what to do. Did she have to make an appointment? Did she just say that she needed to see a doctor and then wait? How much did it cost?
"Excuse me." Rose cleared her throat, looking down at the receptionist.
It took a moment for the woman to realize she was there. Setting her pen aside, she looked up at Rose. "Yes? How may I help you?"
"I…I need to—to see a doctor. Do I need to make an appointment?"
"I’ll see if there’s time for the doctor to see you. We close at seven."
Rose nodded, knowing how late it was. It had been just after 6:30 when she had gotten off work, and it had taken her some time to walk to the clinic. Glancing at the small clock on the desk, she saw that it was almost seven o’clock.
"I’m sorry to be here so late—I was working…"
The receptionist nodded understandingly. "We don’t have anyone waiting ahead of you today, so you may be able to see him. Otherwise, you’ll have to make an appointment. Just give me a moment, and I’ll find out."
She disappeared through one of the doors. Rose sank down into one of the chairs, wrinkling her nose at the strong antiseptic smell of the clinic. When she had seen the doctor at home, she had only had to smell such odors if someone was very ill—like her father when he had died.
The receptionist came back out. "The doctor will see you in a few minutes," she told Rose. "I just need you to fill out this paperwork."
Rose took the clipboard and the papers, sitting back down in the chair to fill them out.
She found that she couldn’t be completely truthful on the forms—she had no intention of letting the doctor know that she was unmarried, or that she lived alone in the tenements. When the paperwork asked whether she was married, she said that she was, and that she lived with her husband. The clinic was a long way from her apartment building, and amongst the crowds in New York, no one need ever know that she wasn’t telling the truth.
When Rose returned the paperwork to the receptionist, she suddenly remembered that she had no idea how much the doctor’s visit would cost, or whether she had enough money for it.
"I…ah…" Rose stammered, not sure how to ask the question. Her mother had always taught her that it was rude to ask how much something cost.
"Yes?"
"Ah…how much is this going to cost? My husband and I haven’t much to spare…"
"Just the doctor’s visit is five dollars. If you need medicine, or hospitalization, it will cost more."
Five dollars! Rose remembered a time, not long ago, when she would have thought nothing of spending five dollars on something she didn’t need. Now, after working in a sweatshop and paying the rent on her tiny room, money seemed far more valuable. Five dollars was more than half of a week’s pay. It was no wonder that many of her neighbors and fellow workers chose not to go to a doctor until they were severely ill or injured—and by that time, it was often too late. Rose knew of two neighbors and a factory worker who had died since she had come to live in New York—and none had been over the age of fifty.
"You’ll need to pay it right away. We don’t have credit here."
Rose nodded. "All right." Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she quickly reached into her bodice and pulled out the twenty dollar bill. The receptionist raised an eyebrow when she saw it—few of the patients at the clinic had that much money at once—but she didn’t say anything. Taking the money, she quickly got out Rose’s change from a metal box in a drawer and handed it to her. Rose slipped the money into her bodice again, trying hard not to be obvious about where she was putting it. She couldn’t afford to have a pickpocket take it from her.
A few minutes later, a nurse called Rose into one of the back rooms. After taking her blood pressure and asking her a few questions, she left, and the doctor came into the room a short time later.
He consulted his papers. "Mrs. Dawson?" he asked, putting out a hand. "I’m Dr. Campbell."
Rose shook his hand, then climbed up on the examining table. Setting the paperwork aside, Dr. Campbell turned to look at her.
"What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Dawson?" He looked at her, noticing that she wore no ring on her left hand, but that in itself was not so unusual. Many poverty-stricken patients were too busy struggling to obtain the basic necessities of life to worry about such niceties as wedding rings.
Rose took a deep breath. "I…I think I may be in the family way." She blushed slightly, embarrassed to talk about it, even with a doctor.
"Do you have any symptoms of pregnancy?"
"Yes, I…I’ve been sick in the mornings since May, and I get dizzy sometimes, and…and I haven’t had my…uh…my monthly complaint since April. I…it might be my imagination…but my…uh…my husband wanted me to see a doctor to be sure. He’s hoping for children soon," she added, hoping that her story was believable.
Dr. Campbell just nodded. "You may be pregnant…but I want to examine you to be sure." He handed her an encompassing gown. "I’ll step out for a few minutes while you change into that, and then we’ll see whether you’re expecting or not."
*****
Rose hurried along the street, filled with an odd combination of euphoria and anxiety. Her suspicions had been correct. She was indeed carrying Jack’s child. The thought of having a baby, the child of the man she loved, though he would never see it, filled her with joy, but at the same time, she was anxious about the future.
She was a single woman, one who had never been married. It was no sin for a widow to have a child, but she wasn’t really a widow, no matter what she told people. She was soon to be an unmarried mother, one who would have to find a way to care for her child while earning a living. She wouldn’t have the luxury of staying at home with the baby, but she also didn’t have the money to hire a nursemaid for the child like she had had when she was young. There were some children working in the factory—illegally, since the passage of the child labor laws—but none were newborns, of course, and she doubted that Mr. Wiseman would allow her to bring her baby to work with her. She might not even be able to keep her job once she became visibly pregnant—she had noticed that there were no women in the family way at the factory, at least not on her floor. And Byrd would undoubtedly have something to say once he noticed her condition—he still hadn’t forgiven her for rejecting him.
Still, she wanted the baby, and was glad to have a part of Jack still with her, even if it made her life much more complicated. It would be difficult, but somehow, she would find a way to make it work.