A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Twelve
Once again, Rose was struck speechless.
Victoria saw her discomfort and quickly
sought to explain. "I just thought--well, I don't quite know how to say
this, but you seem so...so cultured. You have finished high school, haven't
you?"
She had, of course. She graduated with honors
from Philadelphia's finest secondary school for girls the year before.
But she couldn't tell the Scotts that.
"Yes, I have, but...I don't have my
diploma with me," she offered lamely instead.
"Well, that's all right. One of my
former classmates works in the admissions office. If I give her the address of
your high school, she can write them a letter and request a transcript."
Rose's mind raced. No one at her school could
find out she was alive. They all knew her mother.
"Victoria," William said gently,
"don't pressure Rose. Maybe she doesn't want to go to college."
But I do, Rose was thinking.
"I'm sorry," Victoria laughed.
"I do get ahead of myself." Suddenly, there was a muffled wail from
the direction of the nursery. In a heartbeat, the blood drained from her face
and she glanced nervously at her husband.
William patted her hand. "It's all right,
darling. She's in good hands."
"Would you like for me to bring up your
breakfast?" Rose volunteered, anxious to have a moment to herself to
ponder Victoria's proposal. "Bridie's prepared a feast."
Thankfully, they were both hungry. Victoria
also requested, over William's protests, that Rose have Belinda bring the baby
to her.
"And Rose," she called as Rose
turned to leave the room. "Do think about our offer."
She did think about it, all that day and into
the next, and the next after that. The more she considered it, the more
complicated the decision became. She couldn't tell the Scotts where she went to
school; but on the other hand, she couldn't turn down a chance to attend a good
university, either.
It wasn't until her sixteenth birthday that
Rose even considered the possibility of furthering her education. Ruth had
barely entertained the idea; she preferred that her daughter marry into a
family of equal social standing as soon as possible after graduating from
finishing school. But her father had other hopes.
For her birthday, her parents threw an
elaborate formal gala to announce their daughter's debut. They pulled out all
the stops: renting the social hall at a nearby country club for the entire day;
hiring several musicians, including a string quartet composed of members of the
Philadelphia Orchestra, even paying a Parisian dressmaker a small fortune to
design a white cotillion gown for Rose.
Rose hated the whole affair.
After an endless evening of inane small talk
with her insufferably snooty cousins and waltzes with a dozen or so potential
suitors whose names Rose would forget the next day (they were that dull), she
finally was able to escape to the patio outside. Most of the guests had
departed, including her closest friends, whom Ruth prevented from socializing
with Rose for the better part of the evening, insisting that she show good
manners and "circulate."
As soon as she was free of the stuffy room,
Rose stripped off her embroidered lace gloves and stepped out of the three-inch
heels that so pained her feet. It was a balmy, moonlit July evening and Rose
was attempting to make out the constellations when she felt someone slip into
place beside her and place a hand gently on her left shoulder.
She jumped--and laughed nervously when she
realized who it was. "Daddy," she said, "you frightened
me."
Lionel Bukater was a large man, imposing to
business associates; but his size was deceptive, for he was nothing but a
comforting presence in the lives of those who knew him well--especially his
daughter. He had a devilishly handsome face and looked especially debonair in
his tuxedo that night.
"Sorry, sweetheart. You don't have to
worry, your mother is engrossed in conversation with the delightful Caroline
Davis."
Rose groaned and rolled her eyes. She
absolutely despised that busybody, but her mother, of course, counted her as a
dear friend and confidante. "She just put me through such an inquisition.
'Who made your gown? Have you gained weight since you were fitted? It seems a
little tight about the waist,'" she parroted in a dead-on imitation that
made her father chuckle. He and Rose saw eye-to-eye on the subject.
"I take it you haven't enjoyed this
evening very much," he said suddenly.
Rose looked at him sharply, but his blue-gray
eyes betrayed nothing but a twinkle of amusement. "You can be honest with
me, Rose. I know you wanted to spend the day with your friends. But your
mother--"
"I know, Daddy."
"Well, I'm glad that we finally have a
moment to ourselves." He produced a thick envelope and handed it to her.
"I was saving this gift for the right moment, and I thought you might be
too tired later to open it."
She accepted it and carefully tore open the
seal. Inside were a handful of brochures from various women's colleges around
the country. Not quite sure what to say, she only stared at them with a puzzled
expression on her face.
"I've spoken to your teachers,
Rose," her father said. "They all say the same thing--how
delightfully smart you are and how they would recommend that you attend
university."
Her eyes widened. "University? But
Mother says--"
"I know, I know, your mother expects you
to find true love with someone she hand-picks for you. But would you really
want to marry any of those young men on your dance card this evening?"
They both laughed at that one. "Daddy,
thank you," Rose said, tears forming in her eyes. "I want to study
art so much!" She threw her arms around him in a show of affection that
Ruth and her friends surely would have been appalled to witness.
He hugged her back for nearly a full minute.
"Don't you worry, my Rosie," he whispered. "You'll be as great
as Michelangelo, da Vinci, and--what is that fellow's name, the one whose
paintings look like something in a dream?"
Rose giggled, "Picasso."
"Ah. Well, his paintings will pale
beside yours."
They spent a short while longer outside,
taking in the view and chatting animatedly about the various colleges. One of
the brochures was for a respected university in Poughkeepsie, New York: Vassar
College.
The following spring, Rose's father suffered
a massive stroke and died before he could be taken to a hospital. Rose wouldn't
learn until much later that her parents had been fighting constantly over the
family's mounting debt. Her father's business had been losing money for years,
but that fact didn't curb his or Ruth's appetite for spending.
Thus, within weeks after Rose's graduation,
instead of packing for her first year of college, she was being introduced to
Caledon Hockley, powerful heir to the Hockley Steel throne. Her fate was
sealed--until she met Jack Dawson aboard the Titanic.
She was saddened now, thinking about Jack,
and about another passenger who was lost, shipbuilder Thomas Andrews, a kind,
jovial man who reminded her so much of her father and stirred her memories of
that last birthday she spent with him.
The memories had been in the back of her mind
ever since.
Victoria was resting when Rose approached.
She started to tiptoe away, but her boss stirred and opened her eyes.
"Rose, dear. Is everything all right?"
"Mrs. Scott, I've been considering your
offer--" Rose began shyly.
"And?"
"I'd like to accept."