A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Sixteen
As the applause died down and his parents
called for the guests to gather around the tree--where Lucy, Richard and
Josephine would be passing out their gifts (Victoria's idea; her husband would
have preferred a faster method of distribution), William III scanned the room
in vain for Rose. He'd hoped she would return to hear his finale, a medley of
Christmas tunes, but she never did. For some inexplicable reason, it bothered
him.
He couldn't get her reaction to
"Alexander's Ragtime Band" out of his mind. He happened to glance up
just in time to see her face go white as a sheet, and then her back as she rudely
shoved her way through the other maids and waitresses. And he'd been under the
impression that she was enjoying the music.
"Wonderful recital, son!" a booming
voice spoke a few feet away. William turned and was standing face-to-face with
John D. Rockefeller, Jr. The man extended a hand and William shook it.
"Thank you, sir!"
"Have you given any thought to
continuing your music education at the university level?"
William suddenly reverted back to the shy
teenage boy he always was when he wasn't on stage. "Well--uh--to tell the
truth, I hadn't planned that far ahead yet."
"Actually, the piano is a hobby for
William." Mr. Scott appeared at his son's side, bursting with pride on the
outside, but most likely seething on the inside over his son's last-minute
changes to the program. "He'll be taking over for the old man one day, so
I want him to attend business school."
"Ah. Well, that's still a few years off,
right, lad?"
It seemed as if their distinguished guest
could read his mind. William smiled and nodded, and started backing his way
towards the door as the two men began to discuss the family's Model T, which
William had purchased at significantly lower than market price. Some years ago,
Scott's father had purchased a small company that manufactured engine parts for
the new motor cars. The decision saved his financially struggling corporation
from bankruptcy, and in fact made him a fortune shortly before his death.
His only son inherited everything, and now,
Scott thought ruefully, he wanted to pass it on to his offspring, and the boy
couldn't care less.
There he was, sneaking off to be by himself
without saying a word to anyone. "Don't go anywhere, son. I need to speak
with you," he called out.
William waited. And waited. Every few
minutes, he would check the grandfather clock in the foyer. Rose was probably
asleep.
Finally, Randolph helped the last guests on
with their coats, the staff cleared away the last of the dishes, and the
younger children and their grandparents dragged themselves upstairs. William was
alone with his parents, and his father was finally able to let fly his rage.
"How dare you humiliate your mother and
me like that!" he bellowed. Victoria gently lay a hand on his arm,
reminding him that the children could hear, and he lowered his voice. "You
know some people don't like that colored music."
William laughed. "'Colored music'?
There's no such thing."
"You know damn well what I mean!"
His father did not appreciate being corrected--much less ridiculed--by his son
and William was smart enough not to push the envelope.
"I'm sorry, Father," he apologized.
"But ragtime's very popular--even up here. I just thought people would
want to hear something a little different, that's all."
"What's wrong with the music your
instructor chose?" Victoria wanted to know. "I mean, 'Flight of the
Bumblebee' isn't exactly a somber concerto."
William smiled. He had to admit, his earlier
choice of words wasn't entirely appropriate. "There's nothing wrong with
it. I just play the same music over and over, and I'm sick of it. I want to
have fun with it sometimes."
"Fun? Musical instruments aren't meant
to be fun," his father lectured. "It's hard work. Now, ragtime music
is fine for taverns and parties. Even us old folks listen to it sometimes. But
you're going to have to show more for all those lessons you've been taking when
Harvard comes calling."
"What difference does it make? I'm going
to business school, remember?"
William turned and took the stairs two at a
time before either of his parents could say another word. Victoria restrained
her husband from following.
*****
Try as she might, Rose couldn't sleep, and
she was wide awake when the soft knocking sounded at her door.
She scrambled from bed and felt around in the
darkness for her robe. "Who's there?"
"It's...William."
Rose stopped what she was doing and frowned.
What could the boy possibly want with her that couldn't wait till morning? And
in her private quarters?
"Please, I need to talk to you."
Rose took so long to descend the stairs that
she was certain he would be gone before she opened the door. But he was still
there, casting furtive glances behind him as if he were being followed. His
reaction was swift and unexpected; he nearly bowled her over in his haste to
get inside, then shut the door and stood with his ear pressed against the wood.
"William, what's going on?"
He finally relaxed. "I'm sorry. I don't
want my parents to know where I am. I think they're still downstairs,
arguing."
"Arguing? Why?"
"May I come up?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I need to talk to someone,"
William begged. "And there's nobody else. Please, Rose?"
She nodded. I could get fired for this, she
thought as she lead William up to her room. But there was something in the way
the boy's eyes pleaded with her...
Rose lit a lantern and sat on her bed, while
William began pacing the floor in a frenzy. "I hate him sometimes. Why is
he so demanding of me and not my brother and sisters?"
"You're the oldest," Rose offered.
"But he's always been like this, ever
since I can remember. Nothing I do is right. First I spent too much time alone.
Now I spend too much time with my friends. He chose that school for me! He
forced us to take piano lessons, and now that I enjoy it, he won't let me
pursue music as a career. He wants me to learn the family business instead. Why
don't parents ever consider what we want?"
Indeed, Rose thought bitterly. This
conversation was drawing too close to home.
"I'll bet your parents didn't pressure
you to become someone you weren't," William said. "Look at you, you
traveled all the way to New York on your own to study art. That takes
real--" he searched for the right word-- "chutzpah."
Rose winced at his mention of her parents,
then was startled at his reference to her studies. "How did you know I was
planning to study art?"
William flushed and turned his head.
"Mother told me."
Rose wondered why Victoria would discuss this
with her son. Instead of asking him, she said, "Well, with Bridie leaving,
I don't suppose they'll want to send me to school now."
"Of course they will. They're going to
hire someone new after the holidays. They won't go back on their promise, Rose.
They're really indebted to you for saving Mother's life."
"And Cecilia's life? What of that?"
"There's nothing more you could have
done for her."
"What's wrong with her?"
William shrugged. "You know as much as I
do. Something to do with her immune system." He looked down at Rose, as if
noticing her state of undress for the first time. "I suppose I should go.
I'm sorry to keep you awake like this."
"That's quite all right." Rose
stood to walk William downstairs. At the attic door, he suddenly turned to her
again.
"Rose, why did you leave while I was
playing?"
She looked away. "I-I don't know.
Something at dinner must not have agreed with me. I wasn't feeling well."
"Oh. You mean the music didn't make you
sick?" He smiled.
His smile is dazzling. The thought popped
into her head with dizzying clarity. Rose didn't quite know what to make of it.
"No," she retorted with a smile of her own, "your performance was
marvelous, William."
He blushed again. "Please, call me Bill.
All my friends do," he said before opening the door and slipping into the
darkness of the hallway.