A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Four
Brigid--or Bridie, as she preferred to be
called--O'Boyle lived with her husband on the fifth floor of a six-story
tenement building in Manhattan's teeming Lower East Side. Being a newlywed, she
wasn't much inclined to share her cramped two-room flat with another person,
but her little sister Meg begged and pleaded and cajoled...and, well, when Meg
wanted something, Meg got it. That was the way it always had been.
Since the age of five, Bridie had been
mother, sister, and best friend to Meg, who was only three when their mother
and infant brother died of tuberculosis. That was twenty years ago. Their
father, devastated, had refused to remarry. He and his childhood sweetheart had
wed back in the old country, and he cared little for the women in this noisy,
dirty city, as he saw it. Neither did he care to return home, where he and his
daughters would likely live in poverty, and where little of their family
remained. All seven of his brothers and sisters and their families had emigrated
to New York over the years.
Until she married, Bridie had been the one to
prepare all the meals, clean their apartment, and tend to Meg--all with no
guidance beyond some advice from her aunts and the occasional lady friend of
her father's. And always, Meg's needs came first. Oh, Papa loved both his
daughters fiercely, everyone knew that. But Meg more closely resembled their
mother, and from the time she began to talk it was clear she would be the
brains of the family as well.
"I got no son to carry on me name, me
family traditions," Patrick Quinn would tell his countrymen at the shoe
factory where he'd made foreman, and at the pubs where he'd hold forth on
topics ranging from politics to women. "So me girls will have all the
schooling they need, and one day, they will take care of their papa in his old
age."
His friends scoffed at him, but Quinn pushed
his girls to excel in school. Bridie dropped out after the eighth grade to find
domestic work and help support the family, but Meg went on to nursing college.
Bridie never envied her sister; she felt it was her obligation to assist with
her tuition and did so without complaint.
From the beginning of time, it seemed, Meg
always got what she wanted.
As Bridie began to slice carrots for the stew
she'd serve as that evening's meal, there was a knock at the door. Meg's
houseguest, who would not even live with Meg, was here. Bridie wiped her hands
on her apron and hurried to answer the door.
The woman standing timidly behind her sister
may have dressed the part of the peasant girl, but Bridie could tell
immediately that there was something...different about her. Not bad, exactly,
but wrong somehow. Out of place. Maybe it was her vibrant red hair, flowing
freely about her shoulders, or her alabaster skin, softer and paler than the
ruddy complexions of everyone Bridie knew. Maybe it was her unnaturally stiff
posture, making her seem to tower over Meg, though there was only a few inches'
difference in height. Or maybe it was simply the fact that she was carrying a man's
overcoat.
Momentarily taken aback, Bridie stood in the
doorway staring, until her sister, giggling, said, "Well, sis, you going
to let us in or are we going to have our supper in the hallway?"
"I'm sorry," Bridie apologized, and
stepped aside. She kept her eyes on the stranger as the mysterious young woman
took in her modest surroundings. She didn't miss the look of disdain the girl
tried in vain to hide.
"Bridie, this is Rose Dawson," Meg
chirped, unaware of the dynamic that was taking place between her sister and
the visitor. "Rose, my sister, Bridie."
"How do you do?" Rose said
politely, and in that instant Bridie knew what it was. She'd been around her
employers and their stuffy friends long enough. This girl was no homeless waif.
She was a blue blood.
Thank goodness for Meg. The woman never had
learned to keep her mouth shut, and her endless pratter about the hospital and
gossip from the neighborhood kept the dinner table conversation lively. Papa, she
said with a knowing wink, would be dining that evening with the widow Finley.
Bridie's husband, Joseph, joined in good-naturedly, even though he was clearly
exhausted from a tough day's work. He was a firefighter--a fact that Bridie
couldn't help but notice piqued Rose's interest.
Likewise, their guest had piqued her
husband's interest.
"You mean, with hair that color and a
name like Rose Dawson, you're not even part Irish?" he exclaimed in mock
horror at one point during the meal.
"I'm afraid not," she replied with
a shy smile.
"Well, as long as you live under our
roof, you'll be an honorary Irishwoman."
Meg laughed heartily at that; Rose joined in,
but noticed Bridie barely cracked a smile.
That's when the serious questioning began.
"Meg tells me you were very ill,"
Bridie said, her eyes never leaving Rose's face. "I hope you'll be feeling
well enough to search for employment in the morning?"
"Bridie!" Meg chided her. "She
was hardly strong enough to leave the hospital."
"It's quite all right," Rose said.
She met Bridie's challenging stare. "I would like very much to find a job
as soon as possible."
"Oh, come now," Joseph chimed in.
"There's no need for you to find a job right away. You get well
first."
Normally, after being overruled in this
fashion, Bridie wouldn't say another word. But something about this young girl
made her want to probe further.
"How is it you ended up in that shelter,
Rose?" she asked, rather abruptly. "Don't you have any family?"
Her husband and sister glared at her in
warning, but Rose knew she had to answer, and convincingly. "Well, no, I
don't," she said, launching into the brief biography she'd prepared in
haste and rehearsed aboard the Carpathia. "My father and mother both
passed away recently. I am an only child, and I had no one else to turn to in
my hometown--"
"And where is that, exactly?"
Rose only hesitated slightly before
answering, "Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin."
"Wisconsin?" Joseph repeated.
"Good gracious! You came all the way to New York to make a living?"
Rose nodded.
"Well," Bridie said, "I have a
solution for you. My employers are seeking a maid to replace a girl who quit
just last week. They're good people and I'm sure they'll like you."
"Unless, of course, you don't care for
the idea of being a servant."
All eyes at the table were trained on Rose.
Once again, she met Bridie's stare, and once again, she met the implicit
challenge. "Of course I don't mind."
Bridie quickly covered her shock. "Well,
then, I'll be taking you to meet the family once you get better."
The remainder of the meal was pleasant.
Another disaster averted.