A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Sixty-Six

"Now, Luther--" Lizzy admonished, but her brother would have none of it.

"Have you forgotten so soon what her father did to your sister, to you?"

They all looked at Lizzy then; her face reddened and in one split second a range of emotions flickered in her eyes--anguish, fury...and a touch of panic. Rose glanced at her children. Both were momentarily confused.

Not Katherine, however. She moved quickly to her sister's side, ample arms clenched about Lizzy's waist. "You leave her alone, hear?" she demanded. "She's our sister, the only kinfolks we got left! She ain't goin' nowhere."

Taken aback by Kit's vehemence, but not yet ready to back down, Luther responded, "Some kin! We don't hear from her except at Christmas. When's the last time we got invited to see her out there in that false paradise?"

Lizzy snorted. "You wouldn't come if I sent you the train fare."

That seemed to break the tension, at least temporarily. Luther gave Rose a once-over, and conceded that she looked too well-bred to be a criminal. "You don't favor the Dawsons at all. They was real skinny, and dark."

"She was adopted, remember?" Lizzy reminded him, sparing Rose the embarrassment of having to speak another lie herself.

"'Twas a sad thing for her, that," Luther commented. Before returning to the sitting room, he ordered Katherine to show them to the guest rooms on the upper floors and to fix them a decent supper.

They ascended the staircase, the two sisters chatting up a storm and the cat virtually under their feet, Rose and Helene close behind and Anderson bringing up the rear, dragging two suitcases unassisted and not happy about it. "Aren't you glad you came, heathen child?" Helene whispered in Rose's ear.

There were six bedrooms, and with four guests, it would be a full house for likely the first time since Lizzy had lived there. But the rooms were spacious and inviting, thanks to Kit's warm touch, evident in every room save the master suite, which belonged to her brother. Rose's room, on the third floor, overlooked the woods to the rear of the mansion and the river at a comfortable distance. It doubled as Katherine's sewing room.

Up until a few years past, Katherine explained, she had made a good living selling clothing on consignment to the boutique they'd passed on the way there. She stitched them from patterns ordered from catalogs from the finest department stores in New York and Chicago. "Luther used to say I was too slow and folks would take advantage of me, but you should see how much money I made."

Lately, with arthritis stiffening her fingers, she had to give that up, though she never stopped sewing altogether. She had joined a quilting circle at her church, and her prize possessions decorated every bed in the house.

She opened the closet to show Rose some of her homespun dresses. "You can take whichever ones you want," she offered shyly. "Luther says I'm too old to wear 'em and I ain't got much of a figure left, anyway."

Rose was not only touched, but impressed by Katherine's talent. "Miss Katherine, I can't--"

"Yes, you can," her hostess insisted, "and please call me Aunt Kit like everybody else does. They all call me that because I love cats so much. This here," she added, stooping to lift the Persian, who'd stuck to her as if on a tether, "is Ecclesiastes. Luther hates him, but I put my foot down. Since he never pays me any attention, I got to have a cat to play with." Her face was suddenly alight with glee. "You wanna see my dolls after supper?"

Rose was fascinated by Kit, unlike her true niece and nephew, who'd ensconced themselves in their rooms as soon as all their luggage was inside. Anderson had begun work on a script, the subject of which he kept to himself, and Helene was napping. Their mother took a solitary walk on the grounds, no doubt wanting some time alone to grieve for her husband. Rose offered to assist in the kitchen, and she and Kit set about preparing shepherd's pie.

"It's so good to have all of you here, even if you can't stay long," Kit said wistfully after a time. "Helene is just like her mama, pretty as a picture but don't let her get her back up. And you…you're like Ellie, so polite and sweet, but I bet you got a wild streak in you just like she did. Do you paint, too?"

Rose looked at her sharply, but Kit was engrossed in chopping carrots and had her back turned. "Yes," she answered.

"Ellie was the best artist in all of Cedar Rapids and then some," Kit bragged as if this were the greatest achievement in the world, "and we all thought she'd get to be famous and have her paintings in some big museum, but she was happy just to be living on that farm. And then Jack came along and he was just as talented. Why, you shoulda seen his drawings. He did a picture of me once, when he was…hmm…seven or eight years old."

"Do you still have that drawing?" It took a mighty effort for Rose to control the tremor in her voice.

"Yeah, I might, somewhere."

You might? Her heart had begun to race with excitement. It had finally begun to dawn upon Rose that she was in the presence of someone whom she could ask questions about Jack without fear of discovery. But she had to do so quickly, and cautiously.

"Do you have photographs of him as well?" she inquired. "I've heard so much about him and his parents, but I never got to meet them."

"Pity," Kit said. "I'll take a look later. We never got many pictures of Ellie after she got married. We didn't even see her much; they was all wrapped up in that farm. And we never laid eyes on Jack again after Ellie and John's funeral, bless their souls. Luther was so beside himself after they died he packed up everything that reminded him of Ellie and put it in the attic."

And then, suddenly, "Well, there is that one picture on the mantle in the parlor. He missed that one."

As soon as dinner was in the oven, Rose excused herself and went into the sitting room. Kit had already assured her that Luther always spent this time of the evening praying and meditating in their chapel, a tiny, windowless room in the rear of the house, but still she crept inside like an interloper. The parlor was clearly Luther's domain, chilly and unaesthetic, but the photographs that adorned the fireplace mantle added some cheer. Rose examined each one, absorbing them all into her memory--daguerreotypes of the Hutchinsons circa the 1860s, then a young family of four, a later photo of infant twins, a wedding portrait of Lizzy and Andrew Calvert, another of Luther and a beautiful fair-haired girl much younger than he, a picture of Anderson and Helene when they weren't much more than babies...

...and a portrait of the Dawsons.

She recognized Ellie's dress from another picture Laura Cabot had shown her. She was seated, with her husband standing behind her, his hand placed protectively on her shoulder. In her lap was a boy of about two wearing a sailor suit, his hair slicked back in a cowlick. Both adults were unsmiling, but Jack had the edges of his lip slightly curled, as if he were bursting to tell a joke. Ready for mischief, even at that age.

"Not my favorite photo," came a voice from the doorway.

Rose spun around. She'd been unaware until that moment that she clutched the picture in her hand, and had been staring at it so intently that she didn't notice Lizzy had entered the room. The older woman smiled sadly at her.

"Ellie wasn't happy in Chippewa Falls. Her art was about the only thing that brought her any joy. That and Jack. Of course, he brought a lot of pain, as well."

Rose frowned in puzzlement, but all Lizzy would add was, "Kitty sent me to tell you dinner is served."

The shepherd's pie was as good as any Rose had tasted in a restaurant, or for that matter, in Arnolde's kitchen or that of the cooks her family had when she was growing up in Philadelphia. Sally, the housekeeper who came to look in on things a few times a week, had taught Kit how to prepare it. Lizzy would explain to Rose later that Sally had been a fixture around the homestead since their mother passed away about twenty years earlier.

Dinner conversation was animated. Anderson and Kit did most of the talking. She wanted to hear all the gossip of Hollywood, even though she didn't recognize any of the names, since Luther forbade her to go to the picture shows. She was particularly engrossed as Anderson described the sets for DW Griffith’s version of Babylon, complete with hanging gardens, chariots, white plaster elephants and thousands of extras.

"I was a production assistant," he told her, "and an Assyrian nobleman."

"I saw Birth of a Nation," Rose couldn't help but comment. "I didn't care for it."

Luther interjected before Anderson could respond. "Garbage, all of it. What a waste of valuable time and money. Those movie people worship at the altar of their own success." He turned to his baby sister, scowling. "It's bad enough you had to go get all caught up in that craziness, but to allow your children--"

"Oh, hell, Luther," Lizzy snapped at him, with a slight undercurrent of affection in her tone. "You've never even seen one of our films. You can't go calling something crazy without knowing what it is." She stood, yawning. "I've got to get some rest. Kitty, that was simply delicious. Save me some dessert. Helene, help your aunt with the dishes." Helene cursed under her breath; Lizzy ignored her and retired to her room. Luther excused himself not long after.

Dessert was pound cake with coconut frosting and handmade ice cream from a nearby dairy. Kit seemed to have a boundless supply of energy and continued to run her mouth while scooping generous helpings of ice cream into her own bowl.

"Maybe tomorrow we can go to Brucemore," she suggested. "The Douglases have a pool and tennis court, and a duck pond."

"Isn't that the house that looks just like this one?" Anderson asked.

"Oh, it's so much bigger than this one. But ours was built first. You know," she added, lowering her voice as if her brother were hiding behind the draperies, listening, "Mr. Douglas suffered a terrible tragedy. His brother Walter drowned on the Titanic."

A sudden fit of coughing overtook Rose, and she rushed to cover it with her napkin.

"Oh, dear," Kit fussed, "I do hope you're not coming down with a cold. I get them every winter, even though I always dress real warm--"

"We're going to have to leave early tomorrow," Helene interrupted. "Anderson and I are both expected back at work in Los Angeles soon."

"But your father--"

"--is dead. We need to get on with living."

Helene rose to her feet and began noisily clearing plates and silverware from the table. Kit fell into silence, clearly hurt by her niece's brusque attitude. Anderson reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

*****

"Rose, it's me, it's Aunt Kit. I want to show you something."

Her eyes gradually came into focus. According to the little clock on the bedside table, it was shortly after midnight. She hadn't been asleep for very long. The name Walter Douglas had finally rung a bell. He was one first class traveler her mother had never gotten around to introducing her to, but she had perused many a passenger list and alphabetically Douglas wasn't far behind Dawson. His wife had survived; their maid had not.

"Rose, wake up!"

She obliged, allowing the woman in the frilly pajamas to lead her by the hand up a narrow set of barely-used stairs to the attic. She nearly tripped several times, despite the light from the lantern the older woman carried. There was an open trunk with its contents spilled on the floor in full view. Kit lifted a piece of yellowing paper out of the dust and shoved it at Rose proudly.

"Look at it! That's me. Your cousin Jack drew that. Wasn't he talented?"

It was good. For a budding child artist, it was better than good. And he had dutifully scrawled the words To Aunt Kit, Love Jack in tiny letters in a bottom corner.

Rose stared at it for a long time. She finally said, "Keep it in a safe place."

"I will." To seal her promise, Kit solemnly crossed her heart.

They left promptly at nine the next morning, but not before partaking in a hearty country breakfast prepared by Sally, a kindhearted, sociable woman who remembered Helene and Anderson as children. Luther, not a believer in good-byes, quickly retreated to the chapel afterwards, leaving Kit and Sally to see them off. They stood under the archway, Sally holding Ecclesiastes and Kit waving so hard Rose imagined her arm had to be sore. She remained there until she was nothing more than a speck in Rose's rearview mirror.

To Rose's amazement, Lizzy decided that she and Helene would trade places for the remainder of the trip. The reason why would come as quite the unpleasant surprise.

"I always thought Luther's obsession with religion had clouded his judgment," Lizzy spoke once they'd left Cedar Rapids behind. Her head was turned to the cornfields so Rose couldn't see her eyes. "But it was his only comfort. His wife died in a nasty fall only months after they were married. He loved her more than anything in the world, and when she was gone he couldn't bring himself to dishonor her memory by wedding someone else. All he had left was his God and his family and he swore he'd protect us."

She looked at Rose, finally. "He always hated your father."

"I gathered that."

"You know, Joe and I were lovers once, a long time ago."

Upon Rose's stunned silence, Lizzy continued, "It's certainly not something I was proud of, but Joe loved to boast of his conquests, and it wasn't long before Luther found out. Yep, my brother may have a screw or two loose, but he was always a great judge of character and he has a loooong memory. That's why I didn't question him when he brought to my attention that Joe Dawson's daughter was about the same age as Helene."

Rose still said nothing. She kept her eyes focused on the empty stretch of road ahead.

"Well, we're not sure because we never actually met her," Lizzy said slowly. "Until now, of course. I can understand why you'd do your damnedest to hide your age, dear, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. You don't see too many up-and-coming starlets over the age of thirty. I worry about what Helene's going to do when the bubble bursts."

Rose couldn't recall ever discussing her age with this woman, but before she could even think to form a reply, Lizzy offered, "I want you to stay with me until you get settled in LA, and I won't entertain any objections."

"I'm sure Ellie and John would have insisted that I keep an eye on you."

Chapter Sixty-Seven
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