ROSE GOES ON
Chapter Ten
May 1916
Rose moved around the small apartment,
dusting and sweeping. From the corner, she could hear Nadia and Christopher
laughing over some game.
Rose stretched and put the dust cloth into a
pile of clothes to be washed. Much had happened over the four years that she
had been living with the Calverts, caring for John’s daughters. Mary was six
years old and in school now, and Nadia would start school the following fall.
Christopher was three years old, a mischievous, energetic child who reminded
her more of his father every day.
They had moved from the tiny apartment in the
slums two years earlier, when John had been promoted to foreman of his
department at the factory, and now lived in a somewhat larger apartment a few
blocks away from the factory. There was more space for all of them, enough room
so that the two girls had a bedroom to themselves, while Rose shared a room
with her son, and John slept alone. There was even a separate kitchen and
living room, and Rose was housekeeper as well as caretaker for the children.
Sometimes, Rose looked around at her small,
confined world, and wondered what had happened to her plans to head out for the
horizon. It wasn’t that she disliked the Calverts, or their home, but she had
left the upper class behind with the idea of finding something different,
something that she hadn’t experienced before. So far, aside from learning
domestic labor and becoming a mother, she hadn’t done much, and her life was in
many ways as restricted as it had been before she had left her old life behind.
Rose often looked longingly at audition
notices in the city, still dreaming of becoming an actress, though she was now
twenty-one years old and had done little outside the home in her life. John
didn’t consciously put restrictions on her, but she knew that he felt that her
primary job was in caring for the children, and as long as she remained in his
employ, this was what she had to focus her energies on. Still, Nadia was nearly
ready to start school, and if she left, Christopher would come with her. They
wouldn’t really need her anymore, though she knew that the girls had grown
attached to her. It would be hard to leave them behind, and she wasn’t sure if
she could make it on her own, especially with a small child, but she wanted to
try. For the time being, though, she was still needed as nanny to the girls,
and she would at least wait until fall to make any changes.
A knock sounded on the door as she put the
broom away, and she hurried to answer it, shooing the two children and the
barking dog back. It was a safer neighborhood than the one they had left
behind, but one never knew who might knock on the door uninvited.
A man in the uniform of an upper class
servant stood at the door. "Good morning, Ma’am. Would Mr. Calvert be
about?"
Rose shook her head. "He’s at work right
now. May I tell him who dropped by?"
"There’s no need, Ma’am. I’m from the
home of his mother-in-law, Elizabeth Anders. She sent me to bring this letter,
since it seems that you don’t yet have a telephone."
"No, we don’t," Rose told him,
taking the sealed white envelope. John’s name and address were written on it.
"Please see that he gets it as soon as
possible. Mrs. Anders says that it’s urgent."
"May I ask what it’s about?"
"I really can’t say, Ma’am. I was only
instructed to bring the letter. I wasn’t told what it said."
"All right." Rose set the letter on
a high shelf near the door, out of the reach of Christopher’s curious fingers.
"I’ll give it to him as soon as he gets home."
"Thank you, Ma’am."
Rose closed the door, her own curiosity
almost overwhelming her. Why was Elizabeth Anders having someone deliver a
letter to them?
They had seen her on many occasions over the
past few years, though never at her own home. James Anders disliked his working
class son-in-law, and wanted no part of him, his daughters, or his
"cousin" and her son. It was just as well, Rose thought, that he
didn’t want to see them. She had no wish to return to the upper class, even as
a visitor, and sometimes worried that Elizabeth would realize that she had once
been Rose DeWitt Bukater, and that word would get back to her mother. Rose knew
that she no longer had anything to fear from Cal, as he had married in 1914,
but she had no intention of returning to her old life. Fortunately, Elizabeth
had never made the connection, or if she had, she had never mentioned it.
On the occasions when they had seen
Elizabeth, she had visited them at their apartment, or had met them somewhere
nearby, sometimes taking the children places that John could not afford to take
them, or had not the time for. Rose usually accompanied them, and Christopher
was as inclined to call the older woman Grandma as the two girls were. John had
told Rose that Elizabeth had accepted Mary and Nadia as her granddaughters
after learning of Miriam’s death. They were the only grandchildren she would
have, and even though they were no relation to her, she had taken them under
her wing because they were John’s daughters, and, as such, Miriam’s stepdaughters,
though Miriam had died before Nadia had become a member of the family.
Christopher also called her Grandma, and had
ever since he had learned to talk. No one had ever bothered to correct him.
Elizabeth was Grandma, Rose was Mommy, and John was Uncle John. Mary and Nadia
had no particular classification; they were cousins, Rose had told him, but he
cared about little beyond the fact that they were playmates and sometimes
tormentors. He had asked Rose on occasion why he didn’t have a daddy like other
children did, and Rose had always shaken her head, and told him that his daddy
was in heaven, watching over him.
*****
When John got home late that afternoon, Rose
gave him the letter, then lingered nearby, hoping that he would tell her what
it said. She had eventually given up holding it to the light and trying to read
the words through the paper, but she was still curious, and cast sidelong
glances at John as he read it.
When he finally set it aside, she could no
longer restrain her curiosity. "What’s going on?" she asked, looking
at the paper lying on the table.
John looked a little bewildered. "It
seems that my father-in-law died of a stroke just last week, and in his will he
left everything to his wife, who it seems is his only living relation. The odd
thing is, she says that she needs my help with certain aspects of the
will."
"Your help?"
He nodded. "I can’t imagine why. I’m not
a lawyer, nor someone familiar with what she now owns. The only thing I can
think of is that she might want to give something to Mary and Nadia. At any
rate, she wants us all to come to visit this coming Sunday, so she can discuss
the will with us. I don’t imagine that James Anders left anything to any of us,
but Elizabeth has taken the girls as her granddaughters, and she might want to
give something to them."
"That might be. Are you going to visit
with her on Sunday?"
"I think so. The girls will want to see
her, and we haven’t visited the house since we arrived back in 1912. You’ll
bring Christopher, too, of course."
"Of course. He thinks she’s his
grandmother, too."
"Well, you’ll probably like seeing the
house. I don’t know if the girls remember it, but it should seem like old times
to you. It’s an elaborate mansion in a wealthy part of the city."
Rose nodded, but she wasn’t so sure she
wanted to come. Who knew who she might meet in that neighborhood? She had
studiously avoided places that she would have frequented as a member of the
upper class, and she didn’t know if she wanted to go back and face her
memories.
*****
On Sunday, the Calverts and the Dawsons took
the El as close as they could to Elizabeth Anders’ upper class neighborhood.
They walked the rest of the way, the children in awe of the stately houses and
well-groomed lawns, so different from the apartment they lived in. Rose looked
at the mansions and gardens, remembering a time when she, too, had lived in
such a place. It had been beautiful and luxurious, but also restrictive.
Rose’s thoughts were turned inward as they
walked along the wide, well cared for streets. Holding Christopher by the hand,
she looked at the buildings, at the people in the yards and walking along the
sidewalks, remembering when she had been a part of this world. It had been a
long time, so long that she scarcely remembered what it was like to live in a
fancy house, with servants to wait upon her and every imaginable luxury hers
for the asking. She had given that life up, and she wasn’t sorry, but there
were times when she remembered this life longingly, for it hadn’t been all bad.
It spite of the strictures imposed upon upper class women, she had known times
of happiness growing up, before her father had died and her mother had begun to
impress upon her the importance of making a good marriage to shore up the
sagging family fortunes.
Rose pushed these thoughts away as they
turned up the walk of a large, three-story brick mansion, not unlike the one
she had grown up in. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the house, and the lawn
and gardens were neatly groomed, daffodils blooming in profusion along the
fence.
Elizabeth herself answered the door, not
waiting for a servant to do it for her. She was dressed in black, the color of
mourning, but her appearance was calm and collected, showing little grief over
her husband’s death. James and Elizabeth had not gotten along well in years,
and had scarcely seen each other since the news of Miriam’s death had reached
them four years earlier, in spite of living in the same house. The mansion was
more than large enough for them to lead separate lives, in spite of living
under the same roof. It had been a servant who had first discovered James after
his stroke, and it had been that same servant who had told Elizabeth that he
had died, two days later. She had attended the funeral, and shown proper
mourning, but she hadn’t really been sorry that he was gone. The affection she
had felt for him in the early years of their marriage had long since
disappeared, replaced by enmity at times, and, more often, indifference. They
had been married in name only for many years, even before Miriam had been born.
"Welcome," she told them, smiling
at the group.
The three children ran up and hugged her,
shouting "Grandma!"
Elizabeth hugged each child in turn, then
sent them to the kitchen for a snack. Rose looked questioningly at her, and she
nodded, gesturing for her to follow the children while she talked to John.
Rose followed the three children to the
kitchen, led by a maid. She trailed after them slowly, remembering when she
herself had lived in such a house. This one was much like the one she had left
behind--dark, heavy furnishings, the drapes drawn to keep the sun from fading
the furniture and carpets. Expensive paintings decorated the walls, some of
members of the Anders family, others purchased from various galleries and
artists over the years. She recognized Miriam and Elizabeth in two paintings,
but wondered at the stern, unsmiling man in another. A plaque on the bottom of
the frame proclaimed it to be James Anders, who she had never met, but she
wondered how such a man could have been a father to the free-spirited Miriam.
Elizabeth bore some resemblance to her daughter, but Rose could see no
resemblance between James and Miriam, either in looks or expression. She and
Miriam had never been more than acquaintances in finishing school, but Rose had
always admired her free spirit and her refusal to conform to the behavior
expected of a debutante, and it had been Miriam who had helped inspire her to
go her own way.
After Miriam had told her where to find Jack
on the Titanic, four years earlier, Rose had gone to him at the bow. She had
been nervous at first, wondering if she was doing the right thing in turning
her back on the life she knew, but she had thought of how Miriam had done the
same thing, and it had given her the courage to make the decision that had
changed her life forever.
Rose was brought back to the present as they
entered the kitchen. In stark contrast to the hallways they had walked through,
the kitchen was warm and sunny. An older woman bustled around a large stove,
cooking the enormous amount of food needed to feed both the servants and the
lady of the house and her guests. Several younger women worked at the table and
counters, mixing, chopping, and putting food away.
The three children stared at the cooks and at
the enormous amount of food. They always had enough to eat, but never this
much, and never such a variety of foods. Christopher’s attention was caught by
a large cookie jar. He stared at it until his mother tapped him lightly on the
shoulder and shook her head, reminding him that it wasn’t polite to stare.
Mary and Nadia stood quietly, watching the
activity in the kitchen, though it was obvious that Mary was itching to run
around and look at everything. Neither girl remembered the house, or the
kitchen, though they knew the maid who had led them to the kitchen. She had
often accompanied Elizabeth on trips to see them.
One of the younger cooks saw the children and
Rose standing in the doorway and motioned for them to sit at the table.
Christopher grinned widely when she took a large plate and opened the cookie
jar, covering the platter with a variety of sweets. Mary and Nadia watched
eagerly as well, but were more polite than the three-year-old boy, sitting
still without being told until the platter was placed on the table.
Rose sighed inwardly at the eager expressions
of the three children. They frequently got cookies at home--she had become very
good at making them--but she supposed that it was different to eat cookies at
Grandma’s house, especially when Grandma’s house was a mansion. She didn’t
really remember what she had thought of visiting her grandmother as a little
girl, but supposed that she must have felt much the same way.
The cook brought glasses of milk for the
children. "There you go," she told them, watching them dig eagerly
into the snack. She turned to Rose. "Would you like the same, Ma’am, or
would you like something else?"
"I would like a cup of tea, if you have
it," Rose requested, having already noticed a boiling teapot on the stove.
"Certainly, Ma’am." The young cook
brought over a delicate cup and saucer, pouring tea into the cup.
"Thank you." Rose sipped the tea,
then added a little milk and sugar to it, just the way she liked it. She
sometimes drank tea at home, too. John, like many Englishmen, was fond of the
beverage, so Rose had plenty of opportunities to drink it herself.
She watched the three children enjoy
themselves, nibbling on a couple of cookies herself. Once the children were
full of cookies and milk, Elizabeth’s maid directed them to an area in the back
yard still set with small benches and a swingset; a play area for the child
Miriam had once been.
The three children played contentedly for
several hours, although Rose had to warn each of them about not leaving the
play area and going into the garden. The active, curious youngsters were
inclined to pick flowers, and in Christopher’s case, take them apart to see
what they were made of. Rose doubted that Elizabeth would want the three
children running roughshod over her carefully groomed garden, so she took care
to keep them in the play area.
Finally, around six o’clock, John came to
bring the four of them in. They were going to have dinner with Elizabeth before
returning home in a car driven by her chauffeur. The three children, delighted
by the idea of a car ride, rushed inside to wash up for dinner.
"What’s going on?" Rose asked John
as soon as the children were out of earshot.
He hesitated, reluctant for some reason to
tell her exactly what Elizabeth had offered to him. He was trying to think of
what to say when Elizabeth herself appeared at the door, telling them that it
was time for dinner.
"I’ll tell you later," he promised
Rose, walking into the house and leaving her staring after him.