ROSE GOES ON
Chapter Eighteen
September 3, 1918
"No, Mommy!" Christopher whined as
Rose tightened her grip on his hand, marching determinedly toward the school
yard. "I don’t wanna go to school!"
Rose sighed, pulling him along toward his
classroom. Christopher continued to whine, resisting her attempts to bring him
to school.
Her son was five years old now and ready to
start kindergarten, at least in Rose’s opinion. Christopher disagreed, and
voiced his disagreement loudly all the way there. He had been very excited
about the prospect of starting school, right up until it was time to go. Then
he had begun to wail that he didn’t want to go to school, and that Rose was
mean and he wanted to stay with Granny Elly, his baby-sitter.
Rose didn’t listen to his complaints.
Christopher would undoubtedly enjoy school once he got there, but the boy was
always afraid of trying new things until he actually got to doing them.
"It’s going to be all right,
Christopher," she assured him. "You’re going to go to school with all
these other kids, and make lots of friends and have lots of fun."
Christopher stepped behind her, clinging to
her skirt. "No, Mommy!"
"Christopher..." Rose pulled him
out from behind her. Kneeling down to his level, she looked him right in the
eye. "You need to stop whining. You’re a big boy now, and big boys don’t
whine about going to school."
Christopher shook his head. "I’m not a
big boy. I’m still little."
"That’s not what you told Grandma last
Christmas."
The boy frowned. "Please, Mommy? I don’t
want to go to school."
"Christopher, you have to go to
school."
"No!"
Rose stood, taking Christopher’s hand. Even
as he dragged his feet and continued to complain, she pulled him over to
another mother with twins at her side. The little boy was crying, while the
little girl had her hands on her hips and was looking around the school yard
with interest.
The woman nodded to her as Rose approached,
recognizing her from her moving picture roles. Rose introduced herself.
"I’m Rose Dawson, and this is
Christopher. Looks like your children have some problems with separation
anxiety, too."
"I’m Sarah Holt. You’re right, they
do--at least Arthur does. He’s a bit afraid of starting school, but Clara seems
to like the idea just fine."
"Maybe Arthur would feel better if he
had someone to play with." Rose leaned down to her son. "Christopher,
say hello."
"Hi, Clara." The little girl looked
at him assessingly, as though deciding whether he was suitable friend material.
"Hi, Arthur. Why are you crying?"
Arthur sniffed and wiped his eyes. "I’m
not crying."
"Yes, you are," Clara interjected.
"You’re such a baby."
"I am not!" Arthur retorted,
turning to glare at his sister. "You’re the baby! You’re five minutes
younger than me!"
"Oh, five minutes!"
"That’s enough!" Sarah spoke
sharply to her squabbling offspring. "Why don’t you two go and play with
Christopher?"
The three children looked at each other,
sizing each other up, before slowly leaving their mothers and heading for the
playground. Every so often, each of them, even Clara, looked back to make sure
their mothers were still there. Finally, they reached the playground, and soon
forgot about their mothers and their fear of school, instead running and
playing.
"Thank you," Rose told Sarah.
"I wasn’t sure I would ever get Christopher to let go of me."
Sarah smiled. "It’s no problem. I’ve
been through this first day of school twice before. I have four children.
Arthur and Clara are the youngest. They’re reluctant at first, but they
eventually get over it."
Rose stayed near the playground, watching her
son and the other children play, until a teacher rang a bell, signaling for the
children to go to class. Once Christopher was inside his classroom, she finally
left.
It was a big step, sending her child to
school. It was hard to believe that Christopher was five years old already,
that it had been over six years since the Titanic sank. She had come a long way
since then.
In all those years, Rose had never seen her
mother or her ex-fiance, but she had given birth to a son of her own, and Mary
and Nadia were like daughters to her.
She thought of a letter she had received in
May. John had been severely injured in battle in March, but had survived and
eventually been sent home. Rose was glad, not just for the sake of Mary and
Nadia, nor even just for John himself, but because she cared more for him than
she had ever admitted, even to herself.
She thought of John sometimes, but her life
was in California now. She had been making great progress as an actress,
working her way up through small roles, until now she was auditioning for a
starring role. There had been several auditions for this role already, and she
had managed to make it through all of them, until she was one of three
finalists. It was different from any role she’d had before, that of the title
character of a new moving picture titled Hannah, about a Swedish
immigrant woman, Hannah Carlson, who was forced into a marriage she didn’t want
and eventually, many years later, escaped. Rose could easily empathize with the
character, having been in a similar situation herself.
Checking the time, Rose realized she had to
hurry, and rushed off for her final audition.
*****
Early in the afternoon, Rose went to get
Christopher from school. Although the school was within easy walking distance
of the apartment they had moved to that summer, Rose still didn’t want him
walking home alone. Maybe when he got a little older, but not yet.
She almost skipped through the streets to the
school, filled with triumph. The audition had been held that morning, and
Rose’s two years of hard work had finally paid off. Of the three finalists, she
had been the one selected for the role of Hannah Carlson.
It had taken a long time, but Rose was
finally a star. The film promised to be big, something that would launch her
burgeoning career. After two years of hard work and sacrifice, she couldn’t be
happier.
Rose met Christopher in front of the school.
He had a little book with his ABC’s in it and a brightly colored crayon drawing
he had made. He raced over to her, shouting, "Mommy!"
"Christopher!" Rose picked him up
and swung him around. "How was school?"
"It was fun! Me and Arthur and Clara
played together at recess, and we got to draw pictures and start learning our
numbers and our ABC’s. And guess what, Mommy? I know more numbers than Clara.
She thinks she’s so smart, but I know more than her. I can count to a hundred,
and she can only count to twenty."
"You are very smart, Christopher,"
Rose told him, setting him down and taking his hand. "Did you remember
your ABC’s, like I taught you?"
"Yep. Except I said U twice instead of
W. The teacher says we’re gonna learn to write our names! She’s real pretty,
Mommy, but not as pretty as you."
Rose laughed. "Didn’t I tell you there
was nothing to be afraid of? School is fun, isn’t it?"
"Yeah! And I wasn’t scared, Mommy. I was
just trying to make you feel better. After all, I’m almost grown up now."
"Well, that’s very nice of you,
Christopher, trying to make me feel better. You’ll be all grown up before I
know it."
"I’m almost there."
"Oh, I don’t know. You have a little
ways to go, yet." Rose smiled and led him across the street. "You
want to hear something neat?"
"Yeah. What?"
"I got a big part in a movie."
"You did?! Swell! Can I see it?"
"When it’s made, yes, I’ll take you to
see it. It might be a little bit too grown-up for you, though."
"I’m almost a grown-up."
"We’ll see when it’s made. All
right?"
"Okay, Mommy. Can we go get ice cream to
celebrate? I’m hungry."
Rose laughed. "I don’t see why not. Come
on. Let’s go."
Christopher cheered, and skipped down the
street, holding on to his mother’s hand.