ROSE GOES ON
Chapter Nine

January 14, 1913

"Aunt Wosie?" A little hand tugged at Rose’s blanket. "Aunt Wosie?"

Rose groaned inwardly. It seemed like she had just fallen asleep. Her back had been aching off and on from the time she had gone to bed, making it almost impossible to sleep. Now that she had finally dozed off, Mary needed something.

Rose closed her eyes again, trying to ignore the little girl. Maybe she’d go back to bed.

"Aunt Wosie!" The voice was more insistent now, the little hands almost yanking the blanket off of her.

Reluctantly, Rose sat up. "What’s the matter, Mary?" she whispered, looking at the little girl, almost invisible in the darkness. It couldn’t be later than three o’clock in the morning.

"Aunt Wosie...I had a axdent."

"A axdent? Oh, an accident." Rose sighed, dragging herself out of bed. The toddlers were mostly potty-trained, but accidents still happened. Mary was barely three years old; Rose couldn’t yell at her.

Get used to it, she told herself. You’ll be dealing with several more years of this. The baby won’t be potty-trained for a long time.

She pulled the blanket off of Mary’s bed, finding the wet spot. Sighing, she removed the sheet, glad that she had put a thick pile of rags under each toddler’s sheet to protect the mattress against such occurrences. Stripping off the top two rags, old towels that she had retrieved from a trash pile and washed, she put another sheet on the bed, wadding up the dirty one and tossing it into a corner. She would wash it later.

After changing Mary’s nightgown, Rose put her back to bed, tucking the blanket around her. Mary snuggled sleepily back into bed, then asked Rose for something else.

"Aunt Wosie?"

"Yes, Mary?" Rose was getting impatient, wanting to go back to sleep, but she tried to keep her impatience from her voice.

"Can I have a dink a’ wata?"

Rose grimaced at the thought. "No, Mary. Not now. Once is enough for one night."

"But I’m thirsty."

"You can have a drink in the morning, Mary. Not right now. I don’t want to get up again."

"Aunt Wosie..."

"No. Go to sleep."

Mary lay down, sulking but knowing better than to argue with Rose. It would only get her yelled at. "Mean Aunt Wosie..."

"I know, Mary. I’m awful. Go to sleep. You can have something to drink in the morning." She doubted Mary was that thirsty, anyway. The little girl often tried delaying tactics to avoid having to go back to bed.

As she crawled back into bed, Rose heard Mary mumbling under her breath about how mean she was. A few moments later, there was silence. Mary had fallen asleep again.

Laying on her side, trying to find a comfortable position, Rose tried to do the same.

*****

Rose awoke early in the morning. She hadn’t slept well after Mary had awakened her. The backache continued to come and go, more frequently as the hours passed. At six o’clock, she finally got up and got ready for the day.

A short time later, she had breakfast started. John came out of his room, rubbing his eyes. He sat down at the table and gulped down some coffee, barely noticing what was going on around him until he had finished the first cup.

Mary and Nadia came from their room when the smell of food woke them. Mary climbed into her chair and gobbled up her food, barely noticing the drink Rose put in front of her, confirming Rose’s suspicion that Mary had really wanted to stay up longer the night before.

Rose didn’t eat much, her appetite gone for some reason. Of course, she had had progressively less appetite lately, as the baby had grown and pushed her internal organs around, reducing the amount of space in her stomach. This morning, however, her appetite was particularly poor. She shrugged it off, not really worried, and turned to washing the dirty sheet and towels she had taken from Mary’s bed and hanging them on the line strung between her apartment window and the window across the way.

She looked up as John put the last bite of his breakfast in his mouth and pushed himself back from the table, heading for the door to go to work. Mary and Nadia waved good-bye to him, their little voices chorusing as they shouted to him.

Rose set about cleaning off the table as soon as John’s footsteps had faded away. She moved a bit awkwardly, her swollen middle making it hard to carry the stacks of dishes. At her direction, Mary and Nadia cleared their own dishes from the table and brought them over to the counter, where Rose took them and began to wash them.

Her time was near, Rose knew. It had been exactly nine months to the night she had pulled Jack into the back seat of the Renault with her, and the baby could be born any time. The woman in the next building who had been a midwife in the old country had explained to Rose what to expect. Rose wasn’t frightened, not exactly, but the prospect of childbirth did make her nervous.

Rose shrugged off her thoughts as she finished washing the dishes and put them away. The baby would come when it was ready; she had no control over it. She wished that Jack could see the child, but pushed that thought away, too. He was gone; there was no bringing him back, and she would love and care for their child alone.

When the dishes were done, she led Mary and Nadia to their room, where she bundled them up in coats, scarves, and gloves against the chill January weather. Over the months that she had been caring for them, their morning walk had become a ritual, one that they engaged in rain or shine. She would take the children shopping with her when need be, or visit with other women who had young children, or walk with them to the park to play. Every day, she pointed out all the sights and sounds of the city around them, helping the girls grow accustomed to their new home.

This morning, the weather was cold but clear, so Rose took them to the neighborhood park to play. The girls skipped along at her side, chattering to each other and stopping every few feet to examine something interesting. Mary, at three, considered herself to be an expert on everything, bossing Nadia around and trying to command Allegro, neither of whom were particularly inclined to listen to her. Rose and John had estimated Nadia to be a bit younger than Mary, and John had chosen April fifteenth--the day he taken Nadia into his care--as her birthday.

When they reached the park, Rose let Allegro off of his leash, and he followed the girls, barking, to a flat stretch of still-white snow. He ran through it, leaving footprints, as the two small girls slipped and slid in the cold powder. Initially, both Mary and Nadia had feared the cold, the snow, and the ice of the New York winter, remembering subconsciously the ordeal when the Titanic had sank. Both had ended up in the water, Nadia for just a short time before a woman in the lifeboat she had fallen from had picked her up, Mary for a longer time, after Miriam had thrown her in the direction of the boat in hopes that she would find a place in it and survive.

Neither girl consciously remembered much of what had happened, but Rose did. The memories of the little girls were not yet developed enough for them to consciously remember the disaster in more than bits and pieces, but Rose remembered it as though it had been the night before--the bitterly cold water, the screams of the people slowly freezing to death, her own sorrow as she had broken the ice that had frozen her hand to Jack’s and watched him sink into the water.

In spite of her memories of that terrible night, Rose knew that the only way to get over her fear of the cold, and to help the children overcome their fears, was to confront it. As winter had approached, and the weather had grown progressively colder, Rose had continued taking them out for walks in the morning chill, showing them ice-encrusted puddles, and later, drifts of snow. Neither girl had wanted to play in the snow at first, afraid of the cold. Rose had pushed down her own dread of the cold and shown them how much fun snow could be to play with, showing them how to build a snowman and how to throw snowballs. Neither child had much experience with the snow; it rarely snowed in London, and seldom lasted long when it did snow, so Mary didn’t know what snow was, and Nadia had originally come from the Middle East, a land known for its deserts. Rose, however, had grown up in Philadelphia, and was familiar with snow, and what could be done with it.

The three of them set about building a snowman, while the dog ran around, sniffing and yapping at passers-by, and trying to see what the humans were doing. He finally curled up in a cleared space, insulted, after Mary shoved him away for trying to sit on the snowball she was making.

Rose laughed at the antics of the children and dog as she helped the girls lift the balls of snow on top of each other, constructing a short, lop-sided snowman, which had to be put back together after Nadia slipped and fell against it, knocking it over.

It was late in the morning, when they were searching for sticks and pebbles to make the face of the snowman, that Rose felt the first pains.

She ignored them at first. For several weeks, she had been having occasional pains, false labor, that never progressed. She had been alarmed initially, fearing that something was wrong, but as the weeks passed and she continued to carry her child, she had relaxed, realizing that there was no need to worry.

After a time, however, as Rose and the children were walking home, she realized that these pains were not going to stop. They were coming at closer intervals, tightening around her back and midsection, and she realized that her baby was indeed ready to make an appearance. Her pulse jumped with nervous excitement at the realization, and she hurried the children the rest of the way back to the apartment.

*****

When they got home, Rose puttered around, making lunch for the girls and straightening up the main room. She ate nothing herself, her appetite still gone.

"Aunt Wosie? Why you not eat?" Mary asked, watching her straighten up the room.

"I...I’m just not very hungry right now, Mary," she told the child. Her excitement and nervousness over the coming birth, combined with the contractions of her muscles as her body prepared to deliver the child, had robbed her of her appetite.

Mary seemed to accept this, though she still watched curiously as Rose occasionally stopped, holding her distended stomach, waiting for a pain to end.

When the girls had finished eating, Rose put them down for their naps, laying down on her own bed and trying to rest. She hadn’t washed the lunch dishes, but that could wait. She stretched out, trying to find a comfortable position.

About an hour later, Nadia awoke, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She saw Rose lying on her bed, her arms wrapped around her middle.

"Aunt Wose? Wha’s wrong?"

Rose opened her eyes to see Nadia looking at her worriedly. Making an effort to smile, she sat up, relieved that the pain had ended, and picked the little girl up off her bed, setting her beside her.

"I’m getting ready to have the baby, Nadia," she explained, not expecting the child to understand.

"I wanna see stork."

Rose looked over to see that Mary had awakened and was looking at them excitedly. John had finally told her that babies were brought by storks to quiet her questions about where babies came from. Ever since, Mary had been hoping to see the stork when Rose’s baby was born.

Rose thought for a moment, trying to decide how to explain to Mary that she couldn’t see the stork without explaining where babies really came from. Mary was a curious child, always asking why, and she wouldn’t be satisfied with being told that there was no stork. She would want to know why, and then the questions would start again.

"Only the baby’s mother can see the stork," Rose told her. "It’s invisible to everyone else. You’ll be able to see the baby when it comes, though."

"When it come?"

"Soon."

"I wanna see baby now."

Rose sighed. "You can’t, Mary. You can’t see it until it’s born--"

"Wanna see it now!" Mary screeched and pounded on her mattress, kicking her feet angrily. "Now! Now! Now!"

"Mary, that’s enough," Rose warned her. She had no patience with Mary’s tantrums right now.

"Yeah, shut up, Ma-wy," Nadia told her, standing on Rose’s bed and giving the other girl a superior look. Mary was in trouble, and not her.

"Nadia, that’s not nice," Rose told her, making her sit back down.

Surprisingly, Mary quieted, looking angrily at Nadia. "Dumb Nada," she mumbled, sliding off the bed and heading for the main room.

Rose set Nadia on the floor and followed Mary out, the younger child trailing after her.

*****

For the rest of the afternoon, Rose supervised the children. Mary soon forgave Nadia for telling her to shut up, and the two played companionably with a set of wooden blocks that John had given them for Christmas. Rose washed the dishes and dusted the room between contractions, anxious for something to pass the time.

Finally, she sat down in one of chairs, watching the girls play, waiting as the contractions grew closer and closer together. Around six o’clock, she forced herself to get up and prepare a meal for John, Mary, and Nadia, though the pains were growing longer and harder to stand through.

At 6:30, John walked in the door, home from another day at the factory. The girls ran to greet him, Mary shouting out the news before Nadia could beat her to it.

"Daddy, Aunt Wosie waiting for stork!"

John looked inquiringly at Rose, wondering what was happening.

"The baby’s coming," Rose told him, turning from the stove. Another contraction hit her at that moment, and she grimaced, holding her belly until the pain had passed. "Would you please go find Mrs. Anderson?"

"The midwife?"

Rose nodded. "She lives in the building to our left, in apartment 3R. She already agreed to help me when the baby is born."

"How long have you been in labor?" John asked her.

"Since about mid-morning."

"Why didn’t you get her earlier?"

"I was watching the children," Rose pointed out. "Besides, there’s time. It will be a while before the baby is born, I think."

Shaking his head, John left to find the midwife. Marian Anderson was originally from a small village in northern England, and had been a well-respected midwife there. When she and her husband had come to the United States, she had continued practicing among the neighborhood women, charging them much less than a doctor would have, but providing them with decent care, not always available to the poorer women of the area. She sometimes bragged about how few babies had been lost under her care, and in an area with a relatively high infant mortality rate, that was something that people respected, and she had no shortage of work.

Hoping that John would hurry back with Mrs. Anderson, Rose gave the children their dinner, working around the ever more frequent contractions.

*****

John returned about fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Anderson walking beside him, a bag of instruments in her hand. She ushered Rose into the small bedroom she shared with the children, while John finished feeding them and cleaned up.

Rose brought out the girls’ nightgowns, since she doubted that John would want to put them to bed in a room with a laboring woman. Returning to the room, she shut the door and quickly changed into her own nightgown.

Lying down on the bed, Rose lay still as Mrs. Anderson examined her, using much more care than the doctor who had diagnosed her pregnancy. Pulling the nightgown back down, Mrs. Anderson helped her sit up.

"You’ve got a ways to go yet, but not too far. You should have the baby in a few hours at most."

"Hours?" Rose groaned at the thought. She had already been in labor for hours. Why did these things take so long?

"I know the waiting is hard," the midwife told her. "I’ve had five of my own. But it’s well worth it, once you see the baby."

Rose leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes as another contraction gripped her. "I want to lay down," she mumbled, starting to slide down.

Mrs. Anderson stopped her. "It’s better if you sit up. It helps push the baby downward. I know that doctors usually tell women that they need to lay flat on their backs, but it’s really much easier on both mother and child if she sits up until it’s time for the birth."

Rose moaned at the thought. She had hardly slept the night before, and she was tired. She didn’t know where she’d get the energy to actually give birth. But Mrs. Anderson had delivered many babies, while she herself was only now giving birth to her first. "Whatever you say," she told her, deferring to the midwife’s greater experience.

She settled back against the wall, hoping that the hours would pass quickly.

*****

Rose gasped, her body drenched in sweat. It was well past midnight, and she had been in labor for hours. The pains were so close together as to allow almost no break, but the baby was not yet born. Mrs. Anderson examined her repeatedly, assuring her that she was doing fine, and that the baby would be born before long.

Just after two o’clock in the morning, Rose sensed a change in her body, and, at the midwife’s direction, commenced pushing. It was hard work, but she continued to bear down, breathing hard and crying out in pain, as she struggled to bring her child into the world.

At 2:20, Rose half sat up, giving one last push. The baby slid from her body, announcing its arrival with a wail as it took its first breath.

Mrs. Anderson cut the umbilical cord, cleaning the baby and checking it over. "You have a healthy son," she told Rose, giving her the baby. "He has a mass of hair on his head and a strong set of lungs."

Rose took the baby, noticing the time on the midwife’s pocket watch. 2:20 AM. How fitting, she thought. Her baby had been born exactly nine months after the disaster that had taken his father.

Cradling the newborn close, she examined him, counting the tiny fingers and toes, smoothing the thicket of pale blonde hair on the infant’s head. He opened his eyes for a moment before returning to crying, and Rose saw that his eyes were a deep shade of blue, just like his father’s. Thank you, Jack, she thought silently. We have a beautiful, healthy baby boy, who looks just like you. I promise, I will do my best for him.

"What are you going to name him?" Mrs. Anderson asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Rose considered that for only a moment. "Christopher Jack Dawson," she told her, looking at the tiny boy in her arms. Christopher, for his maternal grandfather, and Jack, for his father. Neither man would ever see his namesake, but she had known when she looked at the baby what his name should be.

*****

Once Mrs. Anderson had Rose cleaned up and settled into bed, she allowed the other members of the household to see her and the child. Mary and Nadia had finally fallen asleep in John’s arms, but had awakened at the sound of the baby’s cry, and were eager to see the new member of their "family." As soon as they were allowed, they dashed into the room to see their caretaker and her new baby.

John followed more slowly, seeing the girls standing beside Rose’s bed, staring in fascination at the newborn. Rose was sitting up, several pillows propped up behind her, holding the infant in her arms. She was dressed in a warm, clean nightgown, looking exhausted but content. At her nod of consent, he lifted the children up onto her bed to see the infant more clearly.

They were both in awe of the tiny baby, reaching out to touch the little face and hands. Christopher turned his head when Nadia touched his cheek, his mouth working. One tiny fist curled around Mary’s fingers as she touched the infant’s hands.

"Wha’s his name?" Mary asked, tugging on Rose’s sleeve to get her attention. Rose was growing drowsy.

"His name is Christopher," Rose told her. "Christopher Dawson."

"Chistoph," Mary repeated, trying to pronounce the name.

"Kiss," Mary replied, taking her fingers away from the baby.

"Cwis," Nadia added, giggling as the baby got one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked on it. "Funny."

"He likes you," Rose told the girls, sitting up a bit more and cradling the newborn against her chest.

"He does?" Mary shook the tiny fist. "I’m Mary, and this is Nada."

Rose laughed at the little girl’s imitation of adult greetings. "He can’t talk yet, Mary, but he will soon. Will you and Nadia help him learn?"

"Uh-huh." Nadia slid down from the bed as John came over to take a closer look at the baby. "Daddy, look!"

"Yes, Nadia. He’s cute, isn’t he?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now, it’s time for you and Mary to go to bed."

"No!" Mary whined.

"The baby will still be here in the morning," Rose assured her. "He’s going to sleep in here with us." She pointed to the second-hand cradle she had bought and set up for the baby.

"Okay." Mary yawned tiredly, allowing John to tuck her into bed. "’Night, Aunt Wosie. ‘Night, Kiss."

"Yeah," Nadia added. "Night-night."

It was only minutes before the two little girls, worn out by the long, exciting day, were sound asleep. John took the baby from a very sleepy Rose, tucking him into his cradle and rocking him until he fell back asleep.

Rose watched John rock her newborn son, suddenly glad that she had found employment with this very tolerant, caring man. How many men would have hired her to such a position without demanding a part of her in return, or would have kept her on after learning that she was unwed and pregnant? She knew that John didn’t believe her story about having married Jack, but he had allowed her to continue working for him, and had even agreed with her story to protect her reputation. He had kept her on, along with a child who wasn’t his, even thought they might be a strain on his finances, and had raised her pay a few cents to give her more for the baby.

Smiling to herself, Rose watched John tuck Christopher into his cradle as she fell asleep.

Chapter Ten
Stories