TITANIC ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Two

Christmas Eve, 1914

Rose looked up as the doorbell rang, distracting her from the game she was playing with Andrew on the floor. Getting awkwardly to her feet, she went to the door and looked out through the peephole, then opened it.

"Mother! Come in." She held the door open for Ruth, taking the bag of food and gifts from her.

Andrew pulled himself to his feet and toddled over, grabbing Ruth’s skirt and grinning up at her. "Gamma!"

"Andrew!" Ruth picked him up and cuddled him. "What a big boy you’re getting to be!"

Andrew just grinned at her, showing his baby teeth. Giggling as she tickled him under the chin, he reached for one of her shiny earrings, tugging until Ruth disentangled his hand from it.

"Merry Christmas, Mother." Rose took Andrew after setting the bag in the kitchen, then hugged her mother, balancing the baby in one arm.

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Rose. I know it’s only Christmas Eve, but I promised Harry that I would spend Christmas with him and his daughter."

"His daughter?" Rose smiled slyly. "This is getting serious."

"Now, Rose, don’t make too much of it. It’s only Christmas."

"Only Christmas! Why, when Daddy was alive, Christmas was the biggest event of the year for our family."

Ruth blushed a little. "Well, now it’s bigger. After all, I do have a darling grandson and more grandchildren on the way."

Rose just raised an eyebrow, looking at Ruth knowingly. "Whatever you say, Mother."

She set Andrew back down on the floor, ready to resume the game, but he had lost interest in it and toddled over to where Ruth had seated herself on the couch, tugging on her elegant green dress and trying to climb up next to her. Ruth picked him up and bounced him on her knee, making him giggle.

Rose sat down next to them, smoothing her own Christmas dress over her expanding middle. "Thomas should be home in an hour or so. A client had an emergency—he got caught stealing from his employer—and Thomas had to go to the jail to see him."

Ruth sighed. "That’s the problem with such a job, Rose—you end up seeing people like that."

Rose shrugged. "From what I’ve heard, people of our old society sometimes got caught doing the same thing. I read in the newspaper just after Daddy died that his partner had stolen a lot of money from the business, leaving the Bukaters with all the debts and no money to pay them off."

Ruth glanced at Rose, a little shocked that she knew about that. She had never mentioned it to her daughter, but she should have known that Rose would have read about it. Her daughter always had been interested in what was going on in the world.

"It’s true, Rose. Jonathan Remboldt was very slick, very smooth, and knew how to work his way into people’s trust and affection. Your father trusted him implicitly. And while he let Mr. Remboldt have more and more responsibility and power, that man was cooking the books, stealing all the profits from the business and using them for himself, hiding the money in accounts that your father couldn’t find. It wasn’t until the stock fell, and the stockholders started screaming, that your father knew what had happened. Mr. Remboldt had kept two different account books—one showing your father what he wanted to see, and the real one, where he kept records of what had really happened.

"Of course, it was too late by that time—everything was in a shambles. The police went to arrest Mr. Remboldt—but someone had tipped him off, and by the time they got there he was gone, all of his American bank accounts cleaned out. The records were brought to light, and most of the stockholders sold off their almost worthless stocks, leaving us in even worse straits. Your father was devastated—that business had been in the family for seventy years, and now it was gone. Everything that he, his father, his grandfather, even his great-grandfather had worked for was gone.

"And then it was brought to light that the products that the company had sold were badly inferior—they broke easily and were dangerous—and someone sued him for what little he had left. We tried to hide it from you, but you always were a curious little thing. I guess it was inevitable that you would learn at least something of it. At any rate, the strain was too great for your father—he had had heart trouble for several years, and he had a heart attack just before the suit was finished."

"He died of a heart attack?" Rose’s eyes were wide, her expression a mixture of sadness and surprise. "I always thought that he was sick for a long time."

"He was, Rose. The heart attack didn’t kill him, but it did weaken him severely. A bad case of influenza ended his life early in 1911."

"Oh, Mother, how awful! I wish I’d known."

"We wanted to spare you the worry, Rose. You were only fifteen, and since you away at boarding school, you didn’t see just what was happening."

"Was that why you didn’t send me back after Daddy died? Because of the money?"

"Yes, and because I couldn’t bear to be in that big house alone with only the servants. I wanted you with me. There was a perfectly good finishing school in Philadelphia that accepted some charity cases—and that was what you were by that time. It wasn’t what I wanted for you, but there really wasn’t any choice, unless I wanted to send you to a public school to finish your education, and I had too much pride for that."

"I didn’t mind, Mother. I—I was glad to be closer to home. It was hard even to go to school after Daddy died—I missed him so much—so I was glad to come home every day. But Mother, there’s something I don’t understand. You’ve said that Daddy was the love of your life, but after he died, you acted bitter and angry, like he’d done something worse than just die."

Ruth looked down, cuddling the baby that had fallen asleep in her arms. "There really wasn’t any excuse for the way I behaved, Rose, but I will try to explain it as best I can. I didn’t know how to express my feelings after your father passed away—openly showing emotion just isn’t done in high society, you know."

Rose nodded, remembering. Their society approved only of the most shallow and superficial of emotions, at least where they could be seen, and even showing emotion behind closed doors was frowned upon. They regarded themselves as the best, and it would never do to allow anyone to see them as anything less. Even trusted servants were never supposed to see or acknowledge the painful sides of their employers lives, and after her husband’s experience with the partner that he had trusted, it was no wonder that Ruth was less than trustful of those around her.

"I was angry and bitter in a way—your father had lost everything, everything that we had been taught to believe was important. Breeding is extremely important in high society—but money is even moreso. We didn’t approve of the nouveau riche, but they were still one of us in a way—they had the money, businesses, and friends that we approved of, even if they didn’t have proper breeding. Maybe they weren’t quite to our standards—but poor people were even less so. Perhaps the new rich reminded us of where our money had come from, and the poor reminded us of where we could be.

"I had loved your father with all my heart—but he had died, leaving me with no one to turn to. Everything was on my shoulders all of a sudden—all the debts, the responsibilities—even you, my grieving daughter. I didn’t know what to do with any of it, and I was at a loss as to how to help you. We hadn’t gotten along well over the years, as I’m sure you recall. You took up smoking, and socializing with the servants—all things I couldn’t approve of, though I realize now that there were far worse things you could have done, and you seem to have given up the smoking."

"I couldn’t get cigarettes for a long time, and after that there didn’t seem to be any point."

"Well, I’m glad you stopped. It’s a disgusting habit, even if your father did enjoy his cigars greatly." She paused, patting Andrew’s back as he stirred. "I was alone, except for you, and I didn’t think you would understand much of it—fifteen-year-olds, no matter how well brought up, are not the most mature people in the world. I kept wondering why it had all happened—why your father had trusted Mr. Remboldt so much, although I had liked and trusted him, too, the times that I met him, and you were the only one who seemed standoffish. Perhaps you were wiser than either of us. But I kept wishing that things had been different, that your father had never hired him, that he hadn’t trusted him, that he hadn’t given him so much power. If only he’d paid more attention to what was happening, or invested less in the business and more in other things that would have left something for us. But it didn’t happen that way, and it seemed that all I had left was the things that we had collected over the years—the fancy house, the lavish furnishings, the expensive clothes and jewelry.

"I couldn’t bear to give up those things, although selling them would have paid off all the debts. I was afraid of poverty—I wasn’t so naïve that I didn’t know how hard life was for the poor, and I knew that I didn’t have the knowledge or skills to get a good job or start my own business like some women have. I started looking for a solution—and I thought I’d found it at your debut ball, which I paid for by selling off a few of my newer pieces of jewelry, which had been mere whims when I had bought them. Caledon Hockley, one of the richest and most eligible bachelors of Philadelphia society, took an interest in you, and I knew that if I could arrange a marriage between the two of you, our problems would be at an end.

"Except that would have created new problems that you didn’t expect," Rose remarked dryly. "Cal and I weren’t exactly a match made in heaven."

"I know that now, but all I could think of then was that I seemed to have found a solution to our problems. You seemed shy around Cal, and a little nervous, even then, but I convinced myself that it was only because you were young and had only just then debuted. You didn’t have much experience with men, so of course you were nervous around him. I did my best to push you two together, and when he finally proposed, I knew that my scheme had worked. He was fascinated by you in spite of your wild ways, and…I admit now that I pushed you hard to accept the proposal."

"I’ll say you did. When I balked, you told me about our financial situation and told me what would happen if I didn’t accept the proposal."

"I was unfair to you, Rose. I’ll acknowledge that now. I should have let you make up your own mind about whom to marry. But I knew that there wasn’t much time—the debt collectors were calling and sending more notices all the time. I gave them enough money to keep them happy, and then accompanied Cal and you to Europe, ostensibly as your chaperone. I was so angry when Jack Dawson came on the scene, ruining my carefully made plans." She shook her head. "I should have let things go. I knew that you weren’t happy with Cal, and I don’t think now that I was being fair to Cal, either—he would have been unhappy if he’d married you."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mother."

"I didn’t it mean it in a bad way, Rose. You didn’t love him—or even particularly like him—and he regarded you more as a prize than as a person. He wouldn’t have been happy when his beautiful bride turned out to have thoughts and a mind different from her husband’s."

Rose laughed, a little ruefully. "You’re right. He wouldn’t have liked it. He wanted an ornament, not a wife."

"But things did work out for you eventually anyway. You have a husband who loves you and doesn’t mind that you think for yourself—"

"He appreciates the fact that I can think for myself," Rose interrupted, a bit defensively. "And so did Jack."

"You have been fortunate, Rose, to have found two great loves in your life."

"Yes, I have been." Rose took the sleeping baby from her mother and rocked him gently as he began to whimper. "I love Thomas, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving Jack, even if he’s only in a distant corner of my heart."

She stood as Andrew’s whimpers turned into wails. "I’d better go change him. I think he’s hungry, too."

"I brought some cookies," Ruth told her. "Why don’t I fix a plate of them while you change his diaper?"

"Sure, Mother. I’ll be down in a few minutes."

*****

A short time later, Rose carried the clean and hungry baby into the kitchen, setting him in his high chair. Ruth gave him a cookie and some milk in a cup with a lid so that he couldn’t spill it. She and Rose sat down at the table, laughing as Andrew tried to stuff the whole cookie into his mouth at once. When he had finally settled into nibbling at it, they returned to their conversation.

"Mother," Rose began. "I never told you this, but I appreciated knowing that you took care of me when I was a baby and didn’t just leave me with a nanny all the time."

Ruth nodded. "Thank you, Rose. It wasn’t considered proper for me to spend so much time with you—it took me away from my parties and friends—but there was something about you that I just loved so much. I couldn’t stand to see someone else watch you do all your growing, so even though you had a nanny, I took care of you anyway. I loved to sit and hold you, watching you fall asleep in my arms. Of course, I had it easier than some mothers—when you needed your diaper changed, or you needed to be fed late at night, your nanny took care of you. But you were my precious baby, and as it turned out, my only baby. I never had any more. I loved to hold you and play with you, to take you for walks around the neighborhood in your carriage. I don’t know what happened later, why I drew away from you—maybe it was because I was conscious of what other people were saying, about the fact that they disapproved of my spending so much time with you. As you know, upper class children are supposed to be ornamental, and left with the help when they aren’t…and you were a normal child. You fussed, and you cried, and you whined when you couldn’t have your way, and people disapproved of my having you with me then. I suppose their disapproval was stronger than my love for my little girl." She looked at her daughter. "I’m sorry, Rose."

"I’m sorry, too, Mother. I grew up thinking that you didn’t really care much for me, and now it’s hard to change those feelings—but I am trying, and I love Andrew very much."

"I know you do, Rose. I’m still trying to make up for all those years. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it."

Rose shook her head. "We can’t change the past, Mother, but we can go on from where we are and try to do things better in the future. It was like Jack said—make each day count."

They were interrupted as the front door opened, signaling that Thomas was home. "Rose!" he called. "Where are you?"

"I’m in here, Thomas." Rose went to the front door to greet him. "How was your client?"

"He said he didn’t do it."

"Don’t they usually say that?"

"Yes, but for some reason, I’m inclined to believe him this time. Money has been disappearing from his company, but I don’t think he’s responsible. I think he may be the scapegoat here."

"Well, you’ll find out." She gave him a kiss, then gestured for her to follow her to follow her to the kitchen. "Mother is here."

"Wonderful." Thomas sighed, still not completely trusting Ruth.

"Thomas!" Rose hissed under her breath. "Be nice."

"I am. I am."

Andrew squealed in delight when his father walked into the kitchen, reaching hands covered with cookie crumbs toward him. Rose quickly wiped her son’s hands before his father picked him up, then hurried to clean up the mess the baby had left on the high chair tray.

Thomas sat down next to Ruth, grinning as his son tugged on his ear and squealed, "Dada!"

"He adores you," Ruth remarked, offering him the plate of cookies.

"He’s my boy," Thomas replied, still grinning at the baby. He took a cookie, broke off a piece, and offered it to Andrew.

Andrew took it, settling down in Thomas’ lap and munching contentedly. "Thomas!" Rose scolded. "I just cleaned him up."

She couldn’t really be angry, though, not when both her husband and her son gave her identical grins. She laughed, sitting down next to them.

"Oh, I stopped on the way home and bought you something," Thomas told her, supporting Andrew with one arm and reaching into his jacket pocket with the other. "Remember how eager you were to start a memory tree last year?"

Rose nodded. "Yes. We’ve still got that angel. Do you have any ideas for a special ornament for this year?"

"Well…I saw these ornaments advertised in a store window on the way to the jail, so on my way back I stopped and bought them." He pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket and handed it to her.

Curious, Rose opened it, her mouth dropping open in surprise and delight as she took out the tissue paper wrapped ornaments. They were made of brightly colored stained glass, with a name in the middle of each one, along with the year.

She picked up the first one, tracing the horse-shaped ornament with her fingers as she read the name. "Andrew. Christmas, 1914."

"Like it?"

"I love it." She showed it to Andrew, but quickly moved it away when he reached for it. She didn’t want him to drop it.

"Look at the others."

Rose pulled out the other ornaments, both in the shape of babies. "Jack. Christmas, 1914. Laura. Christmas, 1914. Oh, Thomas, they’re wonderful!"

"I thought you’d like them. They didn’t have Lora’s name with the spelling we’re going to use, so I got the closest one."

"Jack? Laura?" Ruth looked at the ornaments. "Who are they? Is that ornament to commemorate Jack Dawson, or—"

"They’re for the twins," Rose explained. "Their names will be Jack and Lora."

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "Is there a method now for determining whether a baby will be a boy or girl before it’s born?"

Rose blushed, a little sheepish. "No, but…we just know. Jack is in honor of my first baby…" She frowned as Ruth gave her a disbelieving look. "It is!"

"Whatever you say, Rose."

"Lora is in honor of Thomas’ sister, who brought us together when I was in the shelter and who we lived with when we first came here." Rose lay the ornaments against her middle, grinning as the babies kicked. "I think they know."

Thomas laughed, handing Andrew to Ruth. "Let’s put them on the tree."

*****

Later, as everyone sat around the tree opening presents, Ruth handed Rose a letter that had come the day before.

"Here. We were so busy yesterday that I forgot to give you this. It came in the studio’s mail, and they gave it to me because they know I’m your mother."

Rose took it, frowning as she recognized Myrtle’s name and address. How had she found her, and what did she want?

Still frowning, she opened the letter, hoping that Myrtle wasn’t going to try to ruin her life again.

Dear Rose,

I want to apologize for the way I treated you in Cedar Rapids. It was uncalled for, especially since what I did was in reaction to the lies spread by your awful mother. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but when the truth came out, I was one of the first to defend you.

I suppose you’re wondering how I found you. As you probably remember, I love moving pictures, and I see them whenever there’s a new one at the theater in town. When I read that a new picture was coming out early in December, Save the Last Dance, I eagerly read the article. Your name was mentioned in it, as well as the name of your studio.

I saw the picture, and it was wonderful. You’re a very talented actress and dancer. I didn’t know your address, but I mailed this letter to the studio hoping that you would get it.

I hope that you can forgive me for the way I treated you in Cedar Rapids, and that we can be friends again.

Your friend,

Myrtle Sinclair

"I don’t believe her!" Rose exploded. "After what she did, slandering us all over Cedar Rapids, she wants to be friends again!"

"She has a lot of gall," Ruth agreed, taking the letter and reading it. "Rose, are you going to respond to this?"

"No," Rose replied. "I’d be a fool if I did. We have so much more at stake here than we did in Cedar Rapids—think of the damage she could do if she knew exactly where to find me. The studio won’t listen if she just sends letters to them, especially if what she says sounds crazy—there’s plenty of crazy fans out there—but if she knows where we are, she could make our lives miserable."

"Ignore her, then," Thomas suggested. "Maybe she’ll leave you alone."

"Good idea." Rose crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the fireplace, watching as the flames quickly turned it to ash. She did the same with the envelope, then used the poker to mix the ashes with the others. "Problem solved."

"Maybe not," Ruth warned. "She may try to write to you again. I don’t trust her, Rose."

"Neither do I, after all she’s done. She reminds me of Jonathan Remboldt, in a way…she pretends to be friendly while she stabs you in the back." She paused, thinking. "Maybe they’re related."

"Who’s Jonathan Remboldt?" Thomas wanted to know.

"Someone from my childhood," Rose told him. "It’s a long story, and I’ll tell it to you later."

Ruth looked at Andrew, who had fallen asleep amidst the brightly colored wrapping paper that interested him far more than the presents. "It’s starting to get late."

Rose glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was almost nine. "I’m surprised he stayed awake this long. He’ll be a tired baby tomorrow if we don’t put him to bed soon."

"I need to be going, too," Ruth told them. "I told Harry I’d be there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning."

Rose gave her the same sly grin from earlier. "Enjoy yourself, Mother."

"Now, Rose, don’t make too much of it…"

"Merry Christmas, Mother. You go ahead and have a great time."

"Thank you, Rose. I think I will."

*****

A couple of hours later, Rose drifted to sleep in Thomas’ arms, warm and content, her dreams full of Christmas and babies. After a while, though, the dream changed, and she found herself on Titanic once again.

Rose looked around her stateroom, surprised to see that it was decorated for Christmas. It was brighter and more beautiful than she had ever seen it. Sensing that someone was there, she turned, her face lighting in a smile when she saw Jack.

"Merry Christmas, Rose." He walked toward her, taking her hand and leading her onto the promenade deck. She was surprised to find it warm and sunny, not at all like the Decembers she remembered.

"Jack…" She smiled, hugging him tightly, laughing when the babies kicked against him.

He smiled, too. "Merry Christmas, kids. Jack Taylor and Lora Jacquelyn. Now, what I can’t quite figure out is if you’re half-siblings or full siblings to my little girl, since you, Lora, carry her spirit."

Rose smiled sadly, still embracing him. "You wish she’d lived, don’t you?"

He nodded. "Yes, I do, even though I know that her soul has been given a second chance to live in her sister’s body."

"It’s not quite the same, though."

"No, but I love your new little girl just as much as the first one you carried."

"Thank you, Jack." They sat down together, Rose leaning against him. "What’s going on this time?"

"A couple of things, neither of which are going to make you happy."

"Oh, God." Rose hid her face in her hands. "Sometimes, I think I’d rather not know."

"But this lets you be prepared."

"I know, but…well, what it is?"

Jack laughed at Rose’s impatient tone, then sobered. "It’s about Thomas."

"Oh, no."

"He’s going to go away to war."

"What?!" Rose jumped up and began pacing. "He promised he wouldn’t sign up!"

"And he won’t. He’s going to be drafted."

Rose turned to him. "When?"

"In April of 1917. That’s when the United States is going to enter the war."

"But that’s only a little over two years away! The children will still be young. Why would they draft someone with young children?"

"I can’t speak for government logic, or military intelligence, which is a misnomer anyway."

"But how can they be so stupid? Haven’t any of them studied history? Don’t they know what kind of trouble the last draft caused?"

"Probably not. And besides, bad things never happen twice."

"Bullshit!"

He laughed. "You haven’t changed a bit."

Rose sat down beside him again. "Jack, it isn’t fair. It isn’t right. Why should he have to go to war if he doesn’t want to?"

"That’s the $64,000 question."

"What?" Rose gave him a confused look.

"It’s nothing. Just something from a future TV show."

"What’s a TV?"

"Never mind. You’ll figure it out. It’s nothing bad."

"That’s good to know." Rose paused, taking a deep breath. "Jack, will Thomas be all right? Will he come back?"

"I don’t know, Rose. No one’s told me that."

"It isn’t right. I don’t want to lose him."

"I wish I could tell you what will happen, but I can’t. I don’t know."

"Jack…" Rose threw her arms around him. "Thank God you’ll never have to go through that."

"I would have, if I’d lived. I wouldn’t have come back, either."

"No!"

"Rose, calm down. I’m already dead, remember? I’m beyond all that now."

"But what about Thomas?"

"I wish I could tell you, Rose. I really do."

Rose sighed, leaning against him. "At least it’s still a couple of years away. I’ve got that much time with him, at least."

"I hope you have much more."

"So do I." Rose leaned her head against his shoulder, stunned by the news. How could she let Thomas go off to war?

"Rose…there is something else. Something much more immediate."

She stiffened, looking up at him. "What is it?"

"It’s about your old friend Myrtle."

"She’s going to ruin my life again, isn’t she? Damn her!"

"I don’t know if she’s going to ruin your life, but she is coming to visit you."

"God’s being really stingy with the information these days, isn’t He?" Rose scowled. "You can’t tell me much of anything."

"He decides how much I can tell you, and only gives me that much information. I may be an angel now, but I still have a big mouth."

"You don’t say."

"Anyway, I do know that she’s coming to visit you, and that she’ll find you."

"How? Is the studio going to tell her? I can’t believe they’d give out my information."

"No, they won’t tell her…but you are listed in the phone book."

"Shit." Rose buried her face in her hands. "What is wrong with my life?"

"Nothing. If everything were perfect, you’d be bored out of your mind."

"I could use a little boredom right now."

"She has changed a little, though I don’t know in what way." He shrugged. "If all else fails, you can tell the studio that she’s stalking you. You won’t be the first actress to have that problem. Besides, your husband’s a lawyer. He could probably make it so that she’s required to stay away from you."

"Until he goes off to war, anyway." Rose’s eyes filled with tears. "Jack, why does this have to happen? I’ve already lost you and Jacquelyn. I don’t want to lose Thomas, too."

"I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right, but I can’t. I don’t know anymore than you do." He rocked her gently as she cried into his shoulder.

The light began to fade, and Rose felt Jack pulling away from her. "No, Jack. Not yet."

"It’s time for you to go back, Rose."

She could feel him fading away. "No, Jack."

"I love you, Rose. Until we meet again."

Rose squeezed his hand as he faded away. "I love you, too, Jack."

Rose opened her eyes to find herself lying in her own bed, Thomas sleeping soundly beside her. She sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes, wishing that she could believe that it had just been a horrible nightmare. But she knew better. Myrtle was coming, and Thomas would be going away to war in a couple of years—and he might not come back.

She rolled over, pulling Thomas against her. He woke up, squinting at her in the darkness as she choked back a sob.

"What’s wrong, Rose?"

She just shook her head. She couldn’t tell him. "Hold me, Thomas. Just hold me."

*****

Two days later, as Ruth was fitting one of Rose’s costumes, she told her how her visit with Harry had gone.

"It was very nice, Rose. His daughter is in her mid-twenties and unmarried. She’s an actress, too…but she prefers the stage to the moving pictures."

"Is she going to be my stepsister?"

"What? Rose…I told you not to make too much of this visit."

"Well, is she?"

"It’s too soon to think about that yet, Rose. Think about the family you have, not the family you might have."

Rose raised an eyebrow at her, then turned so Ruth could finish pinning up her hem. "Mother…Myrtle is coming to visit."

"I thought you weren’t going to contact her."

"I didn’t. She invited herself."

"Is she going to stay with you?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Rose closed her eyes, trying to push the rest of what Jack had told her out of her mind.

"Don’t worry, Rose. Los Angeles is a big city…"

"Thomas and I are listed in the phone book."

"Oh. Well, I wouldn’t worry too much, Rose." She looked at her daughter, who was growing teary-eyed. "Rose, you have a contract. People love you. And this is a big enough city that not everyone knows you. I don’t think she can ruin your life this time. It isn’t something to cry about."

"Mother…I don’t want her here."

"I know, Rose…but you’ll be all right. If she interferes, call the police and they can get rid of her for you."

"You don’t understand…"

"She turned on me, too, Rose. I do understand."

Rose just shook her head. You don’t understand, Mother, she thought. Myrtle doesn’t upset me half as much as the thought of losing Thomas. But you can’t understand, because I won’t tell you. How could I ever explain how I know? I just have to make each day with Thomas count, because I don’t know how many days we’ll have.

"Rose, in case you were wondering, I don’t want her here, either. I don’t trust her. And I had nothing to do with her coming."

"I didn’t think you did, especially since her letter said how awful you are. I don’t think you’d invite her when she speaks of you like that."

"No, I wouldn’t. But if she goes after you, Rose, I’ll defend you every step of the way."

Rose turned suddenly, giving Ruth a hug. "I know you will, Mother."

Chapter Thirty-Three
Stories