TITANIC ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was a long time before Rose’s renewed
grief over Jack began to fade. Though she tried to hide it, it was difficult,
especially in the beginning, when the grief was new and raw.
Thomas was bewildered and concerned over his
wife’s sadness following the birth of the twins, but Lora, unaware of the real
reason for Rose’s sorrow, assured him that many women became sad and depressed
following the birth of a child. Ruth and Myrtle agreed, and Thomas reluctantly
accepted their word, though it puzzled him that Rose felt such sorrow now when
she had been perfectly normal following Andrew’s birth.
It seemed to Rose that her grief would go on
forever, and there was no one she could share it with. She didn’t even dare to
whisper it to her babies, for fear that somehow one of them would remember what
she had said, though it was unlikely. After a time, she grew more adept at
hiding it, knowing that it distressed her loved ones to see her so sad,
especially when none of them knew the reason why.
Though it seemed as though her grief would
never end, after a time, it slowly but surely began to lift. Jack was gone from
her, but not forever—hadn’t he promised her that when she passed away, far in
the future, he would be waiting for her? And her little Jacquelyn had been
returned to her in the body of another child, one who was strong and healthy
and would live a long, long time.
Much of what Jack had spoken to her about
came true in the months that followed. Ruth truly had changed this time. She
did not try to control Rose, or try to run her life. She accepted Rose’s
child-rearing decisions, although she was still more than happy to offer
advice, wanted or not, and she treasured the time she spent with her
grandchildren. Even after she married Harry in June of 1915, she continued to
work at Eagle Movie Studios, often going to lunch with Rose or watching her on
the set if she had nothing else to do.
Myrtle, too, had changed, although Rose still
didn’t fully trust her. True to her word, she hadn’t spoken against Rose at the
movie studio, or anywhere else. When she spoke of her at all, it was to say
complimentary things—and her compliments were genuine. The Calverts had helped
her when she had desperately needed it, and she wouldn’t repay their kindness
by slandering their good name. She had learned her lesson about gossip and lies
and the hurt they could cause, and, after her son was born early in April, she
took advantage of her temporary inability to work by watching the Calvert
children while Rose was at work. Andrew and Emily Elaine were becoming fast
friends, squealing with delight when they saw each other, and whether their
mothers liked it or not, they were pushed together for the sake of their
children.
For Rose, Jack’s final appearance had changed
her, too. She had done her best to make each day count since Jack’s death, but
now she took those words more seriously than ever, realizing that she couldn’t
really predict what the future would hold, and that each moment was precious.
She showered her husband and children with love and affection, put her heart
into her acting, and treated life as a precious gift.
But for all that Rose put her heart into the
living of each day, she couldn’t forget what Jack had told her about the war,
and as the months passed, and the news from across the Atlantic grew worse, her
worries grew.
*****
The United States entered World War I on
April 6, 1917, and a law was passed requiring that all men between the ages of
twenty-one and thirty register for the Selective Service, better known as the
draft. Rose opposed the idea, knowing the problems that the draft had caused
the first time it was used in America, but there really wasn’t anything she
could do. Women could vote in California, but no one had asked the voters, male
or female, what they thought of the new law. It had simply been passed.
Rose also knew that it had been inevitable.
She had known that this moment would come, and once it did, she knew that she
had to live with it and learn to accept it. She knew, as well, that Thomas
would be called to serve, and that something bad would happen to him within the
course of the war, though she didn’t know what.
When the draft notice came in August of 1917,
Rose had just returned home after a long day at the studio. Thomas had gotten
home earlier, and was playing with four-year-old Andrew and the two-and-a
half-year-old twins in the sitting room. Toys were scattered everywhere, and
the three children shrieked in delight as they cavorted around their father.
Rose was putting her purse away when she
heard the doorbell ring, startling her out of her reverie. For some reason, she
had been daydreaming about Jack that day, remembering both their time together
on the ship and the times that he had visited her dreams after his death.
For some inexplicable reason, the familiar chimes
of the doorbell sent a chill down Rose’s back. It was a sound that she had
heard many times before, one that usually meant the arrival of friends or her
mother, or at worst, a traveling salesman. Now, for some reason she couldn’t
quite fathom, the sound filled her with dread.
She reached the door just after Thomas did,
and watched as a uniformed delivery boy handed him a telegram. He took it and
gave the boy a tip, holding the note out of the way of little Lora’s eager
hands as she sat on his shoulders.
Rose looked at the telegram with dread.
Thomas rarely received such messages at home, preferring instead to have
telegrams relating to his work delivered to his office, and she saw no reason
for one to be delivered now.
Trembling, she took Lora from Thomas and sat
down on the couch beside him, absently pulling Jack into her lap as well when
he begged to get up. Andrew climbed up on the couch beside them, wondering what
all the excitement was about.
Thomas opened the telegram slowly, looking
with concern at Rose. He had rarely seen her so agitated. As he tore it open,
Rose clutched the twins tighter, holding on until they squirmed in protest.
His look of resignation told Rose all she
needed to know. Snatching the telegram from his hands, she read it, her eyes
filling with tears.
"Thomas—you’ve been drafted!" she
wailed, dropping the telegram. "Why did this have to happen? Why!?"
Thomas shook his head. "Rose, it’s a
draft notice, not a death sentence."
"It might as well be," she sobbed.
She couldn’t tell him what Jack had said—he’d never believe her—but now that
the notice had arrived, she could only imagine the worst.
"Rose, come on. Calm down. I don’t even
have to report for a month yet, and then it’ll be at least six weeks before I go
overseas—if I’m even sent over there. I’m a lawyer—they might have use for me
right here in the United States. Who knows, the war might even end before
then."
Rose tried to calm herself, to no avail.
Something was going to happen, and she knew it. It was inevitable.
"I don’t want to lose you!" she
wailed. "I’ve lost too much already!"
Thomas pulled her into his arms, along with
the twins, who were now crying also. "Rose, nothing’s going to happen to
me. I’ll be back. I promise."
Rose shook her head, holding him tightly.
"Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Thomas," she told him.
"Just promise me that you won’t take any unnecessary chances. Don’t try to
be a hero. Your staying alive is as much as any of us needs."
Thomas rocked her gently. "Like you
said, Rose, I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep. If someone needs me, I’m
going to help them. You know that I couldn’t do otherwise."
Rose knew, but it didn’t make it any easier
to accept. Thomas could die helping some stranger far from home, someone who
might never consider doing the same for him. She might never see him again,
might raise their children without him. She didn’t want to think about it, but
knew that the possibility was there.
*****
One month later, Thomas left for basic
training. Rose and the children accompanied him to the train station, along
with Ruth, who had grown attached to her son-in-law and was almost as concerned
for him as Rose was.
Rose clung to him, weeping quietly, as the
warning whistle blew from the train. Around them, others hurried toward the
train, mostly men who had been called off to war. As Thomas tried to step away,
Rose hugged him tighter, refusing to let go.
"Don’t go," she whispered brokenly,
her hands clutching his arms as though to pull him away with her. "You
don’t have to."
"I do have to, Rose," Thomas told
her, kissing the top of her head. "The law says—"
"Damn the law! I want you to stay!"
"Rose, I can’t. We both know that."
Her embraced her, then pulled away. "You’re going to be fine. You’re going
to take care of the children, and make more pictures while I’m gone. When I
return, I expect to see you in one or two new movies. Just think about the
future, when I’m home again. It won’t be forever."
Rose gulped, trying valiantly to stop her
tears. "Take care of yourself, Thomas. Don’t do anything stupid. You’re
already all the hero any of us needs."
"I love you, Rose, and I’ll miss you and
the children. I’ve only been drafted for two years—if the war even lasts that
long. It’s already been over three years since it began—how much longer can it
really go on? And if some people are to be believed, this will be the last
war."
"The last war? Perhaps if a way is found
to destroy the whole world—but there isn’t anything that can do that, thank
God," Rose whispered, her voice still breaking in the occasional sob.
"No, there isn’t. And I will be
back, Rose," Thomas whispered back, kissing her once more before he
stepped away and headed for the train.
"Yes, you’ll be back," Rose
murmured. "I only hope that it’s alive."
*****
Thomas wrote to Rose as soon as he reached
the training center near San Diego, and every chance he could thereafter. Some
of his news surprised her, but she was always glad to hear from him, and always
wrote back as soon as she received his letter. She read the news every day,
praying that this time Jack would be wrong, that the war would end before any
harm could come to him.
Due to the fact that mail was censored, most
of what Thomas wrote home about was general information about where they
were—nothing specific that could have alerted the enemy to their
position—everyday life, the people that he was with, and events that occurred,
both battles and everyday events.
Rose was surprised to learn that David
Sinclair was there as well, and was a part of Thomas’ regiment. Thomas wrote
that he seemed to miss Myrtle, and wondered about Emily Elaine and the child
Myrtle had been carrying when she left, but despite searching for them, he had
never found any trace of them.
Rose wondered sourly if he’d ever tried looking
at a moving picture. With the number of them Myrtle and Emily Elaine had been
in, it was almost sure that he would have seen them at some point if he was
watching. It was probably just as well, though—Myrtle showed little desire to
go back to him, only occasionally speaking of him at all, and Rose knew that
Thomas hadn’t told David where his wife was.
Rose treasured every letter she received,
though some filled her heart with fear—especially when Thomas wrote about
battles he had been in and the weapons that were used. He could easily be
killed, and she knew it. But every letter meant that he was still alive, and
for that she was grateful.
*****
Late in January of 1918, Rose was finishing a
letter to Thomas when a man in uniform stepped onto the set of her latest
picture. She glanced at him, but soon went back to what she was doing, assuming
that he was an extra who had gotten lost.
It wasn’t until the director pointed towards
her and the man in uniform walked slowly toward her, a grim expression on his
face, that Rose looked up again, realizing now that the man wasn’t an actor.
Her heart began to pound with dread as he walked towards her, an envelope in
his hand.
"Mrs. Calvert?" he asked, his face
showing both weariness and sympathy.
Rose tried to speak, choked, and tried again.
"Yes?" she asked, praying that whatever he had to say, it wasn’t too
serious.
He handed her the envelope, watching as she
opened it with shaking hands. "Mrs. Calvert, it’s about your
husband…"
Rose took the piece of paper from the
envelope and unfolded it. Her expression changed to shock, and then horror, as
she read the telegram.
"No!" she cried, dropping the
telegram to the floor. "No, no! Thomas! Oh, God, no!"