ROSE'S SENSE
Chapter Five
December 1912
Philadelphia
Rose spent most of the next two months at
home. She avoided going out, choosing instead to read the collection of books
in her late father’s library. Jack’s rejection still stung, but she had almost
convinced herself that she didn’t care.
Her relationship with her mother had not
improved any. Rose had hoped that at Christmas, a time when families
traditionally came together, she and Ruth might be able to forgive each other
and start over again.
It was not to be. In the past, Ruth had
thrown gala Christmas celebrations, but this year the house remained dark and
undecorated. No candles or lights adorned the rooms, and Ruth had not even
bothered with a Christmas tree. Rose had always enjoyed the decorations, the
carolers, and the sight of the piles of brightly wrapped presents around the
tree. This year, however, Ruth seemed determined to forget about Christmas, and
she and Rose maintained their silence. Rose attempted to speak to Ruth once, when
her mother had taken the time to listen to some carolers at the door, but Ruth
had maintained her icy silence, and Rose had not tried again.
Mabel had announced that she was leaving
after Christmas, to rejoin her family in Pittsburgh. Rose was sorry to see her
go; she had been Rose’s only friend for a long time. But Mabel’s mother had
consumption and needed her, so Mabel had no choice but to leave.
Ruth had been interviewing candidates for a
new maid, so Rose had little to do. She had no say in who was hired. She went
out occasionally, admiring the decorations that the neighbors had put up, but
never left her own neighborhood. Her own house looked barren and stark next to
the brightly decorated homes of her neighbors. She listened to groups of carolers
on the streets, but never approached them. It was the loneliest Christmas of
her life.
On Christmas Eve, Ruth went out with a few
friends who hadn’t dropped her when she had been forced to leave the ranks of
high society. Rose sat alone at home--even Mabel was out, and no one had
invited her anywhere. On impulse, she went into the back yard and cut a some
branches from a pine tree. Carrying them to her room, she placed them in a bowl
of water to keep the sap off the furniture and decorated them with a few pieces
of her jewelry. Stepping back, she looked at her handiwork.
The wreath glittered in the light, the gold
and gems that Rose had once worn hanging from the branches. Picking it up, she
carried it downstairs and set in the middle of the dining room table. She could
have at least one decoration in the house.
She went to bed just after midnight,
remembering how, as a child, she had sneaked downstairs to see if she could
meet Santa Claus. She had always fallen asleep, of course, and once she was
older she had learned that Santa didn’t really exist. But it had been fun while
it lasted.
Rose awoke to her mother’s angry voice. Ruth
had found the wreath on the table and was loudly berating Mabel for its
presence. Throwing on a dress and shoes, Rose hurried downstairs.
Ruth turned away from Mabel and attacked the
wreath, yanking the jewelry free and tossing it into a corner. She pulled the
branches apart, scattering them across the table.
"Mother, stop!" Rose tried to run
to her, but Mabel grabbed her arm and pulled her into the kitchen.
Rose tried to pull free. "What are you
doing? She’s destroying my work!"
"You can’t stop her, Rose."
Ruth heard Mabel’s words and came into the
kitchen.
"That’s it, Mabel. That’s the last straw.
I’ve warned you before. Go pack your bags. I’ll pay you before you leave."
She rushed out.
Rose looked at Mabel. "I’m sorry, Mabel.
I didn’t mean to get you in trouble."
Mabel shook her head. "This has been
coming for a long time, Rose." She headed for the stairs.
Rose went back into the dining room. Ruth was
sitting at the table, holding a locket that Rose had put on her wreath.
She opened the locket and looked at the
pictures inside. One was of her late husband; the other was of Rose as a small child.
"Rose, darling," she whispered,
staring at the portraits.
"Mother?" Rose sat down beside her.
"I’m sorry about the wreath. I didn’t know you felt that strongly about
it."
Ruth didn’t reply. Snapping the locket shut,
she squeezed her hand around it, tears welling in her eyes. "Rose, why did
you have to run off like that? I called after you, but you refused to come
back."
Rose put her hand on Ruth’s shoulder.
"I’m sorry, Mother. It was a mistake. Maybe the biggest one I ever made. I
should never have taken up with Jack. You were right about him all along."
Ruth didn’t reply. Slowly, she fastened the
locket around her own neck and went to pick up the rest of the jewelry. Rose
watched her, wanting to cry herself.
"Mother..."
Ruth walked out of the room, not
acknowledging Rose’s pleading voice. Rose could take it no more. Stumbling to
her feet, she ran through the kitchen and out the door, not stopping for a coat
first. Darting through the icy yard, she ran down the street.
*****
Rose didn’t know how long she had been
running. She didn’t notice when the expensive houses of the upper class changed
to the smaller homes of the middle class residents of Philadelphia, or when
those gave way to the tenements. Finally, she stopped, realizing that she was in
a section of Philadelphia she had only visited once before--at her father’s
funeral.
Slowly, she made her way down the street. The
cemetery was cold and forbidding in the winter weather, the headstones coated
with snow. A few bouquets and Christmas arrangements adorned the newer graves.
She walked toward it without really knowing why.
As she walked through the gates, she saw a
familiar figure walking along one of the paths. Intrigued in spite of herself,
she followed Jack.
He was walking slowly, avoiding icy patches
with the sure footing of one who had lived a lifetime in cold climates. He was
slightly hunched over, one hand tucked inside his coat, concealing something.
Rose walked beside him. Despite her anger at
his rejection of her, she hadn’t stopped caring, and he looked miserable.
He headed in the direction of a few new
graves in a corner of the cemetery. Rose walked beside him, not speaking,
wondering who he could have known that was buried there. She had heard that a
few Titanic victims had been brought to Philadelphia; perhaps he knew one of
them.
Jack stopped in front of the headstone in the
farthest corner. He looked at it for a minute, composing himself. Then,
finally, he spoke.
"Merry Christmas, Rose."
Rose looked at him, startled. It was the
first time he had acknowledged her since they were rescued. "Jack..."
He didn’t look up. "I’m leaving
tomorrow...going to New York. I have a job there. My art has done real well,
and I’ll be working for a portrait studio there. Mimi’s gone on ahead--she’s
waiting for me there. I think you would have liked her--she’s got a lot of
spirit, just like you. I think you could have been friends." His voice
broke.
Rose looked at him, puzzled. What was going
on? Why was he telling her this?
He looked up at the sky, blinking his eyes
rapidly, before looking back at the headstone. His voice was choked as he spoke
again.
"I miss you, Rose."
"Jack, I’m right here..."
He pulled out the item that he had carried
inside his coat--a small bouquet of flowers. Rose watched as he set them on the
grave next to another, larger arrangement. As he straightened, she looked at
the name on the headstone. And suddenly, Rose understood.