ROSE'S PAST
Chapter One

1903

Rose had been waiting anxiously in the entryway for over an hour. She was beginning to wonder if her father would ever come home. Just as she began to truly despair, the door opened, and he stepped inside.

"Daddy, I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve missed you!"

"I’m sorry I’m late, dearest," he began, lifting Rose into his arms. She kissed his cheek softly. "Happy birthday, Daddy."

"Thank you." He smiled brightly. "Now, where is that present you promised I would get today, hmm?"

Rose’s expression darkened, and she would not look at her father now. He put her down, and knelt so she had no choice but to be face to face with him. "What is it, Rose? Why do you look so sad?"

"Mother saw what I had for you, and she said it was no good. She says good things come from a store. She wanted me to throw it away, but I didn’t. I hid it. If you still want it, I could..."

"Rose, of course I want it! It is from you, that makes it good. I’m sorry your mother said those things. It was wrong of her. Now, why don’t you go get it from its hiding place? I’ll wait right here." He stood and moved over to stand at the foot of the stairs.

Very excited now, Rose nearly ran up the stairs. Just as she disappeared around the curve of the staircase, Ruth came into the entryway and addressed her husband.

"Joseph, thank goodness you’re finally home! The party is due to begin in just a few hours!"

He barely stifled a sigh. "Yes, I know. I will be ready in plenty of time, don’t worry. I do hope it doesn’t go on as long as last year. The maids got almost no sleep. And Rose gets nervous with so many strangers in the house, dear."

"The maids are paid to work, not sleep. And it isn’t as if Rose has to attend many of these parties, not yet. She can do as I wish at least a few times a year!"

"She is very obedient, Ruth, you know that as well as I do. But she is only eight, she can’t be expected to stay up half the night." He nearly shuddered as he thought of what had happened at the previous year’s birthday party:

Rose had charmed everyone. Joseph had been told by nearly everyone what a beautiful, well-mannered child he had. He saw the concern growing in their eyes as it neared midnight and Rose had still been expected to stay up. Joseph had tried to reason with Ruth, quietly, in a corner, of course. She had stubbornly refused to allow her daughter to go to bed. Like a fool, and, to be honest, not wishing to cause a scene, Joseph had given in to his wife’s wishes. Just a short while later, he was sorry he had. Rose could not help herself; she had simply curled up on the couch and gone to sleep. When Ruth discovered this, she had shaken her awake, and taken her by the hand, leading her around the room to say proper good nights before allowing Betsy, Rose’s favorite of their several maids, to take the child up to bed. Just as they had started up the stairs, Joseph had been near enough to hear his daughter begin to cry.

After waiting several minutes, both to be sure Ruth was absorbed in conversation and to give Rose time to get into her nightclothes, he sneaked upstairs. As soon as he opened the door, Rose looked up, frightened. Tears were streaming freely down her face. But she had obviously been expecting her mother, and was relieved to see him instead. She ran straight into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I’m sorry, Daddy." Her voice was muffled, but Joseph still understood her words perfectly. "I tried to be a good girl. Mother is so angry."

"Yes, but don’t you worry about that. You won’t see her again until tomorrow, and quite late, too, I'm sure. If she is still cross, we can do something fun, just you and I. Now, it’s far too late for a little girl to be up." Joseph put his daughter gently down in her bed, covered her up, and kissed her forehead. "Good night, my dearest. I love you."

"Good night, Daddy. I love you too."

*****

"Joseph, are you listening to me?" Ruth truly sounded annoyed, and Joseph forced himself to focus his attention. "I’m sorry, I’ve been very distracted today. What is it you just said?"

"I said, to save me the embarrassment, as soon as Rose grows tired tonight, Betsy can take her to bed."

Between his memories and the present situation, Joseph had reached his limit. "Rose wasn’t trying to embarrass you. She was tired, that’s all. I can’t believe you still haven’t forgiven her for something that happened a year ago!" It was at that moment that Joseph saw Rose huddled on the stairs, watching. At the sound of his raised voice, she looked frightened. Very carefully, he controlled his tone as he continued, "I don’t like leaving the care of our child to the maids. I will put Rose to bed myself tonight." He gazed intently at his wife. When she saw he meant what he said, she walked away without another word, a look of disdain on her face. Only after her mother was gone did Rose come back downstairs. Her previous happiness gone now, she held out her little gift to her father silently. He took it from her, then lifted her into his arms again.

"Thank you, darling. I’m sorry you overheard that. Very sorry."

Rose laid her head down on her father’s shoulder and whispered, "Daddy, do I really have to come to the party?"

"I know you don’t want to, Rose. But how can I celebrate my birthday without you? You will only have to stay a little while, we can make up an excuse. All right?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, Daddy!"

He smiled, then kissed her cheek. "It is getting late now, though. You should have Betsy help you get ready." Reluctantly, Joseph put his daughter down, and she went back upstairs. It was only then that he had time to look at the present she had given him.

It was a single sheet of paper, on which his child had drawn the two of them together, with Joseph holding her just as he had been a moment ago. At the bottom of the page were printed two words: Love, Rose. Painfully, Joseph realized what his daughter had left out of the drawing as much as what was included. Ruth was not there, as if the family consisted of only father and daughter. It was a birthday present only for him, of course, but still the omission troubled him. Sighing heavily, Joseph went slowly up the stairs, heading for his bedroom to begin dressing for the party.

As the maid gently slipped the dress over young Rose's head and began to fasten it, it was all the young girl could do to simply keep her tears from overflowing. Her mother spoke so harshly. Had she really embarrassed her mother so badly last year?

"Rose, child, turn around," the plump old lady instructed her quietly. Rose obeyed. "Now, for your hair. Let's take ya to the mirror." She led Rose to the mirror and began to pin the young girl's beautiful red hair up. She was saying to Rose how her hair matched her name and how cute she looked in the little pale purple dress, but the child seemed to be elsewhere in her own mind.

Rose stated blankly ahead, ignoring the maid's words. If she had embarrassed her mother so terribly last year, then, she vowed to herself, she would be the perfect angel this time. She would stay awake the entire time. She would act exactly like the adults there. Rose looked up at her maid.

"Am I a bad girl, Betsy?" Rose inquired.

"No! Rose! Why would ya even ask me that?" she said, gently tapping the girl on her little nose.

"Mama. She's so mean," Rose said quietly, "She's always saying everything I do is wrong." The woman sighed at the young girl's words.

"Rosie, your mama loves ya. She just has a hard time showing it. Now, I hear the guests arriving. Let's get ya downstairs. Come on," she urged, herding young Rose out of the bedroom. They made their way down the elaborately carved stairway to where her mother was greeting one of the many guests that would fill their house that night.

As she came down the last step, Rose reluctantly released Betsy’s hand. She looked up at her, her eyes full of apprehension.

"Go on, child. You’ll do fine."

Rose wished that she felt encouraged by those words, but she wasn’t. Swallowing hard, she went to stand beside her mother. After Ruth had finished welcoming their first arrival, she turned to her daughter, studying her appearance.

"I thought that would be the proper color for you. It is indeed. And for once Betsy has done your hair up quite nicely."

When her mother looked away, a slight smile crossed Rose’s face. She knew the words just spoken were as close to a compliment as Ruth would get.

Just a short while later, all the guests had arrived. The house was quite full, as well as noisy! It was beginning to get warm inside, too. Even though she knew it would last for what seemed like an eternity, Rose began to wish dinnertime would be announced. At least it would satisfy her grumbling stomach. Even more than that, it would keep her busy. She was dreadfully bored.

Rose had thus far escaped her mother’s scrutiny tonight, but there was no other attention being paid to her, either. All the adults were talking, about things they seemed to take so seriously, but that didn’t seem at all important to Rose. She knew her father had no time to spare tonight. As the guest of honor, he was simply doing what he had to do. Then, she was startled out of her thoughts as her father approached her.

"Rose, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. I know you haven’t had anyone to talk to."

"Oh, that’s all right, Daddy. I’m used to it." Joseph winced inwardly. It was true, he knew. Rose had only a pair of girls she knew at all well from school. Other than that, her companions were himself or, more often, the maids.

"Well, young lady, I’ll tell you a secret. Myrtle has something special in the kitchen, just for you. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, Daddy. But...if I eat now, I’ll spoil my dinner."

"No, no, this is just a small treat. Go on. If your mother asks where you are, I’ll think of something to tell her. Hurry now, dearest."

Rose did just that, going to the kitchen door and quickly slipping inside. When she entered, Myrtle, the cook, looked up and smiled. "Well, there you are, little one! Your Papa told you I have something for you, did he now?"

Rose nodded, smiling. "He said it was a secret."

"Not for much longer it’s not. Get yourself up on that stool, and you can see what it is. Wait right there, I’m going to get it."

Just a moment later, Myrtle returned, setting a bowl on the counter in front of Rose. Her eyes lit up.

"Strawberries!" she cried. "But how? I know Mother didn’t ask you to buy any this week."

"No. I knew this party was coming up, so I bought these for you. Foolish grown folks, expecting a mite of a thing like you to wait half the night to eat! Hurry up now, have at them." Rose picked one of the berries up, and was about to bite into it, when she hesitated. "Myrtle, my dress. What if I get it all sticky? Mother would..."

"Yes, yes, I know. She’d have a fit. I don’t know where my head is. You can cover up with this." She hastily removed her apron and put it onto Rose instead. "Now eat, little one."

Myrtle watched as Rose did just that, quickly, but still obviously enjoying the food. When she had finished, she washed up carefully, making certain not a trace of stickiness remained. After finishing at the sink, Rose turned to Myrtle, and hugged her. "Thank you," she whispered, then hurried from the room. Once Rose had gone, the cook, who had worked for the family since even before the little girl had been born, shook her head sadly.

Such a wonderful child, she thought. But growing up like she is, I think she’s always going to be hungry, in one way or another. Her father tries, but it isn’t enough.

The cook stared after the young girl for a few more moments then turned back to her main companion, the large wood-burning stove, and continued to make the meal for the party.

*****

Rose sat at the long dining table, swinging her legs under her chair, half to keep herself from falling asleep, half to keep herself from doing something else to cure her boredom. She was totally oblivious of the fine settings on the table. The fine, hand-painted china plates and saucers and tea cups, the crystal wine glasses, the large set of silverware set out for each person; Rose noticed none of them. They were an everyday part of her life. They bored her.

The adults were talking about the normal things. Congratulating her father on his fortieth birthday, then they'd switch to politics, to the awfully hot weather, back to congratulating her father. It was the same endless circle. This was the endless circle that simply bored her now, but later, it was the circle that would drive her to the ultimate point of boredom and annoyance and hate. But she was to young to truly know those things now.

Then, everything went black.

But only for a second. Eight-year-old Rose DeWitt Bukater jerked her eyes open and straightened her back. No one had seemed to notice. The adults' voiced were swimming in her head, and the plate of delicate food set before her was blurry and extremely revolting, even though her stomach was grumbling. Rose forced herself to pick her fork up and poke at the steamed carrots. No. She didn't even have the strength to lift the fork to her mouth. She gently laid her fork down and sat silently through the rest of the meal.

*****

Rose halfheartedly passed from man to man. Her mother insisted that her daughter dance with all her father's friends. She said it was "cute". No it wasn't. It was annoying. The men smelt of brandy and terrible cigar smoke, and Rose was so tired, her eyes uncontrollably would flutter shut. None of the men noticed.

Finally, the dance ended, and it was time for Rose to have another dance with her father. She silently made her way through the adults to where her father stood in front of the refreshment table, pouring himself a cup of lemonade. Rose gently tugged on the tail of her father's coat.

"Daddy, please let me go to bed now," Rose pleaded quietly. She gazed up at her father, forcing her eyes to stay open.

"Good God, Rose," he mumbled as he turned and looked down at his daughter. Her eyes were bloodshot and little bags were forming beneath her eyes. "Wait here a moment, love," Joseph told her quietly. He bent and kissed her forehead, then laid his cup on the table, and rushed away. Rose stood motionless until her father returned. "Come on, Rose. Let's get you upstairs," he whispered, taking her tiny hands in his. Joseph quickly wove in and out of the guests gathered in his house. When they finally reached the marble staircase, Betsy, who was waiting at the foot of the stairs, took Rose's hand and started up the stairs.

But they didn't get far.

"Joseph!" her voice hissed from behind them. Rose clutched Betsy's hand tightly. Joseph's blood ran cold in his veins at the sound of his wife's voice. "Where do you think you're taking her, Betsy?" Ruth inquired bitterly. "There are more than two hours of the party left."

"Ruth, she is exhausted and running a fever. No one will leave the party because went to bed," Joseph said forcefully. His wife's face was flushed.

"That is not the point the, dear." He winced and knew then he had lost the fight. Lost the fight before it had even really begun. "It is only proper that she stay for the party." Ruth could not see her daughter's face, near to tears. Rose had buried her face in the folds of her maid's apron. "Come now, Rose, dear. Mr. Caledon Hockley's father has requested you dance to with Caledon."

"Ruth--"

"Come, come, dear," Ruth said, reaching out toward her daughter, cutting her husband off. Rose reluctantly turned and warily took her mother's hand. Her mother led her through the crowd, tightly squeezing Rose's small hand. "Don't you EVER sneak away like that again, Rose. You know your presence here is quite necessary." Rose sighed and pinched her hand, forcing herself to stay awake.

"Ah! Miss DeWitt Bukater! Caledon here has been awaiting you. Right, Cal?" the older Mr. Hockley greeted them. No response came from the dark haired young man. An eight-year-old and a twenty-one-year-old dancing together--Cal snorted. "Right, Cal?" he repeated, harshly.

"Yes, sir." Rose hesitantly stepped into position and began dancing with the dark Caledon. He said nothing, but that didn't matter to Rose. She wouldn't have heard even if he had. She was fighting to stay awake. But you can only fight sleep for so long.

*****

As Rose left the stairs, taking her mother's hand, Betsy and Joseph both knew disaster was ahead.

And it didn't take long for the inevitable to happen. Only moments after she stepped into the arms of Caledon Hockley, she collapsed. Joseph flew to his daughter's side and lifted her into his arms. Cal stood back, his nose turned up, refusing to touch the child at his feet. Joseph rushed away, ignoring the questioning looks of the guests and Ruth's harsh whispers. He and Betsy rushed up the stairs, into Rose's bedroom, slamming the door before Ruth could enter behind them. Joseph laid Rose on the satin sheets.

"We need to get her into a warm bath, Joseph," the maid said, throwing all formalities into the wind. At that moment, she and Joseph were the parents of the shivering child on the bed. Tears streamed down Rose's cheeks. Betsy cursed the redheaded devil downstairs who was trying with her best efforts to excuse her daughter's bizarre actions as she stripped the young girl out of her dress. She hurried into the bathroom and started a warm bath. When she entered the bedroom again, Rose was sitting up, her father holding her close.

"Oh, child! Come on, hon! Let's get you into the bath!" As Betsy lifted the naked child into her arms, Rose began to weep. Betsy said nothing; she simply made little shushing noises and gently lowered Rose into the steaming water. The plump woman gingerly poured the water over Rose's hair and wiped the tears off her face with a small washcloth. Both their heads turned at the sound of the door opening to see Joseph step into the bathroom. He dropped to his knees beside the tub, ignoring the fact that the expensive pants were now absorbing the water that had been splashed on the floor he wore.

"Is she all right, Bess?" he asked, gently stroking his daughter's hair. "Are you all right, love?" Rose gazed at her father, then reached up and wrapped her arms around him, refusing to let go this time. Between the two of them, Betsy and Joseph managed to get Rose into a warm nightgown and into bed. Joseph stayed with his daughter the entire night, sitting in a plush chair beside her bed, humming soft tunes to her until he himself fell asleep, clutching the small drawing the his heart. It was only then that Betsy left the room and headed for the attic where she slept with the other maids.

Ruth never even entered her daughter's room to check on her.

*****

Rose awakened reluctantly the next morning. The bright sunlight streaming in her window seemed to force her to open her eyes. As soon as she did, she saw her father, still seated in the chair next to the bed. He was already awake, and when Rose looked at him, he smiled gently. "Good morning, dearest. You’ve slept quite a long time. Do you feel better now?"

The child did not answer his question, the events of the previous evening coming back to her completely. Instead, she began to cry. "I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, really I didn’t!"

Joseph got up, moving to sit on his daughter’s bed. He drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. "I know you didn’t. It’s all right. I’m not angry with you. I was worried, dearest."

Rose pulled away from her father, looking intently into his eyes. "Mother must be so angry now. How can I even look at her again?"

"Now, don’t you worry about that. I will talk to her." His eyes suddenly darken with concern. "Are you sure you’re all right, Rose? You’re very flushed."

"Oh, I’m fine, Daddy. All I needed was sleep, really."

Not fully believing her, Joseph rested his hand on Rose’s forehead. "You still have a fever, dearest, even I can tell that. I had hoped it would be gone by now. You just stay here and rest. I’ll ask Betsy to come sit with you. I’m going to talk to your mother."

Just before he got up, Rose hugged Joseph tightly. "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Joseph’s voice was suddenly choked with tears; he could hardly speak these words. Very reluctantly, he got up from the bed and left the room.

Some time later, Rose did not know how long, her father returned. At first, when she saw it was him, she smiled. But this smile faded when she realized her mother was with him. Ruth slowly approached her daughter’s bed, and Rose could already see the anger burning in her eyes. From this expression, the child knew what was coming; even her father couldn’t prevent it. In hopes of at least shortening the usual lecture, Rose cast her eyes down and said as firmly as she could, "I’m sorry I fell asleep, Mother."

"Well, I’m glad to hear that. You realize you embarrassed both of us terribly last night, don’t you?"

Rose still did not look up. "Yes, Mother."

Ruth sighed heavily. "Rose, I try so hard to teach you to behave properly. No matter what I do, you never seem to learn. Do you do things like you did last night in an effort to make me angry? Is that it?"

Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes. "No, Mother. Daddy and Betsy both say I’m..."

Barely controlling her rage, Ruth cut her daughter off. "Sick. Yes, I know. But of course I expect them to make excuses for you. They are both far too forgiving." Though Rose did not see it, both her father and Betsy were barely containing their own anger. Joseph had seen enough. He stepped closer to his wife and said firmly, "Ruth, it isn’t an excuse. Rose is sick, you can see it the instant you look at her! But then, you so rarely truly look at her anyway. How would you know?"

Ruth opened her mouth to speak, but could not think what to say. Her husband had never spoken to her in quite this way before. She remained silent, and Joseph went on.

"Our child does not need a lecture, especially at a time like this. She knows how you want her to behave; she does the best she can. I was a fool to think coming to tell you she wasn’t well would soften you, at all! I see now you will never change, the way you behave proves to me that you do not love Rose, not the way you should. I try to love her enough for both of us. Just rest assured, Ruth, I will never forgive you for not truly being Rose’s mother!"

Joseph had, not soon enough for his wife, run out of words. In answer to his anger, she did not speak. Instead, she strode out of the room, her head high, slamming the door behind her.

She did not look at Rose even once more before leaving.

Chapter Two
Stories