ROSE'S PAST
Chapter Two
1906
Rose stared out her window at the street
below. Her window let her look out to another world. A world of genuine smiles
and joys. A world of laughing faces. She gazed out the window, watching as a
pair of girls quickly making their way down the street, giggling at the fact
that a pair of boys was following them. Rose watched as a mother herded her
children down the street, carrying a child in one arm and a basket of goods in
the other. She smiled thoughtlessly, forgetting about the papers on her desk in
front of her.
"Rose! Are you done with that
essay?" Eleven-year-old Rose DeWitt Bukater turned to her mother.
"No, Mother. Not yet."
"Then what are doing daydreaming? Get to
work," she demanded. Rose sighed and turned her back to her mother. She
lifted the pen and began writing; still aware her mother was watching her.
"You can leave now, Mother," she
muttered. "I'm being a good girl. I'm doing my essay."
"Do not start this with me today, Rose.
I am in a pleasant mood."
I certainly hadn't noticed, Rose thought smugly to herself. But her mother did
leave. Rose lay her pen down and gazed out the window once more. Somehow, the
causes of the Civil War just weren't as interesting as the little dramas
happening outside her window.
"Rose, dear." She turned at the
sound of her father's voice. "I know your essay isn't as interesting as
whatever is happening outside, but it IS more important." Rose forced a
smile.
"I'm sorry, Father. It's just so boring.
We do the same essay year after year." Her father chuckled.
"I know, Rosie." He walked to where
was sitting and bent to kiss his beloved daughter's cheek. She smiled.
"But still. Work before play..." He lowered his voice so only she
could hear. "...keeps your mother away." Both laughed at that, then
Joseph left, and Rose dedicated the rest of her Saturday afternoon to writing
an essay on the Civil War.
*****
Later, Rose reluctantly went downstairs for
the evening meal. Only her mother and herself were at the table, eating in
silence. When her father did not join them in a few moments, Rose asked in a
whisper, "Where is Daddy? Isn’t he going to have dinner with us?"
"Not tonight. He’s not feeling well, he
said he would rather just stay in bed." Ruth answered her daughter’s
questions matter-of-factly, no concern, indeed no feeling at all, evident in
her voice.
Rose put down her fork, suddenly losing her
appetite. She was consumed with thoughts of her father being sick, again. He
had been ill on and off for more than a year. Things always began like this,
and Rose knew that more than likely, by her bedtime, the doctor would be called
in to see her father.
"Mother, I’m not hungry. May I please be
excused?"
Ruth sighed, knowing the real reason her
daughter wished to leave the table. "Yes, yes, go on. He’s already been
asking for you."
Rose got up quickly from her chair, and
silently left the dining room. She resisted the urge to simply run up the
stairs to her parents’ room. Instead, she mounted the stairs quietly, in case
her father was asleep. But as soon as she knocked on his door, he answered,
"Come in, Rose."
The child entered, closing the door behind
her. Then she went and sat beside Joseph on the bed. Seeing his little girl’s expression,
Joseph did his best to sound cheerful.
"Oh, come now, dearest. Don’t look so
sad. I’ll be better soon, you’ll see." He smiled gently, but Rose looked
at him intently, not smiling in return.
"I don’t believe you, Daddy. You’ve been
getting sick like this for so long, and each time you get worse. Even I can see
that."
Joseph smiled again, sadly this time. "I
should have known you realized that. You have always been very smart,
Rose."
She suddenly began to cry. "What is it
that makes you so sick, Daddy? Can’t the doctor fix it?"
"He says is it something with my heart.
And he is trying to make it better, I promise you."
Young Rose ventured to ask a question that
had been on her mind for a very long time. "Daddy...does it hurt?"
Joseph wanted to say no, but Rose could
always tell when he was lying. For the first time, he met her gaze, answering,
"Yes, Rose, sometimes it hurts very much. But it always gets better. I’m
so glad you came, seeing you always helps." Rose put her arms around her
father, truly sobbing now.
"I wish I could make you well,
Daddy."
After his daughter calmed a bit, Joseph asked
her to look at him. Very gently, he kissed her forehead. "And I wish I
could do something, say something, to make you less frightened. I see it in
your eyes. But the truth is that the doctor isn’t sure what will make me feel
better. He has promised he will do everything he can."
Rose forced a smile, knowing this was the
most reassurance her father could give her now. She could see the pain in his
eyes, though he was trying desperately to hide it. Wiping away the last of her
tears, she got up from the bed.
"Just rest now, Daddy. I’ll come say
good night before I go to bed."
"All right, dearest. And I know it’s
dinnertime. Go down and eat, don’t go hungry because you’re worried about me.
Please."
Rose nodded silently, gave her father a kiss
on the cheek, then left the room, closing the door once more. Then, only
because her father asked her to, Rose rejoined her mother at the dinner table.
*****
Rose pressed her ear against the bedroom
door, straining to hear the conversation behind the closed door. She knew that
if her mother should suddenly open the door and find her daughter
eavesdropping, there would be a heavy price to pay.
But she didn't care.
Rose stayed in her position. The carved doors
were thick and muffled sound painfully well, but she could pick bits and pieces
of the conversation inside.
"...not too serious right now..."
the doctor's voice said.
"...oh, God..." her mother--was
that possibly concern in her voice?
"Hush, Ruth," her father said
quietly. Unseen to Rose, her father's eyes moved to the crack beneath the door
and saw the pastel green edge of his daughter's dress.
"But, Joseph! Did you not hear what he
just said?" Ruth shrieked. Rose moved away from the door.
"Calm down, Mrs. DeWitt Bukater,
please," came the doctor's voice again, this time a bit louder. "It
is nothing extremely serious as of now. Whenever you fall under these spells,
Mr. DeWitt--"
"Joseph. Call me Joseph."
"Joseph, when you fall under these
spells, just get plenty of rest. That is all I can tell you. We haven't the
technology yet to cure this."
Silence.
Young Rose stumbled away from the door. What
was the doctor saying? Yes, she had been exaggerating. Her father wasn't as ill
as she had thought. But from the doctor's words, the condition that she had
imagined her father was in, was a pretense of times to come.
She ran down the stairs, no longer caring
whether or not her mother found out what Rose had heard, and out the door. Rose
ran across the large backyard, down the narrow forest path that led to the back
of their land, and quickly scrambled up a huge, old, magnificent oak tree. She
huddled into a corner where a large branch grew from the trunk.
There, the tears flowed freely.
Rose had just begun to think no one had
noticed her leaving when she heard footsteps below her.
"Child, come down from there."
Betsy’s tone was very gentle as she continued; in fact Rose had to strain to
hear her. "I know you want to be alone, but your father is the one who
told me this is where you would run to. He’s about to turn in for the night,
but he says he won’t until you come say good night."
Rose looked down at the maid’s upturned face,
wiping away her tears. Then, saying nothing, she climbed down from her perch in
the tree to stand beside Betsy on the grass. Joining hands, they went quickly
back to the house.
As Rose climbed the stairs to her parents’
bedroom, she saw her mother crossing the hall, about to go into the room she
used whenever Joseph was ill, thus leaving the master bedroom to him. From the
way Ruth glared at her, Rose knew she had heard her run off. Her mother did not
speak. Instead, she simply went into her room and shut the door.
Finding her father’s door wide open, Rose
entered. Betsy lingered in the hall, wanting to give them privacy. Joseph’s
eyes were closed, but as soon as he heard footsteps, he opened them again.
"Thank you for coming back so quickly,
dearest." The smile on Joseph’s face faded as he continued. "I know
you overheard things, and obviously you have been crying. I’m sorry about that;
I hate seeing you cry. But it’s all right if you’re frightened. I’m frightened
too. I will do just as the doctor says. It will help."
"But, Daddy, I heard him, I understood
what he said. You’re..." Rose could not bring herself to say the word.
Joseph, on the other hand, spoke up very clearly.
"Dying. Yes. But not today, and not soon
at all, if I can help it." Joseph shifted painfully in the bed; his voice
reduced to a whisper when he spoke again.
"Rose, come here, sit next to me."
The child immediately did as he asked. When he looked at her, his eyes were
filled with pain, but also with love.
"I’m touched that you are so concerned
about me. I know you worry because you love me. I love you, too, more than
anyone else in the world." Joseph took his daughter’s hands, gripping them
firmly but gently. "That is why I hope let my being sick won’t get in the
way of things as often as I fear it will. When I am well, we will do the same
things we always have. I will always have time to spend only with you, just
like we are now. Because when I do have to leave you, my sweet little Rose, I
want to leave you with more good memories of me than bad ones. Things you can
find comfort in when you start to miss me. Most of all, my dearest, I want to
be sure you know how very much I love you."
"I do, Daddy. I always have." Rose
spoke very firmly, not a trace of doubt in her voice. Joseph smiled, kissed her
forehead, and then leaned back to recline against his pillows. He suddenly
looked incredibly tired. Seeing this, Rose got up from the bed and went to the
door, whispering good night as she closed it slowly.