Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold (Fairy Tale Novels)

by Regina Doman

  “She’s my boss. I’m her assistant.”

  “Wonderful woman. Very, very brilliant. She was my director. You couldn’t do better. Why don’t you and Rose join us at our table? This is my wife Gianna and our children.”

  Fish found himself introduced to a smiling blond woman and an assortment of children. The Dawsons had brought a picnic lunch and were happy to share. It was clear from Rose’s talking with the children that she was a familiar figure with the family. Fish found out she had babysat for the Dawson children on a few occasions.

  “Rose tells the best stories,” one little boy with tousled black hair informed him.

  They spent the rest of the time with the Dawson family, and Fish noticed other professors and their families sharing their meals with the students as well. The head of the school, a priest, Father Corrigan, got up and gave a spirited address in medieval style about the day and about the school. Everyone cheered and booed at the appropriate places. Fish, observing from his place beside Rose, sensed a markedly different atmosphere from the anonymous collegiality one found at his university. Certainly not all the students were “into” the festival—he saw some of the students on the outskirts standing aloof and bored as any world-weary teenager. But most of them seemed to be joining in the fun with alacrity. Rose certainly was.

  Driving home, he reflected that the day had been relaxing and fairly uneventful. Aside from wanting to dance with him, Rose had treated him with the most platonic attitude possible, and he was mildly surprised that she seemed to be taking his advice about going on with her life. I shouldn’t be so suspicious of her motives, he chastised himself. He had told Rose that he would continue to be friends with her. She was showing him that she was capable of it. He supposed he should return the favor.

  6

  …but before the third of the wise women could speak her gift, there was a clamor and another came in…

  Hers

  The following Saturday, Rose spent the morning at the theatre, getting fitted for her costume with Donna and the other girls in the cast. The costumes were student-made or old costumes being altered, and some of them looked more promising than others. Rose frowned as she tried on her first dress. “Is the neck going to be this low?” she asked.

  “Oh! I guess you’re not as large as the last person who wore that,” the head seamstress said. “I guess we can take it up—if you want.”

  “Yes please,” Rose said, sitting back down on her chair. But she leapt up again immediately with a yelp. Someone had left a pincushion on her chair.

  “Sorry! No, it’s all right. I just didn’t see it,” she said to the seamstress who apologized and took the cushion.

  Rose was sure that it had been deliberate, but she said nothing to Donna, who was whispering to Tara with a tight smile on her face.

  After the fitting, Rose went down to the chapel to recollect herself. She had been at the receiving end of malice in school before, but nothing as personal or petty as this. Should I say anything to Dr. Morris? Or am I just making a big deal out of nothing?

  As she entered the chapel, she saw a now-familiar figure in blue kneeling at the Mary altar. By the time she finished her prayers, the figure had risen and seen her.

  “Hello Godmother,” Rose said softly, and the aging nun curled her delicate fingers around Rose’s outstretched hand fondly.

  “Hello Goddaughter,” Sister Maria said. “My, it’s good to see you here so often. How are you?”

  “Good,” Rose said with mixed feelings, giving an overall assessment. She got to her feet, being the type of person who disliked carrying on conversation in the sanctuary of a church, and followed the nun out to chat.

  There was a bench in the foyer of the church, and Rose and the nun sat down.

  “Tell me how your school year has been going,” the nun said. “How do you like Mercy College?”

  “I love it here,” Rose said. “Although I am homesick sometimes. I’m learning a lot. And making friends.”

  “But you didn’t look so happy just now,” Sister Maria looked at her with surprising keenness. “Is something wrong?”

  With a sigh, Rose tumbled out the story of Donna and the play. Sister Maria listened quietly.

  “I just don’t know what to do about her,” Rose said. “In a way, she scares me. But that’s silly, isn’t it? The thing is, I’m not usually afraid of people.”

  Sister Maria sat thoughtfully for a moment. Rose could tell she was praying. “Perhaps you’re sensing that there’s something wrong with her,” Sister Maria said after a moment. “Have you been praying for her?”

  “Actually, no,” Rose admitted. “I hadn’t thought of that. But I suppose that would be a good thing to do.”

  “Is there anything else bothering you that my sisters and I can pray for?” Sister Maria asked.

  Rose flushed. “Well, if you think it’s appropriate to pray for matters of the heart...”

  “We have been praying daily for your future husband for years,” Sister Maria said tranquilly.

  “Oh. —Really?”

  “Of course. ” the nun said with a smile. “We have been praying for your vocation—and we always say, if Rose is meant to be married, then bless her future husband.”

  “Well then,” Rose took a deep breath. “There’s this guy...well, actually, two guys now...”

  She related a greatly abbreviated version of her relationship with Fish and expected Sister Maria to reprove her for flagrantly pursuing a man. But instead the nun became thoughtful. “And the other young man?” she asked when Rose finished her rambling narrative.

  “Paul. He’s a student here,” she said. “He’s very nice. We’re friends.”

  “Friendship is a great blessing,” the nun said. “And much easier on the student. Your mind can stay more focused on the person and not on your feelings or possible temptations. I hope you make many friends, of both sexes, while you are here.”

  “I hope I can,” Rose mused.

  “And your studies?” the nun asked.

  Rose sighed and listed her classes. “And I’ve got this huge bioethics paper to do,” she said mournfully. “Mom said that my dad was doing some research on patient treatment when he was here years ago, and I wish I could find his notes. Mom said he was interviewing a nurse, and I thought if I found the notes, it might be fun to interview her...”

  There was something odd in the nun’s face. She shook her head sorrowfully. “I don’t think you will be able to do that.”

  Rose paused. “Did you know about my dad’s research?”

  Sister Maria nodded.

  “Then you know what he was interviewing the nurse about?”

  “Only slightly. He told me it was confidential, and he asked for my prayers.”

  “Do you know who the nurse is, then?” Rose asked.

  “No, I don’t,” the nun said, in a low voice, as though she were afraid someone would hear. “But I know she’s no longer alive. She was killed in a car accident, a few years after your family moved to New Jersey. Your father called me when she died.”

  “Oh,” Rose said, feeling a twinge of disappointment and sadness. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve already been to the barn. There’s just tons of paper there. It would take me all semester to get through it.”

  “Rose, you must be careful,” she said. “In all of these things, be careful.”

  “I will,” Rose said, and added, “I’m glad I met you. I was having a rather rotten day.”

  The nun squeezed her hand. “I’m glad our Lord arranged the meeting,” she said simply.

  Much more contented, Rose strolled out of the chapel and went to the Student Commons to check her mail.

  “Hello fellow gypsy!”

  She turned to see Nannette, a student from her theology class who had invited Rose to join an impromptu band at Medieval day. Nanette, who had played flute, was from the Caribbean isle of St. Vincent. She had rich dark skin and the most delicious accent to her low-toned voice. Althoug
h she was not particularly handsome, she carried herself with a decorum that belied her sweet nature.

  “How are you today, Rose?” she inquired in her velvety tones. “And your violin playing, is it well?”

  “Quite well,” Rose said, ardently wishing that her own voice was so melodious, or that she could talk with a foreign accent. It was all she could do, at times, to keep from putting on Nanette’s inflection herself when the two of them talked. “We should play together again sometime. I truly enjoyed it.”

  “Should you like to go for a walk? I am going to get some exercise,” Nanette said with a smile, stretching gracefully. “I’ve been working on a paper since last night and I’m very stiff!” She said the word as steef.

  “A wonderful idea,” Rose said, and after getting their mail, the two girls strolled outside. The air was still chilly, but at least the sun was out, keeping the air somewhat warm. Rose couldn’t help turning their path towards the men’s dormitories as they climbed the drive.

  “Where are you going, Rose?” Nannette asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “Why don’t we go by Sacra Cor?”

  “Oh, and is there any reason?” Nannette said playfully.

  “No, except that it’s a very unusual place,” Rose said, a bit defensively. She elaborated, “You never know what will be going on there. One time, the entire dorm was sitting around wearing paper bishop hats and having an intense discussion about the Latin Mass. Paul Fester was making the hats for anyone who was pontificating.” She shook her head. “The very next day, they were all in the courtyard burning a couch in effigy while roaring ‘This Little Light of Mine’ at the tops of their lungs. Always something unusual.”

  “So I hear,” Nanette said, giving a smile. “All right. Let’s go.” Rose led the way, hoping to witness something that she could use as an example of “vintage Cor.”

  Sacra Cor was on the edge of the string of men’s dorms, and it always reminded Rose of a miniature motel with its three rows of rooms around a square courtyard, an empty flagpole in the center. But the colorfully-painted jagged rock and fire pit next to it gave it more the air of a knights’ compound. Rose had heard that Sacra Cor was one of the original dormitories on campus, back when the school had just started as a college for seminary students in the fifties.

  On this particular Saturday, things were deceptively bland. She found Paul sitting on the rock in the middle of the courtyard and flipping through a stack of index cards, memorizing medical terms. When he saw them, he did a handspring off the rock and landed in front of them. “Hi Rose!”

  “Paul Fester, meet Nannette,” Rose said.

  Nannette gave her hand and said, “I’ve seen you in philosophy class.”

  Paul grinned. “That’s right. You’re from the island of St. Vincent, right? I know Raoul from Mater Dei. He’s a countryman of yours, right?”

  Their small talk was interrupted by a shout and Leroy, his thick hair standing up in a straight riff in the wind, pounded into the courtyard yelling, “I got it!” at the top of his lungs.

  Rose barely had time to see what it was—white cloth wrapped around a long stick—when her attention was caught by a swarm of male students pouring out of Lumen Christi Dormitory—the largest of the guys’ dorms—and charging towards them. Instantly Paul snatched the white cloth from Leroy, thrust it into the bush beside them and yelled over his shoulder, “We’re under attack!”

  From every corner doors opened and guys charged from the rooms of Sacra Cor to meet the onslaught as five guys from Lumen Christi sprinted into the courtyard and took after Leroy, who, cornered behind the trashcan, started hurling its contents at them. Paul turned another somersault with a tremendous yell and ran to his friend’s aid. Before Rose and Nannette had quite realized what was happening, they were stranded on the rock in the middle of a storm of battling students.

  And not only male students were in the fray. Kate MacDonald, a junior who lived down the hall from Rose raced into the courtyard and took up a position by the bushes in one corner to fight for Sacra Cor. “Where’s the proctor?” she yelled to James Kelly, who had popped out of another door. James ran and pounded on Alex’s door. The door opened and Alex tumbled out, his black hair askew.

  “Alright, what’s going on?” Sacra Cor’s atypical head demanded in a loud weary voice.

  “Where’s the flag?” one of the attackers shouted at Alex.

  “What? Is it missing again?” Alex exclaimed. “Keep your dorm a little cleaner, Luminas, and things like this wouldn’t happen!”

  “He stole it!” cries went up around Leroy and Paul, who were fighting heroically from the trashcan. Paul picked up the can and dumped its contents on one guy, then threw the heavy plastic can at the rest. Leaping over it, he and Leroy ran back to the rock.

  One of the attackers had slipped past Alex into the room and came out with a sword. “Raid!” he shouted. James saw him and leapt after him, yelling. Alex locked and slammed the door and took off after the thief. They cornered him in the pocket of the dorm.

  “Where’s the flag?” Leroy panted, climbing on the rock next to Rose and a rather bemused Nanette.

  “I put it in the bush,” Paul said. He reached down and snatched it out. But in passing it to Leroy, he was yanked down by one of the invaders. Rose quickly grabbed the flag and sat on it. “Hide it!” she hissed to Nanette, who sat next on the other end.

  “Hey!” one of the invaders yelled, grabbing at Rose’s arm but she kicked at him.

  “Unhand her!” Leroy hollered, leaping full onto the guy and wrestling him to the ground.

  Another boy snatched the flag from under Rose, but Rose grabbed it at the last second and yanked it back. He let go once he saw she was serious about holding onto it, and she got back on the rock and brandished the flag, still wrapped around its pole, like a weapon, poised to knock anyone on the head who tried to grab it.

  Kate had darted into one of the rooms and returned with her boyfriend, A.J., both of them brandishing cans of shaving cream. They started spraying the attackers gleefully, shouting something in Latin.

  Alex had recovered his sword and ran back to his room, then halted cursing and feeling his pockets. Rose guessed correctly he had locked his keys in his room.

  “Get his sword!” a few attackers yelled and Alex promptly backed into a corner and took a fighting stance, holding them off.

  “The proctor’s coming!” someone yelled, and Rose saw a husky student with a blond crew cut in athletic sweats jogging over to the ruckus. She recognized Tim, one of the pre-theologite (future seminary) students, who served as the student director of Lumen Christi. When he saw the battle, Rose and Nanette expected him to blow the whistle. But instead, a playful grin came over his face and he shouted, “Lumen Christi!”

  The battle cry was taken up all over the courtyard by its residents, and Paul bellowed back, “Sacra Cor!”

  “Alex O’Donnell, I’m coming for you!” Tim roared, plunging into the scrimmage, swinging his powerful arms. Rose watched as Alex saw Tim coming, and could have sworn she heard him drop a curse word in mild trepidation. Tim was easily twice his size. Alex hurled his sword on top of the roof for safekeeping and readied himself. The two proctors went at each other, Tim lunging with his fists and Alex grabbing him around his neck. Rose lost sight of them as they pitched into the bushes.

  “They stole Lumen Christi’s flag,” Nanette said in Rose’s ear as they stolidly managed to hold their ground. “Shouldn’t we give it back to the Luminas?”

  Rose shook her head. “Let’s just see how things turn out,” she begged.

  “All right,” Nanette sighed.

  Finally things came to a head when Kate reached the rock, her hair askew and flecked with shaving cream. “Give me the flag,” she said to Rose. “Let’s put an end to this.”

  She snatched the white cloth and unrolled it from the stick. “We got it back!” she yelled. “Come on, give up! We got our own back! Surrender!”

&n
bsp; Rose could see now that the banner was actually the Sacra Cor flag, which was supposed to be flying from the flag pole. It had been missing for some time, she recalled, and when she had asked about it, the guys had seemed reticent to explain.

  The combat seemed to die down. “Where’s the proctors?” someone yelled, and triumphantly, a bedraggled Alex, his black hair spiked in all directions, dragged Tim from the bushes.

  “I surrender!” gasped Tim.

  “Where’s our flag?” one of the invaders demanded, putting a foot on the rock.

  “How should I know?” Kate shot back. “You’ve had ours forever!”

  “You took ours first!”

  “Not! You swiped ours first!” Leroy challenged.

  Kate shrugged her shoulders. “We’ve got ours back, and that’s what this fight was about, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Tim said, brushing himself off and getting to his feet. “All right. The title for the semester’s dorm battle goes to Sacra Cor.”

  There was a clamor of cheers and dissent all around him. Tim climbed on the rock and Alex leapt up lightly beside him. The two shook hands.

  “But we won’t forget!” roared a Lumen Christi man, and he was echoed by his comrades.

  “That’s right!” Tim grinned. “Revenge will be sweet!” He clapped his hands like a coach. “Okay, men—grab the center tables for dinner!” He leapt from the rock and took off towards the cafeteria, followed by most of the crowd from both dorms. Alex took the banner from Kate and brandished it for his remaining compatriots, who cheered themselves mightily. Kate took a picture.

  “And thanks to Rose and—Nanette? Nanette—for guarding our sacred relic with their persons during the battle,” Leroy said formally, and the rest made loud noises of assent. Rose smiled.

  “The pleasure, I assure you, was all ours,” she said.

  “I motion that Rose and Nannette be officially inducted into the solemn order of the Ladies of Sacra Cor,” Alex said, raising his hand. “All in favor…?”

  “Aye!” they yelled.

  “Thank you,” Rose said, accepting Alex’s hand to jump off the rock. “Um… what does that mean?”