Suddenly her voice changed. “Oh, but it’s silly to dwell on all that, much less to talk about it. I was a fool to chase after him and I was a fool to marry him, and I’m just bein’ a fool again sittin’ here thinkin’ about him. Worse yet, I’m still chasin’ after him like a fool and you’re aidin’ me by drivin’ me around every other Sunday hopin’ I’ll run into him someplace. Now, be honest with me Walter, ain’t that bein’ an extraordinarily ignorant dang fool?” She was rubbing off her tears again and Walter spoke softly to her.
“Why don’t you just stop trying to be so brave? Just let yourself cry, Rose. Just let all that heartbreak pour out.”
Their eyes held on to one another’s and she nodded finally. “I want to.” And then the tears began in earnest and Walter hoped they were cleansing tears this time so he let her weep undisturbed until her lamentation became peppered with giggles and then she couldn’t stop laughing.
“Oh! Walter. You are so good to me. You always know how to help me.” She got to her feet and bent over him to press a light kiss on his cheek. “But I think we are both doomed, Brother-in-Law. I got Jack Nash and you got Claire Louise. Jack’s the worst sinner that ever lived and Claire Louise is the worst saint. May we all rest in peace, Amen!”
After expelling a relieved breath, Walter managed a grin and Rose sat on the grass beside him again. “You know what? I feel like I can see way off. Way off like in the future or somethin’.” Her eyes widened suddenly and then she turned and looked at him with an anxious expression. “I think maybe I won’t live too much longer.”
Walter bristled. “Don’t, Rose. Don’t talk like that anymore!”
“No. No, Walter. It’s all right. It’s not scary. It’s just like a, like a premonition, you know.” She shrugged. “I feel like I should start putting my life in order. Go to church more, like Sister Claire does. Maybe get Cynthia Jackleen baptized. Get my mind off Jack Nash and those old sad things. All those old—hopeless things.”
Walter didn’t like hearing her talk that way but he guessed it was better than some of the stuff she’d been saying up to then. So he let her talk and he listened without judging her words anymore. And at the end of it, there was a real sense of peace—for both of them.
That July morning in the forest preserve proved to be the last time Walter and Rose were able to spend a lengthy period of time alone together. But it had turned into such a good day for both of them that when Rose got back to her apartment she was her old optimistic self again. Full of hope and confident there would be good days ahead. Walter was so truly grateful to God for that, that he accompanied Claire to church the next Sunday and even went so far as to promise God he’d go every Sunday thereafter, if only Rose’s life would get straightened out and Jack would come back into it.
For her part, Rose went straight to Leo and Viola and told them she wanted to join their church. “You are two of the best people I ever knew. I’d bet my last dollar that neither one of you has ever done a mean or unkind thing in your whole life.”
Viola sought to convince her that everybody has sinned and so had they, but Rose disdained that opinion and interrupted her discourse. “I know how much time you spend prayin’ and goin’ to church and just thinkin’ on God and being grateful and such and I feel like I need to do them things too. And I want to learn to do them like you do. The two of you. I want to join your church and be a Catholic just like you are. And I want Cynthia Jackleen to be baptized, too.”
And that was why Rose Nash spent two evenings a week at the Rectory of St. Mary’s with the Father, learning about the faith of her two dearest friends.
Although she wasn’t positive she understood all the things he taught her and feared there were parts of it she might never comprehend, she was captivated by the Father’s gentle manner and the genuine love and respect he showed her. And she had no problem understanding and accepting his Jesus, who was the same Jesus she’d grown up loving and trusting, and all his truths which she’d already come to trust in and believe from those nightly Bible studies with her Papa when she was a little girl.
One of the things she loved most about her new religion was the old church itself. The mystery and beauty of St. Mary’s, dimly lit as it was at night with the red sacristy lamp hanging on its gold chain above the main altar and the hundreds of flickering votive candles in their little red glasses pulsating like the heart of Jesus and inviting her to drop to her knees and pray.
There was always somebody there worshipping God, and that gave Rose a particular thrill. Never had she entered the church without finding at least one woman already there on her knees in a pew at the front of the church near the big altar, wearing her babushka and saying her rosary in a soft whispery voice. Or a man still wearing his work clothes taking a few minutes on the way home to visit with the Lord. It was such a holy place. Rose loved the smell of the candles and the incense and the antiquity. She could almost feel her heart swell—it was beginning to overflow with love again.
She insisted Cynthia Jackleen be baptized right away. She herself had to complete the instructions but Cynthia was too young for that. The Father consented, so with Leo and Viola acting as godparents, the little girl was baptized on her fourth birthday that September in 1938.
Rose felt like that was her real birthday because from that moment on she was truly born into God’s kingdom and belonged forever and always to Jesus.
Rose held her in a close embrace that day before they left the church. “This is the best thing I could ever do for you, Cynthia Jackleen. This is the best thing I have ever done for you!”
Rose, herself had been baptized in the river back home during a tent revival when she was eight years old. Preacher Kilgore had dunked her in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, so it was not absolutely necessary that the Father do it now. But it was her most ardent wish and so he was going to go ahead on condition that the first time might not have been valid.
And Rose found herself growing more and more anxious with the passage of time. She and Cynthia were walking to the old stone church at least once every day by then. Sometimes in the morning for an early Mass, sometimes in the evening for some devotion or other; there were so many different ones she had an awful time remembering which night the various ones took place. But a lot of times they just went to sit and look at Jesus on the altar and the beautiful smiling plaster saints scattered on pedestals at the front and back of the church and here and there along the walls. For Rose had found the greatest peace she had known in years. When she knelt in that place and felt the comfort of her Heavenly Father’s love she could forget entirely the pain of losing Jack Nash.
As far as the rest of her life was concerned, she continued working at the grocery store, spending five or more hours there every day except Sunday. And now Claire Louise and Walter visited more or less regularly. Rose developed a closer attachment to Walter’s boy-child, who continued to look like Jack Nash in spite of Claire’s stern disapproval.
JC had attached himself to Rose as well, and he loved to spend time talking with her. He was now only a few weeks from his sixth birthday and growing more darkly beautiful by the moment. He proved to be highly intelligent and eager to learn. Now that he felt safe and secure with Walter’s love, he was blossoming in every way. Claire Louise did her best to discourage Rose’s desire to become a Catholic. She suggested she come with her to her church instead, but Rose felt Jesus was holding her hand and leading her the way he would have her go. So she resisted her sister’s entreaties with a loving but firm “No!”
On a Sunday afternoon in early October, she was standing before a mirror in Mary Jean’s bedroom fussing with her hair. She’d been hurrying to get dressed and prettied up because Leo and Viola were taking her out to a restaurant for dinner in honor of Viola’s 50th birthday and Mary Jean had offered to watch Cynthia while she was gone.
While Rose struggled to get a curl just right at her temple, Mary Jean sat on the bed watching her with a solemn expres
sion. When Rose met her gaze in the mirror, she cocked a quizzical eyebrow, causing her friend to shrug her shoulders.
“I was just thinking how pretty you are. You are really a beautiful young woman, Rose.” She scowled at Rose’s indifferent shaking of her head, and added. “You are, Rose! And at your age you should have boyfriends lined up all the way from here to Lake Michigan … all sorts of handsome young men fighting for your attention. You shouldn’t be spending your Sunday evenings going out with a couple of old fogies like Leo and Viola. Not that I’m saying they aren’t fine people, but, Rose, you ought to be going out dancing with some disreputable young stud who might just keep you out all night necking in the back seat of his Cadillac.”
Rose grinned at her through the mirror and giggled. “Well, I feel kind of embarrassed by you suggestin’ that, Mary Jean, ‘cause I will be much more comfortable with Leo and Viola than I would be with some ‘disrespectable stud’.” Her eyes returned to her own image to see an embarrassed red blush spreading across her cheeks, so she turned away from the mirror and twisted to look down and make sure the seams of her stockings were straight.
Mary Jean snickered. “I didn’t mean disrespectable. I had something a little more risqué in mind.”
“I do think you’re right about one thing, though—I really am a knock-out!” Straightening up, she grinned and threw Mary Jean a saucy kiss before turning away from the vanity and walking into the small parlor. “Walter and Claire Louise got me this dress.”
Mary Jean followed behind her nodding her approval. “Well, they sure know your style. It looks perfect on you.”
The dress was made of a soft, silky body-hugging material with a pattern of smeared colors—shades of peach and ecru and burnt orange, and it was perfect with Rose’s coppery red hair and peachy gold skin. She took a seat on the divan to wait for Leo and Viola and noticed right away that Mary Jean was staring at her again with a serious look on her face.
“When are you going to let somebody take Jack’s place in your life, Rose? It isn’t natural for a healthy young woman like you to be alone so long. Even old as I am, I need a man every now and then—just to remind me I’m a woman.”
Rose’s jaw tightened and she turned away. “I don’t think about that, Mary Jean, and please don’t you talk about it.”
The older woman glanced into the kitchen where Cynthia sat alone at a small dining table sipping from a glass of milk and eating a piece of chocolate cake and then she turned back toward Rose.
“You’re letting the fact that one louse treated you bad ruin your whole life. Are you going to sit around and get old like me and never have a man hold onto you again? That isn’t right, Rose. You need to be close to a man. You need to have more babies. You’re wasting your life!”
That was when Rose turned on her with fire in her eyes. “You better not say any more, Mary Jean. You’re a good friend and I don’t want to be mean to you, but Jack is the only man I’ll ever want. His lovin’ was all I ever wanted but he killed that in me and I don’t ever want to go through that again.” She was on her feet by then and she took a menacing step in Mary Jean’s direction. “Lovin’ Jack hurt me more than you could ever know and I will not let myself get hurt like that again.”
But Mary Jean wasn’t intimidated. She shook her head, “Dammit, Rose. You shouldn’t have put him up on a pedestal like you did. He was just a man. He was bound to let you down.”
“Mary Jean, please don’t say any more.”
“Dammit, Rose! Listen to what I’m telling you! Jack was just a plain, ordinary, selfish, stupid man! He wasn’t God, Rose! You tried to make him be God!”
Rose stared at her in silence, but you could see the wheels in her head were turning. Before she could speak though, there was a knock at the door. It opened just wide enough that Leo’s head was able to peer around it. He nodded at Mary Jean and spoke to Rose. “Ready to go, Liepchen?” He seemed oblivious to the tension in the room as Rose turned toward him and nodded. Then she looked one last time at Mary Jean before she joined him in the hall.
“I made him be God?” she said in a querulous tone—and let Leo shut the door behind her.
1938 October
Tuesday, the 11th of October, which actually was Viola’s birthday, dawned crisp and sunny, a sparkling autumn day and Rose thanked God and gave him all the glory when she rose up that morning and saw the sunshine pouring through her bedroom windows. She flung up the sash and leaned as far out over the street as she dared, raising her voice in song and praising the morning, for a heady sense of adventure had engulfed her—another premonition? Something was telling her this day would bring her some wonderful surprises.
Scotty, the shoeshine man, heard her singing and looked up from his place beside Leo’s door. He waved and grinned at her.
“Good mornin’, Scotty,” she waved back and his grin got wider. “Sure is, Miss Rose, and you sure sound happy this mornin’.”
She smiled down at him, “I do declare I am that,” she told him and then drew back inside and closed the window. She dressed quickly and fixed breakfast for herself and Cynthia, who was up and dressed before it was ready. By the time she got down to Leo’s and started her day’s work, she could contain herself no longer.
“Do you s’pose it’s just ‘cause it’s Viola’s birthday?” she giggled. “Maybe it’s just that this day is so pretty.”
Leo and Viola and all the customers who came in contact with her that morning were charmed by her joyful optimism.
In a few weeks she’d be finished with her religious instruction and be formally admitted into the church. She mentioned this to Mrs. Pulaski in jubilant tones, and Mrs. Pulaski couldn’t resist a broad smile as she insisted that Rose accept, as a special gift, her very own ruby-colored rosary that had been blessed by the Pope in person.
The entire forenoon passed like that and more than a few customers and deliverymen observed that the building itself, inside and out, absolutely glowed with some kind of supernatural light and goodwill that day. Not one sour face remained sour after encountering Rose Nash and little Cynthia in the Wesslemans’ Grocery that morning.
After lunch Scotty stepped inside long enough to ask Rose if he could take Cynthia with him down to Barney’s Magazine Stand for an hour or so that afternoon. She concurred and gave the little girl a kiss, reminding her to behave for Scotty or she wouldn’t get her afternoon treat. It had become a tradition of sorts for each of them to choose an ice cream cone or candy bar from the store’s delights every afternoon when Rose quit work for the day, and then, during a leisurely neighborhood walk, enjoy their treats together. Cynthia, with a most serious shake of her head, promised her obedience and then dashed outside, forcing Scotty to run to catch up with her. Rose watched her skip to the curb where she waited for Scotty to cross the street, and then she turned to find Viola standing near the counter and smiling at her.
“My birthday must surely be blessed because God has given me the best of all gifts.” Viola moved closer and slid her arm around Rose’s waist. “He’s brought the old Rose Sharon back to me and Leo. Our girl with the irrepressible joyful heart!”
“Is that the one who looks about 16 and has that Merry Christmas spirit all year long?” Leo walked up from the back of the store and patted her shoulder as he passed by. “It’s you all right, Rosy, and you are lit up like Christmas!”
Rose found herself giggling again—that feeling that some kind of miracle was imminent overwhelmed her and she fancied she had wandered into some kind of fairy tale world and that all her wishes were about to come true.
Thirty minutes later, Leo had finished boxing up some groceries for the delivery boy and was waiting for him to carry them out to the truck. As soon as he saw the boy drive up, he went to hold the door open so Bobby could come and go quickly.
The sun was almost blinding him, but he was pretty sure it was Mary Jean in the next block, tearing up the sidewalk as though demons from hell were chasing her and she was heading strai
ght for him. He was about to call Rose to come have a look and confirm it was her, when he heard her shouting his name.
Leo stepped out far enough that she could see him and hollered back at her. “Mary Jean, I hear you! What’s the matter?”
By that time she was on the corner and about to cross the street onto his block so he could finally understand what she was shouting.
“Tell Rose to come down to Santini’s,” she yelled and that time Rose heard her too. Leo turned frightened eyes from her to Viola, and Rose’s heart sank into her stomach. She feared she might faint, “Something has happened to my baby!” And she shot out the door under Leo’s arm and almost crashed into Mary Jean who had just that moment reached the store.
“Dear God, what is it, Mary Jean? Has somethin’ happened to Cynthia?”
Viola came out behind her and stood clutching her husband’s arm and praying out loud to Jesus and Mary and all the Saints and Poor Souls. Her voice sounded like the angels themselves to Rose, and she closed her eyes and nodded “amen” while she waited frantically for Mary Jean to tell her the worst.
But Mary Jean couldn’t say anything. She was panting so hard she couldn’t even breathe and she was trying to wave Rose’s worry away by shaking her head “no” hoping to make her understand without words.
Rose had given up and was about to dart off to see for herself, when Mary Jean caught her breath and said, “Not Cynthia.” “She’s fine.” “Jack” “It’s Jack Nash!”
For some queer reason, the name didn’t mean anything to Rose, or to Leo either. They both continued to stare blankly at the woman All Rose had comprehended were the words that said her daughter was okay. She wanted to lie down somewhere and faint. “Nothing is worse” she thought “than having your child hurt.” And the relief she felt knowing Cynthia was all right left her no strength at all to cope with whatever really was the matter.
Pray for Us Sinners Page 17
