“You were named for the town,” her mother said, holding her by the arm as they stood before the three-story tall window in Central Station, looking out over Lake Michigan and the grey winter sky. “We named you Rose, after the town where we lived. Rosewood, Florida. It’s a nice place, Rose, you’re going to love it there. Pine woods, cedar trees, it smells so clean, and the trees are so big, like those big trees in the park you love so much.”
Rose looked at her mother, shrugged, and her mother pulled her close so they were arm in arm in front of the window.
“It’s so nice and warm in here, looking out. I bet it’s not even twenty degrees outside,” her mother said. “When we came here from Florida, it was the same time of year and I thought I’d never get used to being so cold. Wore a pair of socks on my hands the first day,” she laughed.
Rose couldn’t remember having ever been in the train station before, but her mother, full of chatter today, had told her on their way to the station that she had been in Central Station before, when she and her parents had come to Chicago, almost sixteen years before.
“A’course, you were just a half a baby, three quarters, maybe, not quite a baby yet at all, but you kicked and kicked! Kicked me all the time, five months on. You let out a big old thump when we stepped off the train. I let out a yowl, and your daddy, he stopped cold thinking I was about to drop you out right on the platform. I told him, ‘It’s just old baby, here, wanting to see all these new things’, and he said he thought it was a good sign, a good sign.”
Rose’s mother stopped talking, staring off into the past in her memory, and tears formed in her eyes as she reached out to embrace her daughter.
“You’ll be fine there,” her mother whispered. “Sarah Carrier is a good woman and she’ll care for you if you mind her and work hard. She’s already agreed you can keep going to school as long as you want.”
Rose stiffened and pulled away from her mother, turning to look back out over the lake.
My own mama doesn’t want me, she thought, why would some stranger care that doesn’t even know me?
She knew the thought was not really true, and feeling guilty she allowed her mother to again move close and to slip her arm around her waist as they stood looking out the window.
After her father died Rose and her mother had moved from place to place in Chicago as the money ran out, from one run down cold water walk-up to another, each one shabbier and each one colder, smaller, darker, too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. After three years of too few jobs Mama had been thin, too thin, coughing and refusing most of the food they could afford.
Since her new marriage, Rose’s mother had eaten every meal, and her new husband, Mr. Thompson, laughed and told her how fine she looked, how filled out she was. She and Rose had enough to eat, and warm clothes, but every time Mr. Thompson looked at Rose he frowned, as if he had caught her doing something wrong. His complaints and criticism of Rose had led her mother to write a letter to Mrs. Sarah Carrier. Mrs. Carrier’s return letter had accepted the offer of a girl to help out around the house, and now Rose was on her way to Rosewood, Florida, to live with the Carrier family.
Her stepfather didn’t complain at all about paying the cost of the train ticket.
“That’s it, that’s your train,” her mother told her as the announcement echoed from the speakers above them. Rose and her mother moved across the vast marble floor and out onto the platform, where a kind-faced porter took her suitcase, checked her ticket and told her she had three minutes to board.
Rose’s mother hugged her close.
“I’ll come to visit, I’ll be so happy to see you and to come home,” she said. They held each other, weeping, and the conductor called out “All aboard!” but they held on even as the train whistle blew for departure.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” her mother cried as she pulled a small, brightly wrapped package from her purse. “This is for you! For Christmas! Promise you won’t open it until then. That way, we can be together on Christmas, even for just a little while.”
Rose took the gift and nodded.
“I promise, Mama, I’ll keep it until then.”
“Come on now, girl, git aboard or git left,” the conductor called out.
Rose let go of her mother’s hands and jumped up on the step next to him. She looked back, watching her mother wave until she couldn’t see her anymore, then Rose allowed the conductor to lead her to her seat where she sat, crying, until she finally fell asleep.