Chapter 11

December 11, 1912

When Rose woke up that afternoon, the first thing she noticed was her flat stomach. The baby! What happened? How . . .

And then she heard the baby whining on the side of her bed, and remembered everything. The memory of the pain she went through was vivid. Well, she thought, I'll never go through that again.

She turned over slowly and looked into the bassinet. There, her little girl laid on her back in the little crib, whimpering for her mother. In a matter of minutes, the whimpering turned into a high-pitched wail.

"It's okay, precious," Rose said quietly reaching into the crib for her daughter. "Mother's here, she's here."

Very carefully, Rose picked her newborn daughter, and then held it in her arms. She held her tightly, worried about hurting her baby.

"There," Rose cooed. "I'm here. I won't leave you. Ever."

Now, Rose was looking at her new daughter with a critical eye. The first thing she noticed was her eyes. They were hard to miss. Her eyes were blue-green, and they were bright and wide, and looked more like jewels instead of eyes.

The next thing she noticed was the hair. Her father gave her that hair. It was blond, straight, soft, and seemed to glow.

In the end, Rose concluded that looking at her little girl was like looking at an angel. An innocent dream. Rose went through a lot of pain for this baby, but it was worth it.

God, thank you for this, she said to herself. And Jack, thank you for this. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be holding this in my arms. It's too precious, and I'm thankful for it.

She sat back in her bed, still holding her daughter. And then, she thought of something else. She had to thank someone else.

Thank you Cal. Thank you for letting me have this. Thank God, for you and Jack.

XXXXXXXXX

It took Rose a week to finally name her daughter. In the end, she gave the baby the only name that suited her. Rose gave her the name Colleen Marie Hockley.

Rose spent that entire week getting her strength back and adoring her new, little daughter. Taking her eyes off Colleen was such a hard thing. Rose couldn't get over how someone so small, so innocent, so young, could be so . . . beautiful. Those eyes were not the eyes of a baby. They were not even the eyes of a human. It was as if Colleen wasn't even human. Maybe Rose gave birth to something else . . .

Of course, everyone came to see the new member of the Hockley family. It was the usual people. The Kingswoods. Her Mother. Cal's own parents. And Christine Ashley. They all had questions though.

"A beautiful girl indeed," said Ms. Kingswood. "But where did she get her blond hair from?" That question was for Rose during an afternoon of tea.

Nathaniel Hockley, who was present at the time, was able to give an explanation. "That hair comes from her grandmother and her family," he said casually, as he gave a look at his blond wife. It was true, Cal's mother, and all of her siblings and parents had blond hair. Why didn't he think of that before?

"Yes," said Ruth in a cold voice, from across the table. "I'm sure that's the reason."

Rose looked at her mother, who was showing a look of contempt on her face. Ruth turned away, as if disgusted by just looking at Rose. Ruth was still disappointed in her daughter, and she never tried to hide it from Rose. She would never accept her granddaughter. Colleen was a disgrace, a complete mistake. And it was Rose's fault. She'll never forgive Rose for what she did.

Leila, who came along to see the new arrival, noticed the looks between Rose and her mother. She looked on, like a curious child, wondering like a child. Something was going on between them. Ms. Dewitt-Bukater was angry. Was it about Rose, or the baby? What was wrong with the baby? It seemed healthy and fine and pretty. She never forgot the discussion between Ruth and Cal in the dining room. She already knew something was wrong. But what? She just couldn't understand what was going on–yet she felt it was the most obvious answer. A question is missing, she concluded. If she could just ask herself that question, whatever question that may be, then she would have the answer. And then she could just put everything together. But how can you find a question? Where do you start? She had to understand what was going on, even if it took her years or even decades. She was very determined, and at this moment, she was determined to figure out what was going on.

Leila didn't dwell on it for a long time though. She remembered Cal and how wonderful he was to her in that hallway, and she felt she had to have him again. But she was trapped. How could she love a man, who has a wife and a newborn daughter? It was going to be hard to let go of this man, even if he wanted her.

After the afternoon tea ended, everyone went their separate ways around the house, socializing with whoever was closest to them. It was the perfect chance for Leila to slip away and be alone with Cal. As she walked away, she nearly crashed into Colleen's crib. She looked inside and stared at the baby, and the baby stared back, her big green-blue eyes giving Leila a shiver down her spine. There was something about those eyes that made her . . . different from her parents. In fact, Colleen looked very different from her father and mother. Even her blond hair didn't resemble the hair of Cal's mother. She hardly cared though, since she figured she was probably looking at the baby too hard. Maybe she was being a little too critical. She concluded the baby was pretty and then moved on.

She was planning on finding Cal again. But instead, she found herself eavesdropping again. And this time it was between Rose and her mother, Ruth. She wanted to find Cal, but when she heard the angry voice of Ruth behind a closed door, she knew it was something important. She listened carefully but was only able to get bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Rose . . . "she heard Ruth say.

"Mother, please." That was Rose now. "Now . . . we have guests . . . about this later."

It was obvious Rose couldn't placate her mother. Ruth didn't seem to hear her daughter, and she continued. "You're not ashamed of yourself, Rose?"

"For what?"

"For what!"

"I know what I did . . . but I can't take it back . . . "

"I wish I never asked Cal about the child. I wish it wasn't true."

"I wish things ended differently too, Mother."

"Yes, I also wish that child wasn't that way."

"She has a name Mother. Please, don't make Colleen look like . . . "

"She's not decent?"

"She is! It wasn't her fault! She's innocent. You never even looked at her."

"I did, actually." Ruth said this in almost a whisper.

"And did you see how she looked at you? We know about Colleen. But you have to remember . . . she's still a baby. She didn't do anything. Blame me instead!"

"I already blame you. I...I honestly don't know how you can live with yourself every day. Don't tell me you don't regret him, and you don't regret her, so tell a lie. You've truly disgraced me, Rose. I can't see you again, knowing how you did this to your own mother. Your mother who . . . sacrificed so much for you. I never imagined you would do this–ever."

"Mother . . . "

Leila walked away from the door again, just as Ruth walked out of the room and walked down the hall.

And for the rest of the day, Leila was in a cloud. She had more questions: Why was Ruth ashamed of Rose? What did she have against her granddaughter? What exactly did Rose do to her mother?

They were good, helpful questions but didn't help to solve the mystery.