Rosalie

By Mary Katherine Arensberg

Rosalie Thornton Hill was a child of promise and if her parents carefully controlled her life she could be the catalyst bringing new respect to African-Americans in 1900s America. College taught the young ingnue to think for herself and to think of others. A modern tale of pride and prejudice, but with the onset of World War I her parents dreams were about to change. What does the future hold? Travel the world with Rosalie to find that answer.
FIVE STARS FOR ROSALIE
Readers Favorite Review June 29, 2010:
If you havent read any of Mary Katherine Arensbergs books, its your loss. She is a wonderful writer. Her characters come to life on the pages. She draws you into their story and you walk beside them. "Rosalie" is a delightful read. It reminds parents that we cannot and should not, think for our children. We must teach and allow them to spread their wings. They must be able to think for themselves if they are to survive this world we live in. It is with great honor that I recommend "Rosalie" for your reading pleasure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 17, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450061292

Mary Katherine Arensberg

Mary Katherine Arensberg is a multiple award winning author of Historical Fiction, also earning Five Star reviews. Her love of American History and the women who shaped our country sparked her ten book Women of Character Series. She has always been an observer of life.

Book preview

Chapter One

Her lineage was long and illustrious. Great grandmother Toati was a Malaysian princess and on her father’s side she claimed relationship to a signer of the Declaration of Independence; she had been born into wealth, power and the social elite, but she was nearly denied the silver spoon because of her race. Rosalie Thornton Hill, the first born of Walter and Elenora Hill of Indianapolis wrinkled her pert little nose as Bishop Gaylord Powell sprinkled the water of infant baptism upon her head. True to her heritage she did not even whimper, but accepted the anointing with grace, an attribute of a true aristocrat of color. The ceremony which was attended by over a hundred friends was held in the house that Walter Hill had just purchased; an imposing Queen Anne, with indoor plumbing, located mid point on the block on Forest Manor Avenue. He was very proud of their home and hoped that they would soon fill the four bedrooms with other children. A son would be nice, a little boy to follow in his footsteps, his thoughts were interrupted by a commanding voice.

She is a beauty. Alfreda Rush loudly whispered as the bishop handed the child back into her mother’s arms. Let me hold her, dear. She did not wait for the acquiescence of the beaming parent, but scooped up the lace and satin clad form and held it high for proof of her words. Walter disapproved of Alfreda, but she had been his wife’s dearest friend since childhood and besides she lived on Gladstone Street just two blocks away, the young widow was a constant, though sometimes unwelcome visitor in his house. Have you ever seen such beauty? Lowering the child she peeled back several layers of fine satin to reveal not only the face, but the hands as well. I vow you can see the little blue veins in her wrists.

Mrs. Rush, please! Walter attempted to retrieve his daughter. I object to your displaying her as if she were a doll.

But she is, Walter, a precious porcelain doll with skin and hair as light as any of the Caucasian folks who live uptown.

He took the child from her arms with a swift jerk that caused the sleeping infant to awaken. She smiled and when Walter Hill’s eyes locked with her crystalline blue ones, he felt the same unabashed pride as Alfreda’s. She was the elite of their race, wisps of blonde curls framed her symmetrical face, her fingers were long and delicate, and she weighed no more than one of the bundles of letters that he sorted through at work. The face that he stared down at was generations removed from slavery, it was evident that no inferior blood coursed through his daughter’s veins, she was the product of years of selective marriages; purposefully made to insure that one day African-Americans would earn first class citizenship. Yes, he had to admit, his own heart swelled with pride at his beautiful daughter.

The awkwardness of the moment was vanquished by the sounds of women sighing. It was obvious that the man adored his child. Elenora slid her arm around his waist. Come, father, let me take her, it’s time to feed her. He felt her loss immediately and reached for her but his wife calmed him with a gentle smile. Dear, you will have the rest of your life to spoil this little girl.

The guests mingled and talked of politics and business and debated the usefulness of the new motor cars that sputtered and bounced sporadically along the streets until the maid hired for the occasion entered and announced that brunch was being served in the dining room. A trio of violinists provided chamber music to aid the digestion as trays of smoked salmon, thinly sliced roast beef and fresh lobster were uncovered. It was a mellow autumn afternoon, a perfect day in fact; a day to remember when in the future times were wearisome and dreams went unrealized. It was the year 1897.

Happy times prevailed and two years later Thomas Evanston Hill was born. Walter reveled in his pride at having a son. He had been promoted from mail room clerk to assistant supervisor at the Post Office on Sherman Avenue three months ago, but that joy paled in comparison to the elation of holding the infant boy while Bishop Powell again blessed one of his children. There was a celebration of course, but the number of friends who attended had dwindled to perhaps three dozen, the others having moved east to Washington D.C. or west to San Francisco to escape the influx of unskilled laborers who had emigrated north from the Deep South to work in the booming factories of the capitol city. Little had changed except the house had been painted white with dark green accents on the gable ends and corner boards. Two year old Rosalie called her bedroom ‘the tree house’ for the summer leaves on the enormous oak out front tickled the window pane, birds sang and squirrels busied about gathering nuts only the space of a sheet of glass away.

Alfreda was there again, much to Walter’s dissatisfaction, and he warned her sternly against parading his son before the guests. The woman was a troublemaker though, he knew that because she always wore such pretentious hats and that day was no exception. The brim was as large as a serving tray, the crown popped up and sloped to one side like a fallen soufflé; and it was red, bright red with a black netting for a veil; it was unrefined for a woman to wear a hat like that. Peeking covertly from behind the veil, her eyes darted from left to right and she saw her chance when the Bishop requested a moment to fill out the paperwork for the churches archives. She snatched little Thomas and ran to the center of the room, hoisted him above her head and proclaimed. Here is another beauty added to the Hill family.

Alfreda! Walter’s voice shook with barely controlled annoyance. Hand that baby back immediately. She did, but not before exposing his arms.

Elenora and Walter sat side by side in their living room that evening; the children had been tucked in bed hours ago and now slumbered soundly. He offered her a glass of brandy and she gratefully sipped it as he poured one for himself.

Don’t! She held up her hand as he approached the settee. Don’t lecture me about Alfreda. She is what she is, but she is also my best friend and would give her life for me or any member of my family.

You’re right, dear, but I simply won’t have her making a spectacle of our children anymore. He dropped down next to her and took her hand. It is not proper for her to exhibit them as if they were a museum piece. Elenora smiled and patted his cheek. Don’t try to sooth me; I won’t have it, not in my own home. He stood and wandered to the window to look out. We have all worked so hard, there is such a thing as manners.

Yes, dear.

Elenora, we have a status to maintain in this community and Alfreda simply doesn’t…

Please don’t say she doesn’t fit in. Her family has owned a catering business for three generations, her dear departed husband’s father was a senator in Maryland, and she is more deserving of membership in the Upper Tens than we are.

Water was crestfallen. It’s more than that. This isn’t a social club, we are trying to advance the rights of African-Americans and that takes more than a name or a business. He clenched his fists in frustration. We have to compete with the society that founded this country; that means education, wealth, power and yes even a higher standard of morality and a sense of civic responsibility.

Why, Walter, it sounds as if we need to better just to be considered equal.

Her words brought a flash of flame to his cheeks. You know what I mean, we did not come from unskilled farm hands, our ancestors developed alongside the most distinguished families in America, we are by all rights equal, but you know as well as I that there are inferior blacks and inferior whites, just as there are superiors in each race. He turned towards the fireplace and hung his head in defeat. Is it so wrong to want a better future for our children?

No, it’s not wrong; but I fear money and power aren’t going to be the solution.

Alfreda would not have another opportunity to flaunt the beauty of her friend’s children. Elenora contracted an infection related to Thomas’ birth and after her release from the hospital her doctor soberly informed her that the surgery required to save her life had left her sterile, there would be no more children.

Chapter Two

Rosalie twisted the hem of her pastel blue organdy party dress with anticipation; it was her birthday and Father had promised her a surprise, a present for a big girl, a girl of five. She vaguely remembered being startled awake last night by the most dreadful racket coming from downstairs but her mother’s calming voice outside her door soothed her back to sleep and she now was certain the noise had something to do with her present. Her party was to begin in one hour, she sat in the foyer and watched as the hands of the Grandfather clock advanced upward in slothful increments, she could not wait; father always gave such wonderful surprises. When she was three, though she actually couldn’t remember being three, he had given her a puppy, a black and white terrier she had named Faraway, for whenever she wanted to cuddle and love him he would run far away, in time and defeat he overcame his aversion to kisses and tight squeezing and now slept at the foot of her bed every night. She lifted her left hand and made the letter L, time had only eaten one quarter of the pie face of time. From the kitchen she heard the sounds of her brother Thomas, now a toddler, cooing and smacking his lips as Mother fed him. Faraway danced at her feet, nudging her white patent leather shoe in his urgent request to go outside; she pushed him away. Go, dog; can’t you see that I am very busy watching the clock? Ears bent low he ran down the hallway seeking another playmate. Half of the pie face was now eaten. The telephone rang and she heard Father’s deep resonant words as he gave someone directions to their house.

Rosalie, come and have a glass of milk and some fruit, it will be a long time before you can eat your cake. She was unwilling to leave her post, but was an agreeable child and at her mother’s request skipped into the kitchen. The empty glass had scarcely touched the table when the front door bell rang.

It is time! She shouted as she ran towards the parlor only to have her mother’s admonishment of ‘slow the little lady to a walk’.

They came in droves, twenty well dressed and well mannered children, boys and girls in party finery and all bearing gifts. Gaily wrapped packages with fantasy bows perched atop were handed over to the maid, again hired for the occasion of the day. Her father greeted each child with a handshake for the boys and a bow for the girls and then ushered them into the parlor, the room she had been exiled from. He turned at last and extended his hand. Won’t you join us?

She radiated with excitement and forgetting manners and politeness, bolted through the door as if, like a castle gate in one of her fairy tales, it would close and bar her entrance forever.

He cranked the victrola and playful music filled the air. Mother arrived at the end of the first song having put Thomas down for a nap and she was leading the children in games of pin the tail on the donkey, the fishing pond where each child received a substantial prize, and blind man’s bluff. The linen covered table was piled high with presents but her eyes remained fasten on the huge object near the window that was covered by a silver velvet throw. What ever could it be? It was big enough to be an elephant, but she was certain, that while her father might buy one for her, her mother wouldn’t allow it in the house. She clapped enthusiastically when the games were over, ate her cake and ice cream with little thought and even opened three gifts by rote. From her place of honor she noticed that a man had entered the room, she had never seen him before, but liked his neat appearance and smiling face, he was much younger than father, though not a boy. The last box was handed to her and she carefully undid the paper to reveal a brightly painted tin top, she pushed the rod down and the design blurred in its furious revolutions. Thank you very much, Anna.

Her eyes followed the young man as he moved towards the elephant. Her father nodded and he whisked away the covering. A piano appeared as if by magic and she gasped in astonishment; was it truly for her? He sat down and she watched in fascination as his fingers floated across the keys, with a smile and a tilt of his head he invited her to join him. Holding her tiny hand and maneuvering her index finger out he effortlessly used it to pick out the notes to Moonlight Sonata, a tune she had only heard on father’s records. Swept up in the thrill of the music she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Oh, sir, that is most wonderful, can you teach me to do that?

My darling girl, I can teach you all the music that you are willing to learn. He leaned close to her ear. That is if you will call me Oscar. She bobbed her head until her carefully arranged curls sprang free and fell into her eyes.

I assume that you like your present from mother and me?

Oh, yes, very much!"

We are happy then, now bid Mister Oscar good bye and come entertain your guests.

As was their custom after any event in the home, Walter and Elenora sat in their parlor relaxing after putting the children to bed. This has been a very long day, Father.

If you are tired let’s have this one brandy and then go to bed. He rubbed her shoulders and she smiled with pleasure and barely suppressed a large yawn. I’m ready for sleep. He followed her up the stairs.

Good night. Dropping a kiss on her forehead he found her already sound asleep when he returned from the bathroom. Sliding into his side of the bed and adjusting the satin comforter he was soon slumbering beside her.

They had fallen into a restorative slumber and several hours passed as if his eyes had just closed when an unfamiliar sound eked into his unconsciousness. What is that? Walter sprang up from his pillow.

What’s what, dear? Elenora mumble, for though a light sleeper she had heard nothing.

He strained to hear the invasive sound, but after a few seconds lie down.

Ping!

He flipped the lamp on.

Ping… Plink… Pling Pling.

They burst into laughter as each hurried to don their robes and one behind the other tiptoed downstairs. It was a full moon and by that delicate light they saw Rosalie studious pushing keys on the piano and listening to each sounded note. Leave her to her studies, dear. I’ll check on Thomas and we will just close the bedroom door.

I love you, Elenora. He kissed his wife soundly and escorted her back to bed.

As the months cycled by it became clear that Rosalie had the gift, her piano teacher said, she had the ear for music for not only could she master a piece for that instrument but she had an exceptionally fine soprano voice as well. She quickly exhausted Mister Oscar’s skills by the time she was eight, and although her hands were too small to span the keys her quickness and agility served her well. Her ability or talent for sound followed her to school and she was soon speaking French and often practiced with her mother. She was a natural scholar and loved to learn, to find out what made the universe turn and would spend hours at her homework and only Thomas’ pleas for her to join him in play could cause her to close a book.

Like others of her station she attended private school and though the curriculum was advanced she excelled, often posing questions that required her teachers to revisit their books. At age eleven she took up the study of German and the year after Portuguese, both of which she mastered, speaking as fluently as a native of that particular country. She was destined to become a teacher, perhaps even