Rose was the youngest of the seven Johnson children, born late in her parents’ life, and named after the roses that bloomed in the front yard. This unexpected addition to the family seemed to everyone like a miracle. The entire household took delight in her every coo.
On a May afternoon in 1935, when Rose was 10 months old, she’d been down for her nap longer than usual. “I’ll go check on her,” Mrs. Johnson said to the other children.
Her eldest daughter, Bessie, followed her mother into the baby’s room, where Mrs. Johnson leaned over the crib and laid a hand on the child’s forehead. “This baby is burning up,” she said.
“I’ll call the doctor,” Bessie said. At 17, she felt old enough to be the baby’s mother herself, and had taken a special interest in her welfare and upbringing from the moment the child was born.
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