Rose Fletcher was sure that her new job as a maid at the Sheraton Inner Harbor Hotel would be her first step toward getting off welfare forever.

It might take a few months, she thought, but by the end of 1990 she expected to be self-reliant -- no more monthly welfare checks, no more food stamps, no more Medicaid.

And maybe even a chance to move out of the George B. Murphy Homes public housing complex in West Baltimore.

For a while, all seemed to be going as planned.

The busy summer tourist season at the Sheraton meant that Rose often worked six days a week, earning overtime on top of her $5.80 per hour regular pay. In a few months, her own $234-a-week paychecks replaced her $477 monthly welfare checks. But when winter came, Rose's dream was shattered. Business at the hotel declined. Rose's hours were cut by more than half -- she worked only three days a week -- and so was her income. At the same time, her welfare benefits had been significantly reduced because of the income she had earned during the summer. She no longer got her $477 check and her food stamps had been cut from $250 to $150.

The bills, of course, kept coming. Soon she was desperate -- out of money and nearly out of food for her children.

So, almost six months to the day after she started her new job, Rose returned to the dingy offices of the Mount Clare center of the Department of Social Services to ask for an emergency loan to pay her rent and to buy food.

"It seems like every time I try to get ahead there's someone or something that keeps me down," she said. "I can't believe I'm back here asking these people for money. I don't want to be here either, but it looks like I'm always going to need some kind of assistance because I can't make it on my own."

Rose's determination was crushed. In a society that demands that people on welfare make an effort to better themselves -- to find jobs, get an education, push their children up and out of poverty, take control of their own lives -- Rose played by the rules. She enrolled in the offered programs, took the necessary lessons, got the guaranteed job and worked hard at it.

She fulfilled her obligation to end her dependency on the government: Her welfare check stopped, and she made plans to get off Medicaid and on to private health insurance.

Rose's story is not unusual. In Maryland during fiscal year 1990, more than 13,000 women like Rose turned to the state's Project Independence program for help in finding jobs so they could get off welfare. Only 2,200 found employment and, after working six months, 60 percent of those got off welfare. Social services officials say that many of those who come to Project Independence are single mothers between the ages of 22 and 44 who have dropped out of high school or who have never held a job in their lives. Most cannot be placed in jobs quickly because they need remedial education or job training, and classes are filled beyond capacity. Most are unable to find affordable and accessible day-care centers. Others simply lack motivation, but that was not the case with Rose, a 29-year-old mother of three who has been on public assistance for most of her adult life.

In fact, a gritty determination to get and hold a job was one of the few things she had going for her when she began looking for work at the beginning of last year.

She had no high school diploma, no vocational training, no recent job history or references. Her job resume was written on a sheet of yellow legal paper. "I'm tired of sitting around all day," she said. "I want to do something with my life and earn my money." She began by looking for janitorial jobs at hospitals and hotels in the city. "If there's one thing I know how to do, it's clean," Rose said. "I've been doing that every day since I can remember, especially with three messy children."

Rose had also worked as a cleaner at a restaurant 10 years earlier, so she had some experience. But after a few interviews, no one offered her a job.

"They ask me why I quit school and why I quit my job," she said during her search. "Then they tell me that they're not hiring right now, but I think they're not hiring people like me. Just because I haven't worked in a while doesn't mean I'm lazy. Who will ever know what I can do until they give me a chance?"

At that point Rose nearly gave up her search. She thought for a while of trying to get a high school equivalency diploma, but she was consumed by her desire to earn a living, and she set her sights on Project Independence. Through the program, Rose would get training in the basics of finding and keeping a job. And, if she satisfactorily completed a two-week workshop, she would be guaranteed a housekeeping job.

But first she had to to get into the program. To do so, she had to impress Allen Hicks, coordinator of the housekeeping workshop, several rigorous interviews. Unlike prospective employers, Mr. Hicks didn't care about Rose's incomplete education or her reasons for living on welfare.

Instead he focused on her ambitions and attitude.

"I have some people who come in and tell me the only reason they want to work is because their social worker threatened to cut them off if they didn't," Mr. Hicks said. "Those are the people I refer back to the Department of Social Services for further counseling.

"However, if someone comes in here and wants to work because they are tired of sitting around the house and tired of being on welfare, then I can work with those people and find them jobs," he added. "Rose is that kind of woman."

The meetings with Mr. Hicks restored Rose's confidence, and he sent her for job interviews at several hotels in Baltimore.

"When they asked me why I wanted to work, I told them that I was ready to get out of the house," she said, proudly. "My kids are grown, and there are things I want in my life.

"They were real nice to me, and I made sure they knew I really wanted a job -- God knows I do."

Rose bubbled with excitement: "At the end of one interview, the woman asked me if I had any questions. So I asked to see one of the rooms that I'd be cleaning."

"And she said, 'You know, I like you.' " A few days later, Mr. Hicks told Rose that she had got two job offers, one from the Hyatt and one from the Sheraton. It was Rose's choice. "I picked the Sheraton because at the Hyatt, you can't wear any dye in your hair," said Rose, who often colors her hair a bright auburn. "At the Sheraton you can wear your hair any way you want to."

The training program went quickly for Rose and her nine classmates. They learned to fill out job applications and how to dress for work. They each received professionally prepared resumes and discussed techniques for setting priorities and budgeting their new incomes.

All the participants in Rose's Project Independence workshop had spent years on welfare, and they looked forward to the graduation ceremony, which was held in a restaurant at the Omni Hotel.

"I've never graduated before," she said. "This is going to be fun."

She had bought thank-you cards for her instructors -- Mr. Hicks and William Schroeder -- and bought herself a new purse to celebrate the occasion. She had primped all morning and put on a chic white dress.

At the luncheon ceremony Mr. Hicks stood at the head of the table, gave the women one last pep talk and handed out the

certificates. Each graduate said a few words about how the workshop had changed her life -- not only by giving her a job, but also a strong sense of pride. As Rose nervously went to the front of the room to accept her award, she cleared her throat and told her classmates:

"It's been a pleasure to share these two weeks with you all. I really want to thank Mr. Hicks and Mr. Schroeder for building my confidence. I feel real good about myself."

That feeling continued through the first few months that Rose worked at the Sheraton.

She never flinched at getting up early to get her children ready for school and then get herself ready for work. She never complained about walking to work no matter what the weather, or about cleaning 15 rooms each day with rarely a tip or a thank you. And she didn't complain when her welfare checks stopped coming.

"I knew I'd have to get off it sooner or later so I'll have to sacrifice for a while until I adjust," she said. "I don't want be one of those people who spends their whole life on social service."

But as the number of hours Rose worked was cut in half, the tide of living expenses became overwhelming. "I'm not bringing in any money -- not one dime," she said in January, while waiting to talk to her social worker about an emergency loan. "I don't know why they put people in jobs that stop during the winter. I wish someone would have told me that would happen."

None of Rose's Project Independence classmates was doing very well, either. Four had either quit their jobs or had been fired. And all the remaining women also had had their hours significantly reduced or had been laid off until spring, Mr. Hicks said. The unexpected drop in income was devastating for Rose, and the social service system which had encouraged her to look for work was slow in helping.

Rose applied for renewed assistance in November, after her work hours were cut and she was earning less than $150 a week. But she was told she still earned too much money to qualify that month. She applied again in December, after her hours were cut even further -- to two days a week -- and made several heated telephone calls to her social worker explaining her desperate situation.

Meanwhile she had to borrow $50 from her mother to pay her telephone bill; she used a one-time social services emergency loan to pay her rent of $100.

Three days into the New Year, the family nearly ran out of food. All that remained in Rose's pantry was a few boxes of cereal and some canned vegetables.

"I've given my [social] worker all my pay stubs, so she knows I have no money at all," Rose said. "It's not like I'm new to social service, I've been on welfare since 1978. But she keeps telling me I have to wait. Well, my kids have to eat. They can't wait for that."

Three weeks later she got a $250 welfare check.

What happened to Rose is the normal course of business, officials at the Baltimore Department of Social Services say. Sue Fitzsimmons, a spokeswoman for the agency, said families with emergencies such as Rose's can apply for one-time loans, but after that it takes at least a month to process renewal applications. "It's a ludicrous system," Ms. Fitzsimmons said. "We don't like it anymore than the clients do, but it's how the

federal system works."

Bernard Antkowiak, assistant director for the Office of Employment Development in Baltimore, said that his office recognizes the problems with placing welfare recipients in seasonal jobs and has begun to cut some of the training programs for hotel jobs.

"In the employment field across the board we're experiencing lay-offs," he said. "But even if they're cut back I think the client gets the benefit of getting their feet wet and getting some job experience."

But Rose was looking for more than experience. She wanted independence, and her enthusiasm was shattered by one broken promise after another from workers in the social services system.

She was promised a job to help her get off welfare. Instead she got a job that proved to be highly seasonal -- a fact she discovered after she had lost her welfare check and her food stamps had been reduced.

She was promised assistance in paying for help to care for her three children. It was five months before she got it.

She was promised that for the first year she was in the work force, welfare officials would keep track of her income and supplement it if needed. But that assistance has proved to be inconsistent and untimely.

Now Rose wonders if it is worth even trying to work every day. She complains that her job is too strenuous, especially when it doesn't allow her to make ends meet. And she hopes to find a more stable job this year.

Although Rose continues to work at the Sheraton and her hours have begun to increase, she has put off her dream of getting off welfare and out of Murphy Homes.

"It isn't that bad here," she says. "I have a nice home, and I know how to keep my kids safe, so we don't need to go anywhere in the near future."