After the Fog

by Kathleen Shoop

  Leo nodded along.

  Rose smiled and picked up speed. “There’s Stan Musial, need I say more about him? And Lee O’Donnel’s a knee surgeon for athletes. Julia Keefer’s a doctor, a woman! There’s a reason we’re known as ‘The Home of the Champions.’ Judges, lawyers, athletes, professors and scientists have come from Donora. I could name fifty of them right off the bat if I had the time.”

  Rose readjusted her bag over her arm. The key to their achievement was that they left Donora, taking with them brawn and drive, but leaving behind all that made life harder to live than not. Rose wanted that success for all her children, including her nephew Leo.

  Chapter 7

  Rose balled up her fist and knocked on the back door. She had not figured out how to excuse the ramshackle appearance of her home Mrs. Sebastian had witnessed the day before. If Henry’s explanation for the messy house did not suffice, then no meek apology on Rose’s part would help.

  The more Rose thought about it, the more offended she was; the woman stopped by unannounced. No other superintendent’s wife had done such a thing. Rose told herself to put aside her embarrassment. It would take all that she could muster to appeal to Mrs. Sebastian’s ego and make her believe the clinic was part of her very own grand-scheme.

  It was Mrs. Sebastian who opened the door for Rose. Maybe this woman was different from most of the wealthy folks Rose had come across. Maybe Rose had misjudged her. The pregnant woman wore silk, coral colored slacks with a white blouse that wrapped around her compact, pregnant belly. She wore silk mules that matched her slacks.

  A long cigarette dangled from Mrs. Sebastian’s crimson lips. She smoothed the golden waves that careened down the side of her face. Rose searched the woman’s face for evidence she thought Rose was incapable or inadequate.

  Mrs. Sebastian rubbed her belly. “Excuse my casual attire. I’m feeling a little balloonish to be confined in a suit, today.”

  Instead of spitting laughter at the woman, Rose nodded as though she agreed, as though the pants cut from formal gown fabric were informal simply because they were pants.

  Rose removed her gloves one finger at a time and shook Mrs. Sebastian’s hand, stunned by its buttery softness. Mortified that her hand was sandpapery, Rose wanted to yank it free, but she only shook harder. Her hands were the cost of actually making a life rather than watching it go by and she wouldn’t let vanity push that aside.

  Mrs. Sebastian pulled her hand away and took a drag off the cigarette. An image of Mrs. Sebastian seeing Rose’s home flew through her mind, making her feel naked. She leveled her gaze on Mrs. Sebastian. She wouldn’t let her shame show. Every second Rose spent with this woman was an opportunity. Mrs. Sebastian leaned against the wall, her skin suddenly pallid.

  “If you’re not feeling well, I can examine you,” Rose said. “We offer the best in modern care through the clinic. Post-natal instruction as well. I’m sure you’ve been cared for throughout your pregnancy but—”

  “No, no. I’m fine. If those mill hunky women can give birth with nary a—”

  Rose cringed but tilted her head in a casual way to attempt to convey the “mill-hunky” reference did not apply to her.

  Mrs. Sebastian’s face reddened and she poked at the cuticle on her thumb. “That was rude, I apologize.”

  Rose crossed her arms. Stay calm. Let her be in charge, Rose told herself. Rose was sure the way to the money was through a connection of some sort. Anything. There must be a way to create a sense of friendship where there would never be any. Rose’s thoughts didn’t work this way. She was viewed as an expert in town. There was no reason to hide that part of who she was.

  “The river of ignorance flows both ways when it comes to social strata and economics,” Rose said.

  Mrs. Sebastian narrowed her eyes at Rose.

  “All the current research has shown women, even well-to-do women,” Rose said, “can be plagued by pregnancy complications. That’s why my position, the clinic, is so important. But I’m sure you fully understand that.”

  Mrs. Sebastian held Rose’s gaze while taking another drag off the cigarette. Rose waved the exhaled smoke away from her face and forced her jaw to relax.

  “We meet the needs of families who are in crisis, or uneducated in proper hygiene or those who simply want to ensure the greatest health for very capable, paying families. Like yours.”

  Mrs. Sebastian began to walk through the kitchen. She waved Rose past the butcher-block island in the center, past the kitchen table and built-in closet with flower-bordered china and etched crystal stemware peeking through glass panes. Mrs. Sebastian’s heels tapped the tile then were silenced when crossing over small throw rugs that directed their way. Rose would have been exhilarated by her own healthcare spiel if seeing the Sebastian home didn’t make hers seem desperately deplorable. Focus, Rose thought.

  “I won’t mince words,” Rose said and quickened her pace to keep up with Mrs. Sebastian. “I gleaned from our talk yesterday that you appreciate candor. Funding from you is imperative. It would ensure that there are no gaps in service, that I have my position, that I’m available to not only help people in crisis, but to maintain healthy standards and educate the populace on how to care for themselves so that some day community nurses won’t be needed.”

  Mrs. Sebastian stopped and turned to face Rose who nearly ran her over. The woman’s face twitched with a flash of anger. “So you’re working your way out of your job? You’d prefer to spend a little more time at home?”

  Rose drew back and felt her confidence shudder. She ignored the stream of sweat that coursed down her hairline, past her ear. Rose felt old embarrassment and fear return; As a child barely dressed, lined up in a cold room on a cement floor so frigid it numbed her bare toes, standing there, no family, no advantages, with nothing but raw smarts. There on Overlook Terrace, with Mrs. Sebastian, Rose felt that petrified child reappear.

  “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Rose cocked her head, “if there were no need for a community nurse? Wouldn’t you like to be part of the solution to poor hunky women and their appalling living conditions? I’m sure you’d like to be a credit to that movement. A woman like you.”

  Mrs. Sebastian rolled her eyes then seemed to search Rose’s face for the answer to some unasked question. Rose felt a trickle of strength return.

  “Go on.” Mrs. Sebastian turned on her heel and continued into the front hall. Rose kept up beside her. “Continue, nurse. Fascinate me, because, no,” Mrs. Sebastian lifted her forefinger into the air. “I’m not sure I want to be part of anything that probably will meet with failure.”

  Mrs. Sebastian licked her shiny lips and circled the oval table under a chandelier with endless crystal tentacles. She rooted around for something in a footed, blue and white bowl. Rose took the moment to note the bulky plaster molding that belted the fifteen foot ceiling, tinged yellow from cigarette and mill smoke; the hand-crafted moldings were just one mark of supreme wealth.

  “Well? Dazzle me,” Mrs. Sebastian said.

  Rose stepped forward onto the Oriental rug, across the table from Mrs. Sebastian.

  “If I could compel you to funnel the Women’s Club monies to fund the clinic, its operations, for at least a year, I think I could convince council to find alternate funding sources. But, to simply not contribute after we have seen such promising results? It would be dire. In just one year I made two thousand five hundred thirteen visits. And I didn’t even get to everyone.” Rose thought of Isabella. “I doubt you want to be responsible for causing an entire town to lose their safety net.”

  Rose caught her reflection in the gleaming wood. From the bowl, Mrs. Sebastian produced more cigarettes and Zippo lighter.

  “That’s dramatic.” Mrs. Sebastian said.

  Rose refocused on Mrs. Sebastian and put her hand inside her coat pocket. She fingered her rosary.

  “Truthfully,” Rose said, “We—Dr. Bonaroti and I—could use a second nurse for visits and a third for the schools. Not to men
tion a dentist. Not that I’m requesting funds for such a thing, but I made over three hundred visits in August—the height of polio outbreaks. The work never ends even in a slow month. Someone’s always snatching me into her home. Unlike most nurses who have to figure travel time into their day, I don’t. What you’re getting from me is pure substance. I rarely stop for lunch.” Rose rambled, but she didn’t know if this would be her last chance to fight.

  “No lunch?” Mrs. Sebastian raised her eyebrows and ran her unlit cigarette through her fingers.

  “I have a full report.” Rose bounced the Rosary beads in her pocket. “If you’ll come to the clinic on Friday I can walk you through everything. And, the report in conjunction with what you’ve seen with your own eyes at the Lipinski’s, I’m sure you’ll fund the initiative.”

  Please, she thought.

  Mrs. Sebastian’s expression appeared reflective as though Rose was having an impact. She tapped her nails on the table. “I haven’t had the opportunity to consult Mr. Sebastian. I’m torn. Seeing you here, like this, like you were at the Lipin-whatever their name is, impresses me. Seeing your home as it was yesterday concerns me.” She lit her cigarette and tossed the lighter back into the delicate bowl. Rose marveled at the fact it didn’t break, that the woman would be so careless.

  “Even if I were to fund the clinic itself,” Mrs. Sebastian said. “I’m not sure it would be morally responsible for me to fund you. A woman’s place is in the home. With her family.” Mrs. Sebastian headed up the sweeping staircase.

  Rose unbuttoned her coat as they climbed, hotter than before. It wasn’t as though she were working as a waitress. She was a nurse, for Pete’s sake, Rose wanted to say. She could not let Mrs. Sebastian further consider this line of thinking.

  “If you simply allow me the opportunity, you’ll see the clinic is imperative and that my working there is central to its success.”

  “We’ll see, yes.” Mrs. Sebastian’s voice was lighter almost as though a toddler had requested an extra cookie for dessert.

  It wasn’t as though any old nurse could be a community nurse. It took a different type of person to do that job. Rose held her breath. She wouldn’t be able to face herself each morning if she failed.

  Mrs. Sebastian drew her slender fingers through her hair as they rose up the staircase. “Oh, and Mr. Sebastian’s in-house this morning. He needed to oversee the installation of the office furniture downstairs. I said, we live right across the street from the mill, do you really need a full office here…well, never mind that, I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to hear. But, you’ll meet him today.”

  “I look forward to it.” Rose traced her finger up the molded mahogany banister as they went, slipping it into the carvings. At the top landing Rose lifted her fingertip. Perfectly clean.

  “I have a girl,” Mrs. Sebastian said.

  Rose wiped her hand against her side.

  “Irish. She dusts every surface of the home. Like clockwork. When we moved to Donora, I never thought it would mean all this soot. Not that Gary or Pittsburgh were sites of sun and clear views, but this. This is like nothing I’ve seen. I’d rather a home on Thompson Avenue if we have to live in Donora.”

  “Those homes are ordinary compared to yours.”

  “The smoke, though. Theresa’s breathing has never been good, but since moving here, it’s worse.”

  Rose felt a surge of energy. This was her chance. She slipped out of her coat, juggling her bag, relieved Mrs. Sebastian had moved the conversation to a topic that allowed her nursing acumen to do the persuasive heavy lifting. “You don’t see signs of TB, a lump behind the ear, any infection at all?”

  “You tell me.”

  Rose exhaled. Yes, she thought, yes, I will.

  * * *

  Mrs. Sebastian excused herself, telling Rose she had a phone call to make. Rose smoothed a section of her newspaper over the chair by Theresa’s door. On top of the papers, went the bag. Another black and white uniformed maid popped out of a doorway stating that Rose would have to use her own green soap because the Sebastians had none.

  Rose scrubbed up to her elbows under the maid’s watch. A family with the means of the Sebastians should have everything on hand for a visiting nurse. Certainly Mrs. Sebastian wouldn’t expect Rose to absorb the cost of basic toiletries. Rose dried off her hands and arms.

  “Could you let Mrs. Sebastian know that we need the supplies for after the exam and that she should join us?”

  The maid’s face crinkled in confusion.

  Rose smiled. “She knows I’m here.”

  Mrs. Sebastian poked her head out of a door ten yards down the hall. “I see you have everything. I have some business with the arts committee at hand.” And, she disappeared back into the room as though never there.

  Rose shook her head. Mrs. Sebastian wouldn’t be attending her daughter’s exam? Either she was more vacuous than Rose had thought or it was a sign she had already decided Rose’s work was not useful.

  Rose caught up to the maid and requested a set of fresh towels, a pot of boiling water for after the examination and a fresh set of sheets. Rose tapped her foot and seethed while she waited.

  Any other mother who was capable of doing so, Rose would have ordered into the exam to assist. But she couldn’t yet read Mrs. Sebastian and she controlled everything. Rose’s impatience for the towels and sheets was tinged with disappointment. She was compromising the procedures she knew were in place for a reason. Yet, there she was, letting it happen. There was no excuse for this parent to not be present. This woman who had judged Rose’s home situation as lackluster did not seem to care about the health of her daughter.

  Rose paced the hall hoping to draw Mrs. Sebastian’s attention. The idea of public health nursing was to educate families on caring for their family members. She could wait no longer. She bent down at Theresa’s door and turned the doorknob with her elbows to keep her hands sanitary. Dammit.

  She crossed the threshold then turned back, stuck her foot out to keep the door open and craned her neck out the door. Was Mrs. Sebastian really going to ignore home-visit protocol? If Rose even caught a glimpse of another maid she’d order her to witness the examination.

  Someone in the home had to be sure the girl was receiving the proper care, especially since yesterday Theresa seemed relatively strong and was now so weak she couldn’t get out of bed, for Pete’s sake. The only sound Rose heard aside from the outside noises of the mill cranking and the tugboat groaning was the steady ticking of a grandfather clock beside Theresa’s door.

  Rose took some newspaper from under her arm and laid it across a small portion of a tall dresser. She turned and finally took in the room. Everything, the walls, the spread, the knickknacks were made of or embellished with pink.

  Rose didn’t realize it until that moment, but she’d envisioned a room before, dreamed of having a welcoming pink room where nothing soiled it. In reality, it was creepy. As sterile as Rose liked her life, that moment revealed that things could be too perfect, even for Rose.

  The girl lay there, swathed in rose-colored covers, up to her chin, her hands crossed, one over the other, over her chest as though she might be resting in a coffin. She coughed.

  Rose moved toward the bed. “Theresa?”

  No response. Rose should have turned to the dresser, grabbed her stethoscope, thermometer, and notepad, but she couldn’t move. The sight of Theresa, her thick, auburn hair fanning around her head, high cheekbones, bow-lips, kept Rose standing there. She told herself she was listening to her breathing, a legitimate clinical act. But really, Rose was just staring.

  Rose jumped at the sound of Mrs. Sebastian’s voice then put her hand out and walked toward the woman to welcome her into the exam.

  “I was just looking Theresa over before I do a full exam. Please, join me. I need you to fill in the timeline between when we were together yesterday and right now.”

  “I have a full day’s activities—a phone call into the presiden
t of the Ballet board.”

  Rose nodded, struck by Mrs. Sebastian’s indifference toward her daughter’s health.

  Rose felt a burst of confidence and recklessness all mixed together. Maybe it was the stress of the day, but she couldn’t hold her thoughts in even though she wanted to.

  “Funny,” Rose said. “What you saw at my house yesterday, I know how bad it looked. But you never gave me a chance to explain. And yet, here I am, judging you because you appear so uninterested in your daughter’s care. But, appearances aren’t everything, are they?”

  Mrs. Sebastian looked toward Theresa on the bed as the maid stepped into the doorway beside her boss. “A call, Mrs. Sebastian. For you.”

  Mrs. Sebastian nodded and waved her away, watching her leave the room. She looked back at Rose. “You don’t know what our life is like.”

  “Exactly.” Rose said sweetly and gently as though she were agreeing with a friend on some inconsequential matter. Mrs. Sebastian left the room, glancing over her shoulder as she did. Rose knew she was close to the edge of decorum, but she had a job to do for the next two months and future funding or not, she would not let this woman be careless with her daughter’s health.

  Rose recalled Mrs. Sebastian’s words regarding the adoption, the notion that she never connected with Theresa. Rose had thought she meant that they hadn’t bonded at the beginning, but it didn’t appear as though the two were especially close even after twenty years. Rose told herself to feel sorry for Mrs. Sebastian. She may have had all the money and things she could want, but strained or not, Rose’s relationship with Magdalena was surely more intimate than what she saw here.

  Rose thought if she saw Mrs. Sebastian as having a weakness, Rose would not be so intimidated by her. She went to the bed and lifted one of Theresa’s manicured hands then the other placing them at the girl’s side. Rose lowered the covers to give her body some air.

  Theresa stirred, stretching then contracting, her head off to the side, a peaceful picture even in the context of what her mother described as a lifelong illness. Rose instinctively smoothed Theresa’s hair back from her forehead.