Because of her confidence and her faith in him, he had been surprised and slightly annoyed when she had adamantly refused the fetal x-rays. “Sara....dear,” he had said, “you are only borrowing trouble. I have already given you my assurances that it is highly unlikely any malformations will develop after the third month of pregnancy.”
But she had sat on the edge of the examining table, tucked the loose-fitting white gown tightly around her, and shook her head, “I don’t care, Harry. I simply don’t want any more radiation—not even during an x-ray filming of the baby.”
He had persisted, “Sara, an x-ray delivers only a minute amount of radiation. It cannot possibly harm you.”
She had been obstinate. “No.”
Being close to the family allowed him the privilege of saying what he thought. His features softened, and he asked with kindness, “Is it a fear for what the film might reveal, Sara? Is that it?”
She didn’t respond to his questions, but stared forlornly at the floor.
“Sara, with your past history of being unable to carry a child to full term, we must pay close attention or you may end up losing this one. Now, I know you want this baby, and I want to help you. But dear, we must know where we stand. I can understand your fear of radiation. However, I think we can be optimistic in believing that your exposure has not harmed the developing child.”
She had faced him as he leaned against the cabinet, his arms folded. “Then if you are so certain the baby is normal, why insist on x-raying it?”
“It’s standard procedure,” he answered. “It’s just part of keeping tabs on both the mother and child during the pregnancy.”
“No, Harry. I won’t have it,” she said with finality. She suspected the physician was entertaining some doubts about the wisdom of her having this child. But when she tried to trap him into admitting to it, he steadfastly denied any doubts and encouraged her to continue carrying the child. Regardless of her personal fears, she did want Ben’s baby, but she would not permit exposure to more radiation.
Harry had shrugged, “Well, the pelvic measurements still must be done. I think while we are preparing for those, we should also withdraw a sample of amniotic fluid.”
She looked up at his mention of the amniotic sample. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“I’ll insert a needle into the amnion, the sac containing the baby, and remove some of the fluids. It’s a simple technique, Sara. Absolutely painless.”
“Arid what will it prove, Harry?”
“Oh, a variety of things. Not the least of which is the general health of the fetus.” He expected her to agree readily.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want that, either.”
For the second time that morning the physician had been surprised by her lack of cooperation. “You are using that same bull-headed determination to thwart my skills that other pregnant women use. Because you are with a child, this makes you a special person, my dear, and as such, you now know more than the physician,” he said tartly.
His accusation was neither harsh nor cruel, but she knew he was tremendously irritated. Sara sighed, then answered, “I’m sorry, but, well....I desperately want this child, Harry, and I don’t want to take unnecessary chances with it. No needle, no x-ray.” She gave him a weak smile, begging for understanding.
He had finally agreed to do it her way.
Returning from her reverie, Sara glanced to either side and noticed that no one was paying the slightest attention to her. Deftly she removed the gold compact from her purse and flicked it open. She studied the lines that seemed to have become permanently etched in her face. It was a more mature reflection that she saw now. A little wiser beyond her years. But the cheek bones had remained good. It was a nice thin face that would soon become fat if she stuck with that diet the doctor had given her. She touched the puff to the tip of her nose and over her chin. The chin was pointed. Or was it? A vision of the old hag she had seen in a movie flashed through her mind. Once more she glanced at the others, and discovering that she was not being observed, she quickly patted the blond wig before straightening it a fraction of an inch.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Senator McCauley. My sincere apologies for being tardy.” Senator Orin McCauley had bounded into the room and come to rest in their midst before they had time to know he was there.
As the Senator graciously introduced each person, Frank Waring looked around the room, seeing Cecil Yeager for the first time. Cecil avoided Frank’s look of recognition. Funny, thought Frank, you’d think he’d want to be friendly. Still, maybe he didn’t want to be reminded either.
Althea just barely nodded to Paula Waring. Maybe later she would ask Mrs. Waring about Kimberly she thought... now the Senator had everyone’s attention.
The Senator was unusually short in stature, no more than five and a half feet tall. In a generation of teenage amazons, his own sons were well over six feet in height, tributes to nutritious food, exercise, vitamins, and their long-limbed mother. Being dwarfed by most of the people he encountered only reinforced the little man’s aggressiveness, however. Tenacity, a nimble athletic body, and a sharp, probing mind had gained him a reputation as a fighter on the hand-ball court and a wily opponent in the halls of justice. A successful career in corporate law had provided the impetus for an equally remarkable career in politics. Now functioning as a United States Senator, he had been assigned the mission of spearheading the investigative search into the causes and consequences of the destruction of White Water Nuclear Power Plant.
“I want to thank you for agreeing to come here,” the senator said. “You are not the only group to meet with us, there are others; but, you have been requested for very specific reasons. Mrs. Harrington, quite obviously, is here because Mr. Harrington was a supervisor working at White Water at the moment of the explosion. We would hope that through her association, she will be able to add pertinent information about the nuclear facility. Others of you will no doubt shed light and share your insights on other aspects of the accident.”
He looked deeply into each face, anxious to put them at ease and acclimate them to the next few days, to what they should expect. Continuing, “This series of meetings with you will be informal. Your depositions, your statements, will become a part of a formal hearing that will follow later. You may be interested in knowing that the press is barred from these meetings, but your testimonies may be issued upon completion of our discussions. Do any of you have any questions?”
“Senator McCauley,” asked Cecil, “exactly what is to be the scope of your investigation, or do I have the right to inquire?”
“You surely do, Mr. Yeager,” answered the Senator. “Our intention is to do a complete and thorough study of the destructive force of the White Water facility and what caused the plant’s disintegration, if possible. We’re also delving into that plant and its parent company, West State Utility, and into the handling of radioactive fuels, their wastes, whether safeguards are sufficient or not, and the relationships to other plants already in existence. Ultimately, our findings will pave the way for formal hearings on the advisability of nuclear installations as sources of power for civilian use.”
“That’s an impressive undertaking, Senator,” Cecil remarked.
“Yes. And one that I’m sure you will agree is absolutely necessary, that should have been done, in part, years ago. Now, if there are no further questions, perhaps Miss Haydn could arrange an appointment for us to meet again, this time on an individual basis.”
Sara found the little statesman strikingly individual in his attack on the problem of White Water. She remembered that Ben had met the Senator the very day before the explosion and had thought him bothersome, a bit too inquisitive for his, Ben’s, taste. How odd that Ben had felt that about the man. She found his businesslike manner inspiring, and his approach to people, perhaps short on patience, but refreshing, nevertheless.
“Will we be required to be here long, Senator, more than several days?
” asked Althea in her well-modulated voice.
“Oh, I wouldn’t think so, Miss Carr. Generally, you’ll respond to our questions and add anything you wish, and that’s it. Finished,” he answered. “Thank you very much, all of you. Uh, Mrs. Harrington, I’d appreciate your remaining with me for a few minutes, if it’s convenient. I’m most eager to hear your comments.”
Relieved that the Senator had wanted nothing more than to meet them and establish appointments for personal conferences, the others quickly prepared to leave.
Anxious to assist, Cecil slipped the coat around Althea’s shoulders, then solicitously held the pair of crutches while she carefully got to her feet and fitted her arms over them. Once all was in order, the two slowly made their way out of the chamber.
The Senator and Sara had watched quietly at the ministrations to Althea. When at last the couple had left, following the Warings, McCauley swiveled his chair around to Sara. “Mrs. Harrington, you won’t object to having our conversation recorded, will you?”
Sara replied gracefully, “Not in the least, Senator.”
“Good,” he answered, as he pushed a button under the edge of the table. An electronic apparatus containing a small recorder was ejected from underneath. “Re-playing occasionally reveals certain things that even the best secretary misses. Are you comfortable?” he asked.
‘‘Yes. Quite.’’
“More coffee?”
Sara nodded to him. “Yes, thank you. Black.”
With the cups filled, the Senator punched a tiny lever on the machine and the reel began turning. He was commiserative when he spoke. “Your experience was traumatic, it would have had to be, Mrs. Harrington. Do you have plans for returning to the west coast, to your home?”
“No. There would be no point, not now,” answered Sara. “Although I may be compelled to make one trip concerning the disposition of my house.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that there are enormous losses in personal and real property sustained by residents of the area.”
Sara inclined her head in agreement with him. “There’s no demand for homes around there. People are scared of the area now. They don’t want to be associated with it.”
“Well, long-term radiation is a powerful factor—it’ll destroy the tourist industry in the area for years. But worse than that is the fate of that whole section of the state.”
He abruptly changed the subject. “Mrs. Harrington, did your husband ever indicate, by any means, that safety controls at White Water were inadequate?” He looked straight at her as he spoke.
She had been expecting this, for what else could the Senator want from her? “Ben was a believer, Senator McCauley. By that I mean that he had confidence in nuclear reactors. He believed that they were the answer to the energy problem for all industrialized nations.”
“Did he never have doubts, though, about the total safety of such a potentially dangerous device?” he asked, still watching her.
She traced the outline of the base of the cup as she considered the question. “May I offer an opinion?” she finally asked.
The Senator replied, “Of course,” and leaned back in his chair.
“My husband was highly skilled at his work. He was a brilliant man, Senator. Yet, because of his dedication, his devotion, to the prospects of nuclear power, he was confined to a relatively narrow channel in his thinking. It is my belief that he never allowed himself to consider alternatives that arose whenever scientists discussed the pros and cons of nuclear power facilities. I also doubt that he ever lent any degree of credence to the theorized dangers and hazards of a severe nuclear leak, he was so convinced science had perfected the process.” She directed her eyes at him, unwavering.
“Those hazards are no longer in theory, Mrs. Harrington.”
“No, of course they are very real. But there had been leaks of radiation from nuclear installations before White Water, only not on this scale, of course,” she added.
The Senator had listened intently as she talked. “Yes, unfortunately we can’t seem to profit from small accidents—the lessons are only learned after we’ve been hurt. And yet, Mr. Harrington must have appreciated the dangers of radiation—with his formal training, he’d have to have been aware of the deadliness of such a thing when uncontrolled. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Harrington?”
Sara replied, “Oh, I’m positive he understood that, but he had such blind confidence in technology that he thought it had attained a level of supreme excellence, that it had truly eliminated all possibilities of mechanical and human error.”
“Humph. Sounds as though Mr. Harrington figured there was very little else to be learned, that the summit had been reached.”
“Or perhaps he had simply committed himself to one way of thinking and stayed loyal to that cause,” she said in defense of her husband. She thought the Senator very brusque in his questioning.
“That’s very risky when a man is focused in one direction to the extent of blocking out all other views, Mrs. Harrington. Particularly in scientists,” stated McCauley flatly, almost mocking.
Sara tugged at her coat, fastening it closer to her body. It was an act that was performed without conscious thought, when one feels himself threatened, or inspected too carefully.
“Your husband survived three days after the blast. He managed to return to his home without any assistance, any aid. He was an extraordinary man, an extremely intelligent man. He must have had some inkling as to the cause of the disaster.”
“As I said, my husband never expected that sort of thing to happen, Senator. You must remember that Ben was desperately ill by the time he reached home. We spoke of the accident only once, and for much of the remainder of his days he was incoherent and in agony,” answered Sara, recalling Ben’s terrible moans and the broken limb.
“Yes. Well, it is regrettable that any evidence of the cause of the disaster was totally destroyed with the explosion. Our men in the field have found precious little to help answer our questions,” remarked the Senator.
Aware that her responses, while perhaps not very helpful, had been given readily, Sara felt inclined to ask a question of her own. Senator McCauley and Senator Jackson had caused some degree of concern to Ben. She recalled the visit by the politicians only the day before the destruction of White Water. She interjected, “Ben mentioned having met you at White Water, Senator McCauley. Just prior to the accident. At the time he believed that your purpose in being there was at the request of an environmental group. Was he correct?” She knew she may have breached political ethics and was guilty of being an inquisitive woman, but the presence of the politician had caused her husband some concern.
The Senator checked the burnished sheen on his well manicured nails. It was not his practice to confide in people, to inform them of his reasons for actions he had taken. Yet, this was a gracious woman who sat across from him. She could easily have declined his request to come to Washington and tell her story. She deserved the truth. “Mrs. Harrington, despite what your husband may have thought, Senator Jackson and I were at White Water at the invitation of the president of West State Utility Company. I believe that it was the president’s intention to publicize our tour of the facility—after it was made, of course. We went to White Water out of curiosity, and nothing more.”
“I see,” said Sara with unexplained relief.
Senator McCauley glanced at his watch, then shut off the recorder. Since the investigation had begun he had been a busy man. “Mrs. Harrington, I appreciate your cooperation and your patience. We will discuss this again, but not today. I have an important meeting with the president of West State Utility Company and I’m most anxious to hear some responses from that gentleman.” Indeed, his eagerness to talk with Sara had delayed him.
Sara retrieved her purse from the floor. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very informative, Senator. Believe me, I’d like nothing better than being able to relate the causes for White Water.”
A flicker of a smile passed over his face as h
e shook her hand. “You have been helpful, Mrs. Harrington. Now, Miss Haydn will phone a cab for you.”
Senator McCauley’s chauffeur steered the limousine into the circular driveway where he brought it to a smooth halt before the brownstone house. Inside, Sara fastened the warm fur coat at the throat, and stepped out. This was what she had dreaded, this being dragged out into society before she was ready, before she was prepared to re-enter the life of a single woman.
She had done battle with her conscience over whether or not she would attend this dinner given by the Senator. And it was not until her first night in Washington that she decided to accept the invitation. The affair was given in honor of those persons testifying from the Los Angeles area, but it would have been easy to refuse. After all, she was in mourning. Instead, she had gone to an exclusive shop in the city and bought a dress.
Once she was in the foyer, a maid took the mink from her shoulders. She was met by her hostess and led into the drawing room. She was the last guest to arrive for the gathering of some twenty politicians, their wives, and her new acquaintances from the west coast.
The two women paused, and in that moment Sara was aware that she was being scrutinized by every person present. For one frightful second she was convinced that it was a ghoulish interest maintained by the others that caused them to stare at the wife of the dead Ben Harrington. Then she looked closer at their faces and realized that she had been wrong. The men plainly appreciated her beauty, and the women, well, at least they were aware of her.
Her black chiffon dress was floor length with full sleeves that tightly gripped her thin wrists. It fit loosely about the body, successfully hiding the small bulge that was forming in her abdomen. Devoid of jewelry, the dress was a striking contrast against the pale skin and the platinum blond hair. Huge, oval brown eyes, shadowed by many sleepless hours over the long nights, lent an ethereal loveliness to the woman.
The Senator’s wife accompanied Sara as she introduced her to the guests. Congeniality was the theme of the evening as each person made a special effort to meet the heroic survivors of the infamous White Water catastrophe.
The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) Page 26