Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash

by Tammy Pasterick

  “Why am I not surprised?” Karina sighed.

  “He threatened a mechanic. He’s forcing the guy to tell anyone who asks that he inspected the crane and found nothing wrong with it. Archer even falsified his inspection reports.”

  “Does it matter, Janos? He’s leaving for New York.”

  “It would matter to Pavol Tomicek. His brother is dead, and from what I hear, he’s out for blood.”

  “It’s sad, but these stories are not new.”

  “No, they’re not. Too many immigrants have been sacrificed in the mills in the name of progress. We’re so easily replaced. At least now you know what kind of man you’ve been working for.”

  “You don’t need to tell me. I know him all too well.” Karina winced as an image of Henry’s naked body flashed before her eyes. She shook it from her head. “Let’s go to bed. I really am tired.”

  When Karina laid down next to Sofie that night, she struggled to fall asleep. Her eyes remained fixed on the cracks in the ceiling as she thought about Janos’s plan to quit the mill. She wondered whether he would still be able to do it if she decided to leave with Henry.

  He’d said that he’d saved some money—that would pay for the family’s move to a new town and maybe the first few months’ rent. Anna would just have to manage the boarders by herself. And Sofie could quit school, if necessary. She wouldn’t be the first Slovak girl to give up her education to earn a living. With all Janos’s efforts to educate his children, she was probably already smarter than most girls who made it through the eighth grade anyway.

  The idea of leaving Janos and the children made Karina feel awful, but the more she deliberated, the more convinced she was that they would be happier without her. She had often noticed how the laughter around the dinner table increased the minute she climbed the stairs to bed. She knew her family was more at ease in her absence—and she was more at ease alone in her room. She often wondered why being surrounded by happy people always made her feel miserable. Perhaps her departure would be a welcome change for everyone. That’s what Karina told herself as she fought to fall asleep.

  Thirteen

  HENRY

  SHADYSIDE, JUNE 11, 1910

  henry Archer stood before William Rankin’s mansion in the Pittsburgh neighborhood of Shadyside, mouth agape. He was no stranger to upscale neighborhoods. He had strolled through plenty of them in New York City. However, nothing had prepared him for the splendor of the steel magnate’s home.

  He had heard that it was an impressive example of Italianate architecture, but standing just feet from the portico, he felt dwarfed by the massive four-story brick structure. It was breathtaking. The house’s two imposing turrets cast their shadows over him as the evening sun set behind them. They reminded Henry of his insignificance in this elite locale.

  Scanning the facade and side of the house closest to him, he counted five balconies and porches. He wondered how many were on the back and opposite sides of the house. As he watched a couple of squirrels race across the neatly manicured lawn, he caught the scent of roses and peonies. Lovely. What might it cost to landscape such a place and keep it so perfectly trimmed? It looked like an arboretum with its wide variety of trees, shrubs, and exotic-looking flowers.

  Excited and terribly nervous, Henry forced himself to climb the stairs under the portico where a male servant awaited his arrival. Though a series of violent thunderstorms had moved through the area the previous night, ending the week’s heat wave, Henry was still perspiring beneath his clothes. He quickly wiped a bead of sweat from his temple.

  “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Shetland House. Mr. and Mrs. Rankin will be delighted to receive you,” the man said as he opened the door.

  Henry fought to suppress a frown as he noticed the servant’s black dress coat was of a higher quality than his own. Feeling self-conscious, he adjusted his bow tie as he passed the valet and stepped into the entrance hall.

  The two-story foyer was paneled in cherry, while colorful stained-glass windows lined the staircase. A plush red carpet runner lay beneath Henry’s feet, and a massive antique grandfather clock stood to his left. Trapped in a state of awe over the home’s expensive-looking furnishings, Henry barely noticed when Mr. Rankin and a plump lady approached him at the foot of the stairs.

  “Mr. Archer, we are honored you could join us. Permit me to present my lovely wife, Mrs. Rankin,” said the gray-haired gentleman.

  “It is an honor,” Henry said as he bowed and kissed the woman’s white-gloved hand. “Your home is stunning.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Archer. Restoring this house is one of my many passions.”

  “Please join us for cocktails in the parlor.” Mr. Rankin motioned to Henry. “What is your drink of choice? A martini?”

  “Yes, please,” Henry answered in his most gracious tone.

  “I am sure you will recognize a few of my guests. They are all superintendents at area mills.” Mr. Rankin led Henry over to the piano where several couples were sipping martinis and conversing quietly. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Robert Wells of Homestead, Mr. and Mrs. George Baldwin of Braddock, and Mr. and Mrs. Francis McGowan of Vandergrift.”

  Henry shook hands with each of the men and bowed politely to the ladies dressed in elegant gowns. Jewels dangled from their ears and sparkled around their throats. A servant handed Henry an exquisite blue crystal martini glass with a red swan at the base. He took a sip of his cocktail, pleasantly surprised at its smoothness. Expensive gin, to be sure.

  “Mr. Archer, I must introduce you to my wife’s cousin Miss Covington Girard. She has been staying with us this spring. Such a lovely girl … but where the devil is she?” Mr. Rankin asked, scanning the room.

  “I believe she had to retrieve something from upstairs.” Mrs. Rankin peered through the parlor entrance and then clasped her hands in delight. “Here she comes now. Edith, darling, our final guest has arrived. He is waiting to meet you.”

  As the young woman entered the room, Mrs. Rankin proudly announced, “Mr. Archer, this is my dear cousin Miss Covington Girard of the New York Covingtons and the Philadelphia Girards.”

  Henry’s eyes immediately caught the shimmer of dark red silk. Mrs. Rankin’s cousin wore the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. It was a ruby-toned, tiered gown covered with an intricate pattern of rhinestones and black beads. Enormous diamond earrings and a heavy-looking necklace completed the striking costume. As Henry focused on the sparkling jewels dangling from the woman’s ears, he caught a glimpse of her face.

  How unfortunate.

  Miss Covington Girard’s face was rather displeasing, a stark contrast to the magnificence of her attire. While her individual features were all very normal-looking, perhaps even slightly pretty, she was unfortunately plagued by excessive hair growth on her upper lip and jaw. Even her pretty blue eyes could not divert one’s attention from the dark shadows defiling her lower face.

  Aware that he was staring, Henry quickly turned on the charm so as not to offend his hosts. “Forgive me, Miss Covington Girard, I did not intend to stare. It’s just … I have never seen anyone so lovely. I am honored to meet you.” Henry bowed.

  “Please call me Miss Girard. My name can be cumbersome, I know. I apologize if I have delayed dinner.”

  Henry immediately noticed how deep the woman’s voice was. It was unsettling.

  “We are getting ready to take our places in the dining room. Mr. Archer, perhaps you would like to sit next to my cousin this evening. She is unaccompanied,” Mrs. Rankin said with a sly smile.

  Henry didn’t need to be a genius to figure out his host’s intentions. He wished he could skip the charades and tell Mrs. Rankin that her cousin had little chance of winning his affections, but instead he replied, “Of course. I would be delighted.”

  Henry followed the other guests into the dining room, which was paneled in the same cherry wood as the adjoining parlor and entrance hall. In the center of the room hung a grand crystal chandelier that spark
led and glistened, casting amusing reflections all around. A bevy of servants directed each of the guests to their seats at the elaborately set table, each place setting complete with five different drinking glasses and three different forks, knives, and spoons. Henry was intimidated.

  He suddenly wondered how Karina would fare at such a sophisticated gathering. Would she be able to grasp the rules of etiquette—or at least manage to fake it? He surveyed the female guests and tried to picture Karina in each of their stylish gowns. Her beauty would outshine them all. Of that he was certain.

  As the first course of Oysters Rockefeller was being served, Henry made polite conversation with Miss Girard, who was seated to his right, and Mr. and Mrs. McGowan, who were seated to his left. The discussion was light in nature and centered on everyone’s plans for the upcoming summer vacations. The McGowans were traveling to Chicago and the Great Lakes, while Miss Girard would spend the months of July and August with her parents in Newport, Rhode Island. Henry explained that he was starting a new job and would be in New York City.

  “The city is so dreadfully hot in the summer months,” Miss Girard remarked. “You really should try to get away on the weekends. Glen Cove on the North Shore has the most wonderful yachting and country clubs. The Hamptons are becoming quite popular, too.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” Henry lied. “I spent a lot of time on Coney Island as a child, but I haven’t been to any of the other resort towns on Long Island. I must do more traveling,” he said, embarrassed he could not comment any further on these exclusive destinations.

  As dinner progressed, Henry became acquainted with his hosts and their well-to-do guests over an extravagant eleven-course meal. Following the oysters, he was served a cream of barley soup, salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumber—which he did not care for—and the most tender cut of filet mignon he had ever eaten. He almost cried when he swallowed his last bite of beef, wishing he could ask the server for another helping. Over the fifth course of lamb with mint sauce and creamed carrots, he learned more than he ever wanted to know about Shetland sheepdogs.

  “Shelties are wonderful dogs. They are extremely intelligent and learn commands with remarkable ease,” Mrs. Rankin said.

  “I am not familiar with this breed,” said Mrs. Baldwin, an eyebrow raised.

  “They are from the Shetland Islands of Scotland and have been used to herd sheep for years. They resemble a collie, but are much smaller in size.”

  “Fascinating.” Mrs. Baldwin’s attempt at feigning interest was feeble at best.

  “My English cousins have several at their country home in North Yorkshire. I had one as a child at my family’s estate near Philadelphia. Lady was her name. She was a lovely creature,” Mrs. Rankin mused.

  “How many Shelties do you have now?” Mr. Wells asked.

  “Five. They are in the stable now, of course, but you must return another time to see them. I have taught them the most adorable tricks.”

  “That’s why your home is named Shetland House!” Mrs. Wells exclaimed.

  “Darling, you really are quite the genius,” Mr. Wells said with a hint of sarcasm as he turned to face his wife.

  “Mrs. Rankin and I were never blessed with a house full of children, so we take great pride in our dogs and horses. We find it fulfilling. And, of course, my wife is well known around Pittsburgh and Philadelphia for her charity work.” Mr. Rankin smiled proudly at his spouse.

  “Enough about me. Miss Girard, do tell our guests about your grand tour of Europe last autumn,” Mrs. Rankin suggested. “You are practically an expert now on France and Italy.”

  “I do not want to boast,” Miss Girard said shyly.

  “I would love to hear about Europe,” Henry said. He was genuinely curious about the woman sitting next to him. He could tell by her jewels and knowledge of resort towns that she was of the privileged upper class, but he was dying to know exactly how wealthy she was. Could she possibly be related to the same New York Covingtons who had made a fortune in railroads?

  As servants served the sixth course of sorbet and the seventh course of roast squab, Henry sat hypnotized as Miss Girard recounted her tour through Europe. She spoke of the paintings in the Louvre, the beauty of Notre Dame, and the splendor of Versailles. She described the vineyards in the south of France and how stunning the hillsides looked as the grape leaves slowly changed colors in the warm autumn sun.

  Long after the other dinner guests fell into conversations of their own, Henry continued to listen intently to Miss Girard’s stories.

  “Mr. Archer, I feel as though I have monopolized the conversation. Surely you do not want to hear about me all night. It is rather rude on my part.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Girard, I find the tales of your travels captivating. And how did you find Italy?”

  “I loved it. There is simply no place on Earth more romantic than Tuscany. The food is heavenly.”

  “What was your favorite?”

  “The cannoli. Mother and I could not stop eating them.”

  “So you traveled with family?”

  “Yes. In fact, the trip was rather spontaneous. I had other plans for the fall, but sometimes, life does not turn out quite the way you planned. My mother thought Europe would be a wonderful consolation.”

  Sensing a painful story behind Miss Girard’s sad eyes, Henry decided it would be rude to ask about the circumstances that necessitated an escape to Europe. He wished he could flee the country at a moment’s notice. The rich. They had no idea how lucky they were.

  “I hope your trip provided you with whatever it was you sought,” Henry replied in an encouraging tone.

  “It certainly helped,” Miss Girard said, looking down at her lap and readjusting her napkin.

  The dinner progressed with more talk of travel and hobbies as well as gossip about prominent families around Pittsburgh and even Philadelphia and New York. Politics were discussed only briefly near the end of dinner when multiple courses of salads and sweets were served. Henry especially enjoyed the chocolate eclairs and the fruit and cheese plate. He could have skipped the asparagus vinaigrette, but Mrs. Rankin was especially proud of that course as it came from her very own garden. Henry complimented her vegetables vigorously, knowing full well that the gardener deserved all the credit. He couldn’t imagine the plump society woman on her hands and knees in the hot sun raking and pulling weeds.

  At the end of dinner, Mr. Rankin declared that the men would have their discussion about the mills in his study over port and cigars. Henry’s eyes grew wide as he entered the mahogany-paneled room adorned with animal trophies. The heads of a moose, a bear, an elk, and three different deer hovered over him, their glass eyes staring down at him creepily. A fully stuffed wolf and cougar lounged comfortably at the far end of the room near the window.

  “That’s quite a collection you have, Mr. Rankin,” Henry said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It is an extraordinary display of beasts, isn’t it?” Mr. Rankin replied proudly. “I hope to add a lion and a Cape buffalo after my trip to Africa next year. Hunting deer and moose isn’t as thrilling as it used to be. It will be fun to go after something that wants to eat me.”

  Henry’s jaw dropped.

  “Come now, Mr. Archer. Don’t look so shocked. Surely you’ve experienced the thrill of the hunt,” Mr. Rankin teased.

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “It certainly is exciting,” Mr. McGowan said. “I think it will be Mr. Rankin’s full-time occupation once he retires in a few years. Isn’t that right, William?”

  “I hope so. Now gentlemen, I have some very fine Cuban cigars for you. Have a seat, and we’ll get started with business.”

  Mr. Rankin gave each of the men a cigar and a glass of port. Once they were seated comfortably on the leather sofa and armchairs, they proceeded to discuss matters at the mill—increasing productivity with new technologies, cutting costs, improving safety. The conversation went on for at least an hour. Henry
tried not to look bored.

  “Now, Mr. Archer, be sure to relay this information to Mr. Davies. I know some of it does not apply to you, as you will soon be in New York working on safety protocols, but Davies will certainly be interested in what we have discussed. The last thing I would like to mention pertains to the workers. More specifically, their lack of representation.” Mr. Rankin cleared his throat.

  “US Steel has been very successful over the past two decades at quashing any union activity, and the powers above me would like to keep it that way. I must admit that I sympathize with our workers and can understand their desire to organize. The work they perform in the mills is strenuous, and at times, dangerous. However, the company’s main objective is to maximize profits and tonnage. Having a union interfere with the manner in which we conduct business could prove disastrous to our bottom line. As such, the company is instituting new policies that may quiet dissent and ensure the workers do not attempt to organize.”

  “We’re not going to have the Pinkertons take care of them? Intimidate ‘em and beat ‘em up every once in a while?” Mr. Wells chuckled as an audible belch escaped him.

  Mr. Rankin glared at the inebriated, heavyset man. “I know that is how things have traditionally been done in Homestead, Mr. Wells, but I would like to think US Steel is better than that. I am referring to a new relief plan for workers who are injured or killed in the mills. Many leave behind wives and children who cannot afford to support themselves. The company is introducing this plan on a trial basis and will compensate widows and their families with eighteen months to three years’ worth of lost wages.”

  “Is it not enough to help with the funeral expenses?” Mr. Baldwin asked.

  “We have done that for some time, but the company believes providing death benefits and pensions will help increase workers’ satisfaction and trust in the company. This relief plan could help us avoid unionization.”