After the Fog (17 page)

* * *

The nurse and her charge stepped onto the Sebastian’s back porch. Only five homes stood on Overlook Terrace, an enclave carved into land below the Gilmore cemetery and above the spewing zinc mill. The home was a stunning red brick colonial revival, not as symmetrical as a four square but not as angled as a Victorian. Rose imagined it with the soot stripped clean from the brick pristine as the day it was built. Like anyone who performed a service at the home, Rose entered by way of the kitchen at the back of the mansion.

Leo pinched his nose shut. “Ewwww,” he said.

The sulfur stench stunk up the whole town, but above the zinc mill the odor was nearly solid to the senses. The bulk of the smoke raced across the Monongahela, winding over Webster on the other side of the river, but enough of the debris coursed up the hill to the Sebastian’s home that a foul smell was often present. The plume carried the stench as though it were a second river, drenching everything the liquid one didn’t.

Rose characterized the Terrace section of town as “the desert.” She’d seen photos of Arizona and there wasn’t a difference between it and what she was looking at. Except that many hills in Donora had less vegetation—no cacti with their own beauty, nothing but the great mill spitting its insides into the air, letting its residents know all was right with the world; Donora was productive and financially healthy.

Rose sat Leo on the porch bench, told him not to move and gave him the missalette she’d taken from the church. He might as well be educated in Catholicism if his mother was going to pretend to be one.

“But I can’t read,” Leo said.

“Just stare at the blessed thing. The words will leap into your head like a frog. That’s how it happened with your cousin Johnny.” Everything came easy to Johnny, and while that was a comforting thought, Rose sometimes wondered if he’d be able to handle adversity as well as success. He never practiced that before.

Leo’s lips quivered and his shoulders jumped with uneven breath. Rose knelt down in front of him. She squeezed his knees. “I’m joshing, Leo. Just sit and enjoy the peace. You’ll be in first grade next year and then you’ll learn to read. Think about the mill on the other side of this grand home and focus on how you’ll never, ever work there. That’s the idea you need to sear into your mind right here and now. You need to go to college and get the hell out of here.”

“This place is great. I hear you say that.”

“It’s confusing, Leo, I know. You
should
appreciate this town. It’ll make you tough. These mills produced more steel last month than any other in the world. Donora’s steel…well, it’s in everything, but that doesn’t mean your future is in that mill.”

Rose’s eyes began to burn with zinc mill smoke so potent it peeled paint from siding. She coughed into her hand and looked around the dark porch. The fog should have been lighter by then.

She squeezed Leo’s knees. “What you need to take from this town’s greatness is simply its muscle and will and determination. Get an education so that the only position you’d be qualified to hold in the mill is goddamn superintendent of the whole shebang. You can be anything you set your mind to.”

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.

R
ose 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 mention 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.