Chapter 17
Rose did her best not to rush through patients even though she needed to get to that meeting. She finished up an exam—stomach flu rather than respiratory distress—at the Huggins home and then moved on toward Meldon Avenue where all the leading citizens of Donora were meeting with the mill’s higher-ups.
She’d never seen the streets deserted on a Saturday. The hush that had settled as people hid in their homes was disconcerting. She moved past Thompson, then McKean, to Meldon. The steady hum of the mills, the flying shear and nail mill punctuating the grinding machinery, were all that seemed familiar. She thought of the ever-plodding mills, their indestructibility and the people she’d seen that day. People certainly didn’t come with the same guarantee as a good blast furnace.
Rose entered the council building and was surprised to see Bonaroti was not in the meeting, but standing outside the room, looking through the small window in the door. Rose laid her bag by the wall and went onto her toes to peer through the window, too. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t in there. He was the chairman of the board of health.
Bonaroti shifted to make room for her. “I’m just letting them warm up before I drop the hammer. Go on home,” he said. Inside the room sat over a dozen men in suits, perky hats on the table beside their pens and notebooks, each in some way connected to the mill or borough council.
Rose wasn’t about to leave, especially after hearing their voices rising, claiming, fog or no fog, they couldn’t shut the mills down. If they did, a man said, the furnaces would cool then crack, and they’d lose money. The cost to rebuild the cracked furnaces would mean they just start all over somewhere else, in some other town where they understood what the mills meant. If they had to shut down the mills, the town would suffer. Every business in Donora depended on the mill workers to spend their wages in their establishments.
Bonaroti picked up Rose’s bag and handed it to her. “Look, it’s not the official meeting. They’re not gonna shut ‘er down until they’re sure there’s no other way. They won’t decide that ‘til Fliss gets his ass here for the meeting tomorrow. This is just a bunch of blowhards belly-aching. Your kid’s having that scout over. You have a meal to prepare.”
Rose wasn’t listening, too focused on what they were saying in the meeting, regarding the recent deaths. Most of the deceased had a prior respiratory issue. They didn’t seem to care that thousands of residents—healthy and otherwise were ill.
They talked as if they weren’t breathing the same thick air as the victims were, as though they were watching the events unfold in a movie. Rose shook her head in disbelief. The mills took precedence over everything.
To her surprise Adamchek appeared at her side, jockeying for a view through the window to the room.
“Yer son threw that game. They lost 27-7. He played like an asshole.”
Rose drew back. Donora lost? Her son wasn’t playing his best, but losing? She’d been so distracted by her patients, she hadn’t asked who won.
Adamchek scratched his belly, scowling. “People are saying old Johnny boy threw the game to save Buzzy’s legs.”
Rose grabbed Adamchek’s collar and pulled him toward her, Bonaroti stepping in, in vain, to intervene.
Adamchek’s face went red but Rose didn’t care. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. Johnny plays hard, every time. He would never throw a game. He’s a stand-up young man and there isn’t a person in town that’d say otherwise. Not anyone who wasn’t green with jealousy. Sound like anyone we know?” Rose shoved his collar back into his neck, pushing him back.
He rubbed at his neck where Rose had pushed him. “He’s not who you think, Nursey.”
Burgess Lewis calling Adamchek’s name made them stop. The burgess gestured toward them and Adamchek entered the room leaving Rose and Bonaroti in the hall.
Bonaroti squeezed Rose’s shoulder, but she didn’t look at him. “No one believes that, Rose. Adamchek’s just frustrated. His sister was on my list. She’s struggling.”
Rose was about to say she thought he deserved to have someone in his family fall ill, but held her tongue.
The chatter in the meeting room got louder and Rose looked up, surprised to see Mr. Sebastian. If he was attending the meeting he, at least, must be taking situation seriously. He had a daughter with compromised breathing. He would shut the mills down.
Bonaroti’s voice startled Rose. “Go home, Rose. He pointed toward the men in the room. These assholes don’t care if you’re here or not. I’ll be in there soon to say my part. Have dinner with the scout and wait for my next call.”
Rose considered her options. Was there a way to impress the scout without her being there? Sara Clara had to make dinner anyway. Rose exhaled her frustration. What difference did it make if she was there? She could never coax the scout into believing he saw something better on that football field than he did that day.
Henry and Johnny would have to handle things. In the end Rose knew they had Johnny’s interests in mind. The entire family understood what Johnny’s success meant to the town. A Donoran on the rise was never forgotten. But what would any of it matter if there wasn’t a town? If half the town was dead?
“I can’t just walk away from my patients. I should be in the meeting, telling what I’ve seen first-hand.” Rose paced. “But you’re here and Sebastian. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t considering shutting down the mills.”
Bonaroti shrugged and pushed his glasses up on his nose.
Rose readjusted her bag. “I’ll head back into the hills. Give me your list and I’ll hit everyone back up to my house. I’ll make it there just in time to charm the shit out of that scout. As soon as dinner’s over, I’ll be back out doing what I can. Rvsevich and his wife tried to leave town with their baby. Any word on if they got out?”
Bonaroti crossed his arms. “Don’t know. Too late to leave now. Visibility is next to nothing so as soon as I square things away here, I’m going to hitch up some of Genovese’s old wagons to his horses and start dragging people to Palmer Park. The air’s clearer over there. If we move slow, hopefully, we won’t get in any accidents.”
Rose squeezed Bonaroti’s forearm and disappeared into the fog before she changed her mind.
* * *
Rose got back to her house in time to find out Henry and Johnny had cancelled the dinner with the scout. Rose’s shoulders slumped at the news, and she dropped her bag to the floor, as though it were the fog that finally got her.
She could not even process their line of thinking. How could they let Johnny’s opportunity go down the toilet? It was bad enough the team lost, and he hadn’t played his best, but to leave the scout on a Saturday night with dead bodies piling up in his hotel lobby?
She ordered Johnny to deliver a plate of Sara Clara’s home-cooked dinner, pronto, along with another fifth of Old Granddad to the scout’s hotel room. Rose did not have time to discuss or argue or convince. She had to get back to her patients.
Johnny shrugged looking as if he was about to throw a fit. “I’m playing at the Pavilion in two hours. This Notre Dame guy isn’t interested. He said so after the game. You can’t push everyone to do what you want.”
Rose clenched her fists, taking deep breaths, knowing she would regret later her words.
“You listen to me, I’ve been running all over town trying to keep people alive while you’re apparently throwing a game. For what reason, exactly, is evidently up for town debate. But, we don’t have time to discuss why you played like a complete jackass today. Now you do what I say and act like you give a damn about your future.” Rose’s voice was quaking as though it were she who had done something wrong.
Johnny’s jaw clenched as he held her gaze. “I do give a damn about my future and I already showed him that.”
Rose rubbed her forehead as she realized what Johnny said. She knew his mind was on that Julliard scholarship. “I understand you’re a talented musician.” Rose said. “But to get the hell out of this town,
and this smog, you have to do something that ensures you can live somewhere else.”
Rose grabbed the food and whiskey and shoved them into Johnny’s hands. “Drop these off to the scout, be polite, and tell him you’re damn sure you want to play for Notre Dame. Then get your ass back home. Clear?”
Johnny shoved the refreshments back toward Rose. “I can’t. I sprained my ankle in the game.”
She could not believe his nerve. “Call Dicky, then. He’ll drive you.”
Johnny balked. “It’ll take forever in this fog to get to the scout. I can’t be late for the gig. Responsibility, you know?”
“It’s not the first fog you’ve driven through, Johnny. Move your ass.”
He shrugged and limped into the kitchen to call Dicky. Rose fell back against the hall wall. She stared at the photos on the wall, wanting to see her Johnny smile like he was in the pictures. She told herself, this was the hard part of being a parent.
Johnny grumbled past her to wait outside for Dicky, and Rose realized Johnny was not going to offer a dance or song or joke to smooth things over. That hit Rose as hard as anything. She wanted to tell him they’d sort this out later, but she knew she hadn’t been wrong to say what she did, even if the delivery of her message was harsh.
Rose sighed. She wanted Johnny to have all the right tools at his disposal, but by doing that, she’d given him his independence. Her job was to raise the boy into a self-reliant man. That was why she became a nurse. There would always be a heavy flow of people who needed her. Even if her own children didn’t.
* * *
Henry returned home after dropping Unk and Auntie at a friend’s house where the smog wasn’t so dense. He’d walked in on the tail end of Rose and Johnny’s argument and decided that the truth could not wait. He wanted to confess everything, but was scared to death of all the lies he’d told. He followed Rose into their bedroom, watching her change her uniform, readying herself to go back out to care for neighbors. She was mumbling something, distracted or avoiding him or both. He cleared his throat, ready to jerk his lies into the truths they should have been.
He had no idea where to start undoing the lies—Buzzy taking the money, Johnny’s interview with Julliard, getting fired, Dottie. No, not Dottie.
“Rose.” Henry’s voice was thin.
At her bedside table, she pulled out a flask, unscrewed the lid and drank what was left of the vodka and shoved it back in the drawer. Hands clasped she recited a Hail Mary.
If he didn’t engage her soon, she’d be out the door. Buzzy’s debts paid in full, made it easier to tell Rose what happened. But the guilt was crushing.
Henry watched her tie her hair back in a bun, then release a few tendrils around her ear to distract from the double lobe.
There was no right way to start this discussion, and he blurted out his words. “You’re worried about Magdalena. Me too. She’s not practical. Hell, even her goddamn hairstyle is impractical. But what’s happened hasn’t changed anything about our family. Other than enlarging it. She’s our daughter and we’ll have a grandbaby. You’ve always wanted more children.” Henry ran his hand through his hair. What was he doing? He should be confessing, not bringing up even more stressful topics.
“What I’m saying is sorry. I’m sorry for the last few days and everything.” Rose’s expression was a mix of confusion and irritation.
“I have to go, Henry.” Rose stalked from the room.
“Are you avoiding me?”
“No. I’m working.”
Henry felt that comment cut into him.
The phone blasted from the kitchen.
“Don’t answer it,” Henry stepped in front of Rose. “I want to tell you—”
“I can’t just…” Her voice dissolved as she broke away. Henry saw her snatch the receiver off its base, listening, not responding.
She looked over her shoulder, Henry waited to hear her half of the conversation. “I’ll be right there.” Rose hung up the phone.
“It’ll be a fast appointment.” Rose said, and brushed past Henry.
“What, who?”
She didn’t face him. “Theresa Sebastian.”
“Oh, that’s rich. The mill superintendent expects you to haul ass in this fog all the way over there to tend to his princess.”
“That’s enough, Henry. How could you say that? She’s as important as…oh forget it.” She slammed their bedroom door.
Rose was angry, but he couldn’t fathom her reaction to his remark about Theresa.
He opened the door to see Rose stomping around, packing instruments that shouldn’t have been in their bedroom due to hygiene rules. He could see how crazy the last few days had been for her, her hands shaking.
“Rose? What’s wrong?”
The phone rang again. She shouldered past Henry to answer it.
She wound the phone cord around her finger and dragged it to her waist. “Well, no, Tish, he wouldn’t be over there,” she said. “Not yet. He had to drop something at the hotel—”
She pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it before placing it back on its cradle.
“The line cut out,” Rose said. She hovered over the phone, hands on hips as though lecturing it or willing it to ring.
“Listen Rose—” Henry said.
The ringer blared again. Rose juggled the receiver and placed it to her ear. “Tish?”
Henry alternately puffed his cheeks and blew out the stored air. He hoped another nurse or doctor made it to the Sebastians and Rose would not have to go.
“I know he can’t walk. He sprained his ankle. What difference does it make? He’s in a car! Tish? What did you say? He’s where?”
Rose listened.
“Did they go by way of Altoona or some shit?” Rose said, shouting, clearly having trouble hearing and transmitting information.
“He’s fine. He’s fine.” Rose said to the phone, her voice quivering. The line went dead.
Henry stood with one hand resting high on the doorjamb.
The phone rang again.
“Tish?” Rose said, and shook her head at Henry, the line still giving her trouble. Finally Rose hung up again.
“What?” Henry said.
“The boys and Johnny were down on Meldon at the Elks. I think she said they were headed to the Witchey home. Why would Tish call to say he couldn’t walk? That’s why I had him go with Dicky—”
“Something’s wrong. Tish wouldn’t have called back if it were nothing. Not with this fog.”
The phone between her ear and shoulder, Rose tried getting Tish, any operator, back on the line.
Henry marched across the floor and grabbed the phone from Rose’s grip. “Let’s go,” Henry said.
Rose shook her head. “I have to be at the Sebastian’s. Theresa needs me.”
“So does Johnny. Tish might not know what’s happening, but something’s wrong.” Henry shuddered. “Like when something in the mill’s about to go awry, you feel it before it happens and by then it’s too late. Every other boy in the car with Johnny has a father working a shift or sleeping one off,” Henry said. “I say we go down and see what’s what. I agree it can’t be that bad. Nothing’s ever as that bad. But you know how these boys are.”
Rose hesitated. “What about Theresa?”
Henry squinted at Rose, trying to figure out her response. “You’ll go there after we check on John. Tish can send someone else to the Sebastian’s. You need to be there for your son.”
Rose tucked her hair behind her ear then listened for another dial tone on the phone.
“Johnny’s tooling around town like a jackass and I’m supposed to not go see Theresa,” she said. “Why? All because he probably aggravated his ankle?”
“What?” Henry’s skin prickled and it felt as though his hair were lifting off his scalp. “We’re going to John, to the Witchey’s and then you’re going to explain to me just what the hell is going on with the Sebastians.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her across the kitchen.
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“Don’t you tell me what to do, Henry Pavlesic. No one tells me what to do. I would know if something was wrong with Johnny. I would feel it in my bones. I gave birth to him, remember? Tish was just being nice calling—she wouldn’t know if I knew my son’s ankle was injured. She was being nice.”
“People are dropping like flies and you think Tish calls for a friendly exchange of information?”
Rose wrenched her arm from Henry’s grip and went back to the phone, tapping her toe while she waited for someone to come on the line.
Henry held up her coat and nurse’s bag. “Let’s go, Rose.”
After they left the house, Henry followed Rose trying to talk sense into her, as she headed in the direction of Theresa’s house. Then he stopped persuading. In his gut he knew something was wrong with his son and he wasn’t about to let him down by chasing his wife all over town.
So, they both headed in different directions—Henry straight down to Meldon and Rose downward before turning left toward the Sebastian home.
* * *
Her eyes burning from the smog Rose pounded on the Sebastian’s door, fueled by worry. No one answered and she entered the home and took the stairs by two. She could feel that Theresa’s condition was worsening. She felt her daughter’s decline as though it were her own.
The maid met Rose at the top of the steps and ran with her down the hall. Theresa’s door was ajar and Rose saw Mr. Sebastian leaning over his daughter. He turned when Rose entered the room, his eyes wide, his lips quivering with panic. “She’s purple.”
Rose rushed to Theresa, popping open her bag as she did. “The mills are still cranked. Why didn’t you shut those things down?”
Mr. Sebastian grimaced and retreated as though Rose hit him. Theresa inhaled hard, her back arching off the bed—just like it had been noted in her files. Rose cursed herself for not getting there sooner. Damn Henry.
Rose’s breath was choppy as she rifled through her bag, her fingers slipping and sliding over syringes and medication until she located the tools for treatment.
After the Fog Page 29
