After the Fog (48 page)

Rose took the last sip of coffee and slid the note to the center of the table. She would save the news for later, for when she could accept what was in the note, no matter what the news might be.

Back at her windows, Rose thought of the note in the kitchen, her worry about what its contents would tell her, that she could not risk losing her daughter even if Henry was finished with Rose. With a circular motion, then up and down, and across, Rose created gleaming windows, offering a view of a sunny, spring afternoon. The beauty of cleanliness and sunshine could not displace her need to make things right with Magdalena and Henry. No matter what the letter might say.

She went back to the kitchen, ripped the note out of the envelope, feeling an ache for Henry in her belly. She closed her eyes worried he might never see her the way he used to. He would not forgive her. Henry was a kind man, but she understood people couldn’t always put their intellect ahead of their heart. Rose had learned that the hard way.

She opened her eyes and stared down at the note she’d smudged.

Rose,

I saw you opened an account at Mellon Bank. I’m adding to the funds.

Henry

She turned it over and back. That was it? Rose exhaled, relieved there was no finality to it. She actually attributed positive connotations to it. It was decidedly good news, she thought, feeling as though there was still a connection between them, odd, as it might have been.

Rose went back to her windows, grateful Henry had chosen to write instead of dropping in to see her. She ran her hand over her hair and looked at her palm. Not as clean as it normally was when Henry had last seen her. Despite her making progress in conducting surveys around town for Bonaroti and the government, getting residents to speak with her, Rose felt a shadow of her former self. She did not want Henry to see her that way.

Even though Rose renewed her housekeeping with vigor, taking care of herself was another matter. The simple act of removing her clothing was off-putting. Full bathing seemed too much of an effort and sometimes four days would pass before she’d break down and get under the water.

Rose was managing on behalf of Doc Bonaroti quite well. It was once she stopped moving at home, when the cleaning was done, the organizing finished, that she was left with only her thoughts and the reflection of her broken heart in the mirror of her soul. She began to realize that no matter what she did to structure her days, constructing a skeleton was not enough to have her life reborn. She was missing too much of what really mattered. But even as Rose came to realize that, she could not bring herself to make the remaining changes that would have given her a full existence.

Rose was finishing up wiping down the countertops when someone knocked at the door. Rose contemplated hiding under the kitchen table, but fought the urge to get on the floor, her head tucked into her knees. She glanced at the clock. Probably the mailman.

She opened the door to Dottie standing there, her tiny hands gloved in the palest blue leather, clenching and unclenching at her side. She rocked on the balls of her feet and settled back.

Rose swallowed hard. With all the progress she made in dealing with her own part in her ripped open world, she had not come far in how she thought about Henry and Dottie. She still seethed at the thought of their bodies joined in the most intimate of ways. Rose looked at her feet, desperate to find a classy way to tell Dottie to get the hell off her stoop.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t talk to the woman whose mouth had probably covered every square inch of Henry’s body. Rose backed into the doorway, closing the door as she did.

Dottie’s hand shot out, keeping the door open.

Rose crossed her arms. “What Dottie? Is there something else of my life you’d like?” Rose spun around and gestured to the room as though offering a product for sale.

Dottie stepped into the home and shoved the door closed with the usual screech.

Rose couldn’t believe the woman’s gall. “Bet you never have a squeaky door at chez Shaginaw?” Rose said. Resentment stung her.

Dottie’s posture softened, her chin dropped and she looked away in what appeared to be genuine shame. “I just wanted to set the record straight Rose. That’s all.”

“Like I said, take what you want, Dottie. As you can see, besides the crusty old mutt over there, I don’t have a thing left that you might covet.”

Dottie put her hand up to stop Rose from speaking. “You were right. What you said the night of Johnny’s accident.”

“John,” Rose said. “He goes by, John, these days.”

“I know.”

Of course she did, Rose thought. “You know, Dottie, a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have granted you ten seconds of the same air I was breathing.” Rose ran her hand through her greasy hair and stuck out her chest, “But I’m not so fragile anymore. I give you thirty seconds. Because I’m all sugar and goodness, now. I’ve changed.”

Dottie raised her gaze to Rose. “That night of John’s accident. You were right. I did, I do, want what you have, Rose. What you and Henry have—”

“Had,” Rose said. What good was some stupid confession after all that had happened?

Dottie nodded. “It’s true, I found some relief in being with Henry. Just that once.”

Rose exhaled her exasperation. “I don’t want a rehash of your sexual exploits, Dottie. You have doting parents, a pristine home, the best nursing job in town, a slew of friends and admirers. Isn’t that enough?” Rose shrugged. “You were the one who caused John’s cord,” Rose said, slapping her hand over her mouth. Husband-poacher or not, Dottie was the reason John was still alive.

Dottie straightened her back and stepped forward. “Listen to me. That night when the kids were babies, sixteen years ago, I went to your house to speak with
you
. I needed a friend. Someone I could trust.”

Rose broke Dottie’s gaze.

“I was going to run away, leave my home, my parents, everything, I was so ashamed. They didn’t approve of the person I loved. I was devastated, and vulnerable and needy, and when I got to your place, there was Henry.”

Dottie stepped into Rose’s sightline, forcing her to make eye contact. “Henry was like I’d never seen him, so open, so needy. And we just, well, I needed to see if…well, if I wasn’t attracted to Henry, I knew I wouldn’t be attracted to any man. If not Henry. Then no man.”

“Boo-hoo, You diddled Henry and found out no other man would do. I’m supposed to cry because you’re a spinster?”

“Listen, Rose. For once, shut the hell up and listen.”

Rose crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows at being ordered to shut up.

Dottie looked at the floor then lifted her gaze to meet Rose’s. “I’m not attracted to men, Rose. The relationship my parents disapproved of was with another woman.”

Rose looked toward the wall, then at her shuffling feet. What did Dottie say?

Dottie pointed to her heart. “I knew it here. But I had to prove it to myself. And, yes, from the time I was six, a part of me loved Henry. My God, what’s not to love? But, I was desperate that night. Well, Henry and I kissed and touched, and yes, got undressed, but we couldn’t do it Rose. He couldn’t. Because of you. I couldn’t because of…”

Rose tapped her toe. She didn’t believe a word.

“Lois Hampton.” Dottie blurted the name and crossed her arms. “We’ve been together forever. Not living together as you know. She wants to, thinks no one will blink at a couple of gals living together, like sisters. But my parents know the truth. They caught us that night.” Dottie sighed. “That’s why I went to your house, to talk to you but Henry was there, just waiting to help prove to me that I was normal.”

Dottie’s eyes filled. “That night, I just needed someone to tell me I didn’t have horns and a tail. And Henry was there. And you weren’t. And you’re right. I do want what you have Rose.”

Rose stepped back from Dottie, trying to appear as though nothing she was hearing made any difference at all.

Dottie lifted her hand to Rose. “I want children, a family, the house. But believe me when I say, I never wanted any of that with Henry. I know that doesn’t change what we did.”

Rose glanced at Dottie’s outstretched hand and ignored it.

Dottie re-crossed her arms. “I wanted you to know, I never meant to hurt you or your marriage. When it came to giving advice about Magdalena, I told Henry to talk to you. That was it.”

Rose opened her mouth but couldn’t say what she thought. There had been rumors for years regarding Dottie’s preferences. Some called it off-center or queer. But Rose never gave it much credence. Rose looked into Dottie’s face and was moved by her sincerity, her anguish.

Dottie wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I’ve always been amazed Rose, how you live your life. You ignored people talking nonsense about your career. You were always content with the people who love your nursing care, your family. You don’t give a hoot who put you down, you simply trusted they’d come around, when you have to care for them or their family. I admire you, Rose. You’re brave. And so, yes, to have what you have, I couldn’t put a dollar amount on it if I tried.”

Rose felt overwhelmed, covered her mouth and turned to leave. Three steps down the hall, she stopped. She couldn’t do it anymore. She put her hands on her hips and turned back to Dottie who was already headed out the door.

“Wait,” Rose said.

Dottie came back inside.

Rose didn’t know what to make, exactly, of what Dottie had just told her, but she knew no one would lie about such things. Rose knew if Dottie admitted to loving women, if she risked confiding in the person who hated her more than anyone in the world, then she must be telling the truth. And for Rose, that was stunning. Such courage. Putting the truth out there like that. She decided it was that, the truth, not an act of desperation that was driving Dottie.

Dottie took another step forward. “Rose?”

Rose resisted the urge to run again. She stepped toward Dottie, fingers laced at her waist.

“Thank you.” Rose said, and shrugged.

Dottie smiled and stepped halfway out the door. “You’re welcome, Rose.”

And the two nodded at each other, sharing a moment, a pause in acrimony that felt like friendship, a moment of grace Rose needed more than ever.

Friday, April 1, 1949

R
ose had just bedded down a roast, half of which she was planning to slice and share with Donora’s needy folks, when the side-door squealed open, startling her. She inched across the kitchen floor, wondering who might be entering without permission. She poked her head into the hallway and saw the back end of Buzzy, moving through the door, struggling with luggage.

Leo peeked over the mound of suitcases at Rose, jumping up and down.

She could not believe they were here. She ran down the hall and pulled Leo over the luggage. He latched his legs around her laughing. Rose smoothed his hair as he snuggled his head into her shoulder.

Buzzy smiled, nervously glancing from Sara Clara to the luggage and back at Rose. Sara Clara removed her hat and Buzzy cleared a path through the luggage for her to walk. Rose shifted Leo to her hip and moved toward Buzzy, hugging him, then Sara Clara, holding her so tight that she choked in Rose’s embrace.

Rose pulled back and pinched Leo’s cheek before setting him down. She opened her arms to Buzzy and Sara Clara. “Look at you. You’re here.”

Buzzy and Sara Clara passed a glance between them and Leo shoved a starfish up at Rose. She squatted down to his level and ran her finger over the hardened spikes, turning it back and forth.

“I’ve never seen one of these in person,” Rose said.

“I’ll take you there this summer when you come visit Auntie Anna. She said you could have hers for now and that you better get down there and visit her. You can find one yourself then.”

Rose bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears.

Buzzy and Sara Clara hung back, clutching their luggage as if waiting for Rose to attack.

Rose tousled Leo’s hair and sent him to the kitchen to pour some waters for everyone. She wrenched her in-laws’ bags out of their hands. “Let me take those.” Buzzy and Sara Clara appeared bewildered as if they landed in a foreign country instead of the home they used to share.

“Well, I don’t have all day for this kind of rubbish,” Rose said. “Come on in and tell me how you’ve been. I’ve, well…I’ve been working with the Feds to survey people about the fog. And see, here.” Rose slid the suitcases further inside with her foot and closed the door to reveal a poster size piece of butcher paper behind it. “See, I recreated the map I had of Donora and I’ve plotted where all the folks died during the fog. I’ve mapped out who got sick. I’ve listed the pertinent symptoms reported by everyone, according to their address. Fifty more people died in the month after the fog. Did you know that? So, I mapped their homes as well. You won’t believe—”

Buzzy poked at the map where Unk’s name marked where he had died. Rose saw sadness creep into his expression. His gaze slid over the map, taking in the information Rose had recorded.

“We believe it, Rose. We saw Bonaroti when we stopped to fill up the tank. He told us how you’ve gotten folks to talk, to tell the truth. He doesn’t think the report will see the light of day because of the mills being so powerful and all and you know, politics. Well, I don’t need to tell you. But, he said, you’re his miracle. A living, breathing gift to the town.”