After the Fog by Kathleen Shoop Page B

bacon and stomped to the table and shoveled some bacon onto Sara Clara’s plate. She must not have heard right.
    Henry cleared his throat. “If Magdalena really wants to be a seamstress, well, I think it’s something to consider. Maybe she has too many responsibilities compared to other girls, too many expectations that suit boys better.”
    “She’s a big girl,” Rose said as she scraped bacon from the bottom of the pan for Buzzy’s share. “School is the first responsibility on the list of shit she has to do as far as I’m concerned.”
    “She’s still a baby,” Henry said.
    “I thought I might—” Magdalena said.
    “She can decide,” Henry said, “if her future means four years of college with men who may not be ready for a woman as smart as they are. I understand—”
    Rose grunted and slammed her spatula into the pan. “My daughter will not quit school to sew of all G.D. things. No!” Rose slapped the pan with the spatula several times, anger overtaking her senses.
    “Hello? I’m right here!” Magdalena pounded her fists onto the table once, rattling the place settings.
    Rose pointed at Magdalena with her spatula. “She’s still a baby ! She can’t make her own decisions! That’s what the hell we’re for!” Rose wiped her brow with the back of her hand. This was not what she needed on a morning like she’d already had. She needed a swig of vodka, needed to calm down.
    Sara Clara patted Henry’s hand. “It’s okay, Hen, everything’ll end up fine.”
    Rose stared at Sara Clara’s manicured fingers patting Henry. Rose wanted to smack Sara Clara’s hand away.
    “Oh, now you know everything will be all right, Sara Clara? Now you know, huh? A damn miracle, right here in Donora,” Rose said.
    “Mum,” Magdalena said. “Just because I want to sew doesn’t mean I’m not as smart as you thought I was. It doesn’t—”
    Rose smashed the spatula into the pan again. “It means you have nothing to your name if that’s the path you take. You have no idea what it’s like for women who are at the mercy of their husbands. You have never seen—”
    Sara Clara tapped her knife against her coffee mug. “Now Rose, there are some things a woman simply can’t worry about. Isn’t that the advice I recently heard you offer?”
    Rose glared at Sara Clara. What the hell was happening? She did not have the time to engage Sara Clara or any of them in a reasoned argument. She would deal with them later and they would do what she wanted because she loved this family and Magdalena would forget about this sewing. Suddenly, all Rose wanted to do was head off to the world of nursing, where nothing ever went as expected, but where Rose always had the answers.
    “The Texaco Star Theatre’s on tonight, right?” Johnny said. It was just like him to inject some levity. “Eight pm. Maybe that blond sweetie pie will be back to sing another show-tune or two.”
    Rose usually appreciated breaks in the tension like that. That was normally all she needed but her arms felt as though they were wrapped in steel, as though her body finally recognized the decades of tireless work she’d used it for and gave up.
    Rose stalked to the stove and tossed the pan back onto it. “Serve yourselves,” Rose said bolting from the kitchen. All she could do was flee. She did not have the luxury of sitting around messing up people’s lives.

Chapter 4
     
    R ose tried to calm herself by taking deep breaths. She stared at her bedside table, knowing the vodka was inside it, wanting it like a man wanted a shot and a beer after his shift. Like every Pennsylvania mill town, Donora had bars tucked between shoe stores and five and dimes, hardware stores and churches. No matter what was standing there, a watering hole of some sort was wedged next to it.
    The men worked hard enough during a sweltering, backbreaking shift to justify stopping for a drink on the way home even if work ended at seven in the morning. Still, many a housewife