Read Online After the Fog by Kathleen Shoop - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathleen Shoop
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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met her husband at the gate on payday to collect the wages, to make sure the money wasn’t sucked back with whiskey and Iron City beer.
Rose couldn’t stand it any longer and yanked open the stubborn drawer. She was tired and the booze might slow her down even more. But she argued to herself, a nip of vodka might numb her anger enough to refocus on what lay ahead that day. She stared at the flask. She deserved a sip. She thought of the men who left their shifts. They loved a good boilermaker—a stiff drink that consisted of a shot of whiskey—glass and all—plunged into a herculean-sized tumbler of beer that they guzzled down as though they were stranded in the desert.
That was what Rose felt like, traipsing through the hills, caring for dozens of families in just one day. Her throat would be choked with soot after her shifts, and just like the boys at the mill, she needed a shot, but took it at home, at some point during her day. She would throw back the booze like prohibition was minutes from reinstatement. A nice shot provided cover from time to time. Or a tall cool one allowed her to blow off steam. Either way, the booze was anesthetizing, a gateway to getting by or getting through.
She reached in the drawer and ran her finger over the embossed flask. In and out. Rose drew deep breaths, unable to block out Sara Clara’s, Magdalena’s and Henry’s words from her mind. Why would Magdalena give up all that she’s worked for her entire life? She had a scientist’s mind. She was Rose plus she had the advantages of a loving family, and stable home, a sturdy path to academic and then career success. Not a young girl’s typical journey, but her daughter wasn’t ordinary.
Rose scolded herself, told herself not to worry about nonsense, that Magdalena was only momentarily frustrated and worried about her pending scholarship. Rose knew Magdalena was a smart girl, but she knew a lot of the world’s big problems stemmed from lack of education, more than a dearth of smarts.
The question most burning Rose was why Henry would pretend it was reasonable for Magdalena to quit school. He knew a woman needed her independence. The only way to guarantee that was through financial security. And seeing as Magdalena was not heir to a fortune, her mind would have to provide for her. Rose had taught her daughter since the first time she whispered sweet words in her ear: You are magnificent Magdalena, you keep your wits about you, you work hard, be great.
She didn’t have time for this. She had to meet Mrs. Sebastian, the wife of the new mill superintendent, at ten A.M. at the Lipinski home.
Rose opened and closed her hand around the flask of vodka. She shook her head, paralyzed by fear she’d take a drink; motivated by the desire for one. She closed her eyes, the events of the morning causing her as much anxiety as her ambivalence about taking a drink.
She exhaled her frustration, unscrewed the lid and tossed a mouthful of vodka into her mouth. It stung like an angry wasp and hit her stomach like needles. Her shoulders hunched forward and she resisted her gag reflex. With the edge of the bedspread, she wiped her mouth. Her heartbeat slowed and she rubbed her chest below her collarbone.
Rose replaced the lid on the flask and shoved it to the back of the drawer. She leaned over the side-table, gripping the edges. She wanted more. But, no. One shot was enough.
Walk away and get dressed, she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut.
No.
Just one more.
She rifled through the drawer for the flask. In hand, she unscrewed the lid and took her shot. The alcohol spread through her body. Magdalena’s announcement, Henry and Buzzy’s breakfast shenanigans, all of it made her think she was losing everything. She needed to employ logic and rid herself of blind uncertainty that only led to self-fulfilling prophecy. And, not the good kind.
She threw open her closet door and pushed aside her freshly ironed uniform and good church dress. She
Rose couldn’t stand it any longer and yanked open the stubborn drawer. She was tired and the booze might slow her down even more. But she argued to herself, a nip of vodka might numb her anger enough to refocus on what lay ahead that day. She stared at the flask. She deserved a sip. She thought of the men who left their shifts. They loved a good boilermaker—a stiff drink that consisted of a shot of whiskey—glass and all—plunged into a herculean-sized tumbler of beer that they guzzled down as though they were stranded in the desert.
That was what Rose felt like, traipsing through the hills, caring for dozens of families in just one day. Her throat would be choked with soot after her shifts, and just like the boys at the mill, she needed a shot, but took it at home, at some point during her day. She would throw back the booze like prohibition was minutes from reinstatement. A nice shot provided cover from time to time. Or a tall cool one allowed her to blow off steam. Either way, the booze was anesthetizing, a gateway to getting by or getting through.
She reached in the drawer and ran her finger over the embossed flask. In and out. Rose drew deep breaths, unable to block out Sara Clara’s, Magdalena’s and Henry’s words from her mind. Why would Magdalena give up all that she’s worked for her entire life? She had a scientist’s mind. She was Rose plus she had the advantages of a loving family, and stable home, a sturdy path to academic and then career success. Not a young girl’s typical journey, but her daughter wasn’t ordinary.
Rose scolded herself, told herself not to worry about nonsense, that Magdalena was only momentarily frustrated and worried about her pending scholarship. Rose knew Magdalena was a smart girl, but she knew a lot of the world’s big problems stemmed from lack of education, more than a dearth of smarts.
The question most burning Rose was why Henry would pretend it was reasonable for Magdalena to quit school. He knew a woman needed her independence. The only way to guarantee that was through financial security. And seeing as Magdalena was not heir to a fortune, her mind would have to provide for her. Rose had taught her daughter since the first time she whispered sweet words in her ear: You are magnificent Magdalena, you keep your wits about you, you work hard, be great.
She didn’t have time for this. She had to meet Mrs. Sebastian, the wife of the new mill superintendent, at ten A.M. at the Lipinski home.
Rose opened and closed her hand around the flask of vodka. She shook her head, paralyzed by fear she’d take a drink; motivated by the desire for one. She closed her eyes, the events of the morning causing her as much anxiety as her ambivalence about taking a drink.
She exhaled her frustration, unscrewed the lid and tossed a mouthful of vodka into her mouth. It stung like an angry wasp and hit her stomach like needles. Her shoulders hunched forward and she resisted her gag reflex. With the edge of the bedspread, she wiped her mouth. Her heartbeat slowed and she rubbed her chest below her collarbone.
Rose replaced the lid on the flask and shoved it to the back of the drawer. She leaned over the side-table, gripping the edges. She wanted more. But, no. One shot was enough.
Walk away and get dressed, she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut.
No.
Just one more.
She rifled through the drawer for the flask. In hand, she unscrewed the lid and took her shot. The alcohol spread through her body. Magdalena’s announcement, Henry and Buzzy’s breakfast shenanigans, all of it made her think she was losing everything. She needed to employ logic and rid herself of blind uncertainty that only led to self-fulfilling prophecy. And, not the good kind.
She threw open her closet door and pushed aside her freshly ironed uniform and good church dress. She
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