by Maria Riva
Hannah applauded, Rumpelstiltskin giggled, and Jane was thoroughly at sea.
“Ach! My Ebbely, how you talk! Forever I could listen! But—look vat you do to dis poor child. She doesn’t know you—so can’t figger if you joking or what.”
A penitent Ebberhardt Fishbein jumped down from the love seat and, going over to Jane, bowed.
“Forgive my theatrical nature, oh so Statuesque Mother-to-be, but a new audience is such temptation—I simply can’t help myself! By the way of making amends, dear lady, allow me to offer you a pair of my top-of-the-line ladies’ garters, trimmed in genuine Chantilly lace of cream and baby rosebuds.”
“Vifey, now you know how come dis man can sell anyting to anybody. Even de ice to de Eskimos, I swear!”
So rare was the sight of an automobile standing on the street, the boarders knew immediately that Ebberhardt Fishbein had arrived.
“Where is he? Where’s our mighty shrimp?” Fritz and John called, at the same time.
“Hannah, stop kissing your precious Ebbely and let us have him!” the others shouted.
As the little man appeared, the boarders pounced on him as though he were a favorite ball they all wanted to play with. Pretending fright, he took refuge behind Hannah’s height, so they twirled her about, as he ran down the hall the men in hot pursuit. Everyone was having a whale of a time.
Hannah, clutching her sides, gulped for air.
“My ribs, dey are splitting! Dey always like dis crazy when he comes back. Vifey, quick—while de boys play, we get de supper going.” Still laughing she marched back into the kitchen, “And me—always want so much have children? I got ’em here already!”
That evening, suppertime never ended. There was so much to tell, so much to listen to, no one wanted to break it up by leaving the table. First, Mr. Fishbein was minutely questioned on the performance of his very own Model T. Had she broken down and, if so, why and under what hazardous conditions? Had she proven as reliable as the men knew she was? How many miles had she withstood before needing an oil change—on and on they questioned, interrogated, eager to hear from the only one of them who possessed, drove what they could only build, until Ebbely, they all called him by Hannah’s affectionate diminutive of his given name, held up his tiny hands in mock dismay. “Stop already! You’re giving me a headache! That pile of black tin parked outside? Well, let me tell all of you everything in just one word, Perfection! A marvel! A joy! I should find a woman like that!”
“You son of a gun—that good, huh?”
They could have kissed him.
“Nothing better. If she could cook, I’d marry her!” Looking up at Hannah, he inquired, “Sweet Lady, any more of this heavenly borsch?” For such a small person, Rumpelstiltskin could consume an amazing quantity of food. Hannah, delighted, rushed to serve him. “Delectable as always. Home cooking! And Hannah’s! You lucky devils! You don’t deserve her! Fritz does, but you don’t!! Now, tell me your news. I already know all about Henry Ford’s announcement. The whole country is buzzing! Every town I went through, the newspapers were full of it! Truly, an amazing gesture by an amazing man. By the time I come through here again, you’ll be so rich you’ll be too big for your britches! Oh, before I forget, John—allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations. Nice lady you got there. We got acquainted this afternoon and I like her … no frou-frou like the others.” Zoltan coughed. “Still got that cough I see, Zolly. I told you the last time, a little horehound dissolved in warmed brandy never fails.”
“If Mr. Rich Traveling Man would bring me some, I’ll do it!” Zoltan retorted.
“Hey, Ebbely. I’m looking to buy a house and I’ve already written Henrietta to come, bring the children. By summer we should be settled in our own home.”
“Johann—at last! After all these years! How delightful!”
“And I, I have asked Frederika to marry me,” Rudy announced proudly.
“Sweet Lady, what are you? A landlady or a marriage broker? I don’t know if I should leave you all for such long periods of time—can’t trust you to behave!!”
“Ebbely, how far were you this time?” Jimmy asked.
“Oregon—wettest state in the Union! Excellent territory for long drawers!”
“What does the rest of the country think of President Wilson?” Fritz asked.
“Personally, I am still of the same mind. He’s not to my taste. Such a haughty man cannot know the needs of the common man. As for my clientele, although they haven’t the vote, their influence over their husbands is considerable. The ladies are charmed having a ‘true’ gentleman in the White House. ‘How lovely! How refreshing! How cultured! And how he adores his sister.’” The table applauded the little man’s talent for perfect mimicry of dithering womanhood.
Although Jane knew it was men’s privilege to discuss subjects deemed too intricate for women’s comprehension, she ventured to ask the table at large, “Excuse me, please—but in a free country like America, why does it not allow women to vote?”
“Because they know nothing about politics and belong in the kitchen,” answered Fritz before his wife smacked the top of his head with the soup ladle. Sheepishly, wiping dollops of borsch from his moist pate, Fritz gave Jane a look as though blaming her for bringing up the subject that got him into trouble. Jane, eyes downcast giving her full attention to the soup before her, heard her husband fill the momentary embarrassed silence with a good-natured, “Don’t mind my wife. She is always sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
This produced a few chuckles, the atmosphere eased. Jane swallowed her soup as though it contained nails.
“Mrs. Jane, now that we are so well acquainted, permit me the liberty of asking when you plan to deliver!”
“Early May, Mr. Fishbein.”
“Then I shall plan to return around that time bearing a gift or two.”
“That would be most kind, Mr. Fishbein.”
“No, no, my dear. Hannah made me an ‘Ebbely’ and here, Ebbely I am.”
Jane smiled her gratitude for much more than the use of a name. Hannah, clearing the soup plates, kissed the top of Rumpelstiltskin’s head as she removed his plate.
“Jimmy, this time I overnighted in the grand city of Chicago. Needed to restock on one of my best-selling items, camisoles of such pure cashmere they float. Like an infant’s sigh. So as a lark, I treated myself to a moving picture show. Very amusing. Laughed a lot. A funny little man … I believe a compatriot of yours … Charlie something or other. Oh, and fedoras, mostly pearl with wide bands of darker ribbed silk are now the rage in Chicago and other Eastern cities. The rest of the country is still partial to our bowlers except, of course, farmers and field hands who wear straw.”
Hannah paraded in a huge platter of succulent chickens, roasted to perfection, nestled amongst whipped potatoes, glazed carrots, and peas—Rumpelstiltskin’s favorite dish. Creamy gravy, flaky biscuits were passed around, everyone complimenting the cook by eating in silence, not wanting to stop in order to talk.
“What a feast!” the guest of honor sighed, mopping his brow, “the energy! The energy it takes to consume such a meal! I’m quite exhausted! Don’t make me move, Hannah—don’t make me move, I implore you!”
“There he goes again!” Johann laughed.
“Ebbely never tells his stories right after eating,” said Peter, slightly disappointed.
“Where do you put it all?”
“Away, dear Zoltan, away! Before I forget, there is something I want to ask all of you. When are you going to get around to closing the T? I freeze my ass off—sorry, ladies—in this weather, give me something! A heater? Anything!”
All the strudel had been eaten, all the coffee drunk, being a weeknight, it was time for bed. Hannah hit the table to catch everyone’s attention. “Boys, here de setup for tonight’s sleeping arrangements. John goes in mit Zoltan, I sleep mi
t Jane, so Ebbely get our bed by himself because Fritz on de settee tonight will be sleeping!”
Nobody laughed, although they all knew why and wanted to.
“Dear Lady, in that great big bed of yours? I shall get lost!”
“You need good, peaceful sleeping, Traveling Man. No discussion—orders!”
Climbing the stairs, Zoltan asked his roommate for the night, “In the morning, John, shouldn’t we give it a quick once-over?”
Peter joined in. “Yes—I want to have a good look at the tire frames.”
John agreed. “Ebbely, how about if before we all leave in the morning, we check out your Lizzie? Okay with you?”
“Much obliged. Nothing like being gone over by Ford’s crème de la crème. She’ll love it!”
“Okay. But first get Hannah to give you some blankets. We’ve got to cover her or she’ll be frozen by morning!”
Early the next day, long before their usual rising time, Rumpelstiltskin, still snoring peacefully cocooned in Hannah’s featherbed, eight eager men were fondling his automobile like a bunch of love-struck swains. Oblivious, one was under the car, Zoltan was cranking, Peter checking the wheels pinched her tires, inside Fritz was stroking the upholstery for any loose threads, John and Carl had their heads buried in her engine. Stan, after making sure the body had no scratches, was inspecting the gear-box, tightening pedals, Jimmy had taken on the lights.
They were so happy, they forgot all about breakfast until Jane called them in. Afterwards, good-byes were swift. Reminding Ebbely he had promised to return in time for Hannah’s Passover, the men rushed off to work.
Ready to reconquer the open road, Rumpelstiltskin pulled Hannah’s face down to receive his devoted kiss, presented Jane with the promised frilly garters and was off.
Ignoring the cold, Hannah stood on the front porch, waving good-bye. “Be careful, Ebbely. Come back soon!” As his Lizzie wobbled away at the breakneck speed of ten miles an hour.
8
Icy rains swept down the streets, rattling windows as though knocking to be let in. Jane wondered if spring ever came to Michigan.
She had so much to learn, so much needed to be absorbed, and understood.
The child within her stirred, waking her. The pungent aroma of brewing coffee tickled her nose. Hannah was already downstairs, busy in the kitchen—she had overslept! Jumping out of bed, she washed, dressed, hurried downstairs to help with breakfast.
Zoltan poured the syrup onto his stack of steaming flapjacks, then handed it on to Stan.
“Nearly Easter and Passover, Hannah. Got any feelings of our Ebbely?”
“No.” She poured him coffee. “My bones don’t say nutting about him. Must be still far away.”
“Bones?” John helped himself to sausages. “What about your heart?”
“Yeah, Hannah, what’s your heart saying?” Peter spooned sugar into his cup.
“Quit de teasing. Is possible dis year our Ebbely won’t say de Seder for us, so Fritz will have to. Now, quit de talking. Finish and get to work.”
Rudy, anxiously waiting for Frederika’s answer, half in hope, half in trepidation that he might have been in too much of a hurry to propose, got up, pushed his chair into the table. “I’m going crazy. Hannah, you’ve got to ask that mailman again. Frederika must have answered—something! Her letter should have been here by now!”
“Rudy, don’t worry. Every day I ask, ‘Now, today you finally got a letter for my Rudy Zegelmann?’ Believe me, Mr. Henry he knows for sure how much you are waiting. Now go already!”
Still, no letter for Rudy that day, but there was one for Jane.
Dear Giovanna, wife to Giovanni,
I hope you remember me. I hope you do. I am the Bela from the boat cabin. A good friend of my Lotar knows how to write the English so he is writing down the words I am speaking for me. I speak good now. My Lotar says he is proud I do so good but the reading and the writing I cannot. Here in this mine camp is hard life. Everybody live in shacks, get so cold when new babies born in the night many they freeze and die at their poor Mama’s breast. Many so sad things happen here. Frozen babies just some of it. My Lotar say soon we will leave. When enough dollars saved for train, we go far to where the sun shines to find gold. Lotar say that better than dying here in Missouri iron mine. Here we hear much talk of bad, bad trouble. Strike in copper mines. Many killed, even children, by stomping on when they run to get away when someone cried fire. Hope this place they call Calumet is not where your Giovanni works. The friend who is writing this down says I have to stop. Strike talk he don’t want to have anything to do with it—even when writing down words only I am speaking. So, thank you for address you give me. Now I give you mine after my name that I do in my own hand.
Your friend,
Bela
Jane shared her letter with John, then composed her answer. Aware that someone would have to read it out loud, she wrote it in print, giving Bela her news in simple terms, leaving wordy embroidery aside for clarity. In the hall the next morning, John offered to take her letter to work with him, saying he would give it to Evangeline to frank, put it with the outgoing correspondence. This casually familiar reference to the ever-intriguing Evangeline raised a few eyebrows amongst the boarders but none ventured a comment.
Mr. Henry had become so involved in Rudy’s suspenseful romance that only a letter delivered by his very own hand could solve, that when it finally arrived, he rushed to the Geiger house, not even stopping to put on any of his mittens.
“It’s come! I’ve got it! It’s here!” Hannah snatched the envelope, pulling him inside. “No, no—can’t stop! Must get back. Left everything behind! Let me know what she answered—yes—or no!” And waving, he sprinted down the street.
That evening, Hannah stood by the front door, waiting for Rudy to get home from work. As he stepped inside, she pounced. “IT’S HERE! Quick, open! … So? She say ‘yes’ to you?”
Giving him no chance to escape upstairs, read in private, she watched his face as he skimmed the lines, caught the beginning of a grin and, clapping her hands, cried, “She say—‘yes’! Clever girl!”
As the others came through the door, Hannah pointed to Rudy holding Frederika’s letter, mouthed an ecstatic yes!
“I’ve got to find a house—buy furniture …” stammered Rudy in a daze.
“Easy, my boy … don’t go crazy!” Fritz cautioned, hanging up his coat.
“Congratulations!” The men shook Rudy’s hand. Hannah gave Fritz a fast hug.
“First, we get a baby coming. Now we got a wedding wit de Catholic organ music and all de candles flickering—what a time!! Okay, boys—don’t stand around, wash, and tidy for supper. Tonight we make a toast for coming wedding bells.”
Settled into their parlor chairs, they sipped the fiery liquid that Johann had contributed to toast Rudy’s good fortune.
“Well, I will not be bought,” declared Stan to no one in particular.
“Now what’s wrong?” asked Fritz, his tone impatient.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Rules. More damn rules than you can shake a stick at—that’s what’s wrong!”
Zoltan put down his glass. “Yes, you better watch out, Fritz! I heard the Boss wants no more rooming houses nor boardinghouses run by Ford wives. Thinks that when their husbands are away at work, having other men in the house will be too much of a temptation for them to resist—and poof! There go the profit-sharing benefits!”
“Sin and profit sharing, they don’t mix!” Jimmy chanted.
“Yeah, so tell Hannah not to creep into my bed no more!” chuckled Rudy.
Fritz glared at him. “No joking! This is a serious matter.”
“It’s just a rumor, Fritz. It’ll never happen,” placated Carl.
“Well, the Sociological Department is sure in full swing!” said Peter.
“C
leanliness is next to Godliness. Henry’s own words.”
Jane looked at Jimmy, not sure if he was joking or serious.
“Is that really what this new department is all about?” Johann asked John.
“I told you, all I know is that the Boss wants to make sure that any worker eligible for profit sharing deserves it.”
“And that is going to depend on how clean his wife and kids are?”
“Come on, Johann. These people are raw immigrants. Mostly farm laborers, they have no knowledge how to live a decent city life, make use of their newfound prosperity.”
“And you, John? Were you never a raw immigrant maybe?” Fritz’s voice held censure.
“Sure, but I had a trade—I was schooled. And, I was single. I only had myself to look after.” The room fell silent. John lit a cheroot. “It’s not just that. You know as well as I do, you can tell a good, trustworthy worker by the way he lives, feeds and houses his family. A drunk or a gambler has nothing to show for his wages but debts and squalor. That’s what the Ford inspectors are there for—to find out—try and set them on the right path. They won’t come to check on us, you know.”
Zoltan coughed, “I wonder. This time, John, you might just be wrong.”
“Tell me honestly, John, you think it right that before you can receive what you have earned, your wife is inspected?” Carl challenged.
“Not my wife—not Fritz’s, none of ours. The company knows us …”
“Yeah,” Rudy interrupted. “Henry Ford’s inspectors won’t dare to touch us.”
“Well, I hope you’re right, John. I hope you’re right, but allow me my opinion that with this, you may not be!” Zoltan said very quietly.
“Yes, I agree.” Carl sounded troubled. “I don’t like it! I don’t like it at all. Something wrong there. And, who will these inspectors be? What kind of men will they choose for the job? Make them so important, so they can go into where man and his family live—with the Ford given right to inspect and judge him?”