by Maria Riva
Whenever a new story of their Lizzie’s bravery reached the Ford men, they thought of Jimmy Weatherby and his prediction that she would turn out to be a true heroine, wondered where he was, hoped no harm would come to him.
In the cozy kitchen, curled in his wash basket, now too small for him, Michael slept while Hannah and Jane added new layers to snakes, others waiting, curled in their basket at their feet. Winter would be early this year. Already the morning skies had that deadened look, as though they too dreaded what was in store for them.
“You wit child, child?” How did Hannah always know such things? Without looking up, Jane nodded. “When?”
“Easter, maybe.”
“Good time, spring. Summer better, warmer but springtime okay too.”
They worked in silence. Michael dreaming, smiled.
“John know already?”
“No. So early yet. I wanted to be sure.”
“Maybe he not happy?”
“Oh, no. He accepts such things.”
“What you mean wit dat?” Hannah rethreaded her carpet needle with button thread.
“He’s sensible. Anything he knows he can’t change, he learns to live with.” Hannah, stabbing her needle through the belly of her snake, acknowledged this with an offhand, “Aha!”
Jane looked up. “I know your ‘Ahas’! What are you thinking?”
“You got me, Miss Sharpie. What I tink is, ‘sensible’ don’t make hot stuff between de sheets! Dere! You wanted to know? You know!”
Jane’s perpetual astonishment at Hannah’s gift for hitting any and all nails squarely on their head did not hinder her answering laughter. “Hannah, you’re really naughty! What would Fritz say if he heard you talk to his John’s Missus that way?”
“After ten years, he hear me plenty. So? You stop dodging and answer? Or what?” Silent, Jane fished out another snake needing repair from the basket. Hannah knew when not to push. “You know dat our China Dolly is also?”
“Yes. They came over to tell us. Johann was so excited—like this was his first! Henrietta too. Their girls, being excited, I can understand—but …”
“Johann is hoping dis time it will be a son. Every man want dat. And China Dolly—she just happy she can still have more.”
“I suppose so.”
“Also, dis new baby will be dere first real American! Dat make them happy. Even if it turns out dey get just anudder girl, American is American! No matter what!”
“Don’t let the Boss hear you say that.”
“And why, Ninnie?”
“Well, I found out that no women are included in the Five-Dollar-Day profit-sharing plan, because Mr. Ford said he expects women to marry.”
“So? What’s wrong wit dat? Every girl want to find a man to take care of her, only right! And what dat have to do wit being true American of which we were talking?”
“Well—oh, it’s not important.” Michael, having lost his dream, sucked his thumb. The women sewed … “I read …”
“Still reading? Remember when you first come, Ninnie? Such a young old country girl you were and I let you creep up to de attic to read … let on to nobody your secret? Nice time, dat.”
“All the time you knew?”
“Sure, in my house—I know what people do.”
“Now I can read new news. When John is finished with his Free Press, I take it!”
“He not mind?”
“I don’t think he notices.”
Hannah swallowed an Aha!
Jane picked up another snake. “The other day I read there is a woman who is making speeches about … the words they used was ‘birth control.’ The paper said this woman is planning to start a place where she can teach women all about family planning.”
“You know what, Ninnie? I tink sometimes you read too much.” Hannah, finished with a snake’s eye, cut the thread. “The name of dis crazy lady? You remember?”
“I think it’s Singer … no, no, Sanger … that’s it! Margaret Sanger. Would any woman really dare to go to a place like that, Hannah?”
“Not a lady for sure! But dat poor Missus O’Reilly? She could use some of dat controlling, whatever dat is.”
Jane began to pack up her sewing box.
“I wonder what she teaches?”
“Don’t you get any fancy ideas! It’s got noting to do wit you. Now controlling—all over for you anyway!” Seeing Michael was awake, Hannah lifted him out of his basket. “Got to get a bigger basket for him … save dis one for de next … Bubbeleh, you want now a little applesauce?” Michael hugged her neck. “Ninnie, you making here with me de noodles tomorrow, like always?”
“Yes.”
“Dora, she says she wants to learn—so I said sure, come—so we won’t say nutting, okay?” Hannah, suspecting that Peter’s wife might be barren, took extra care not to indulge in happy talk of expected babies whenever Dora was present.
While Hannah fussed over little Michael, Jane started to assemble their belongings in the hall. It was late and she still had supper to prepare. Rumpelstiltskin, coming down the stairs, saw her, whispered, “My dear, may I speak with you?”
“Of course, Ebbely.”
“Not here. I have news of a private nature.” The little man led Jane into the parlor, closed the door behind them. Jane wondered what might be wrong. “Please, do sit—looking up at you … my neck … well, you know.” Jane sat. Ebbely settled himself on the footstool at her feet. “Now, that’s better. Missus Jane, I will come right to the point. On my last trip I had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of your friend,” he stressed the word as though wishing he could use another … “Mademoiselle Eugenie.”
“Oh, Ebbely, I am glad—but I didn’t know you were in Charleston?”
“I wasn’t. The Lady …” Again he hesitated over the word. “… in question, now resides in New Orleans. It is there that we met.”
“Eugenie said she wanted to visit there because everyone spoke French.”
“Well, yes. As you say, that is the preferred language in the quarter.” For some reason, Ebbely seemed ill at ease.
“And? Did she buy your peignoirs? I was sure she would be just the type to really appreciate them.”
“Actually, she purchased three.”
“Three! You see, I was right. She is the type to lounge.”
“Undoubtedly the type.” Ebbely squirmed, cleared his throat, “Miss Jane, may I speak plainly?”
“Of course.” Jane had never seen him so unsettled.
“Your friend, Mademoiselle Eugenie, is employed …” Jane, about to speak, was stopped by his warning frown. “… as a painted lady of the evening in New Orleans’s most frequented house of pleasure.”
Rumpelstiltskin wiped his brow with his silk handkerchief.
Jane, wide-eyed, wondered if she had understood him correctly.
“A house of pleasure?”
“A brothel, dear Lady. A place of carnal pleasures where money changes hands!”
“Oh!” Though shocked, Jane’s first reaction was that Ebbely was far more uncomfortable than she. “Poor Eugenie. She had such lofty dreams coming to America. Please, Ebbely—tell me—how is she?”
Very relieved Jane hadn’t swooned dead away from such shocking news, the little man beamed.
“In excellent health. Most attractive. Quite the reigning queen of the whole establishment. All the girls so green with envy—they would like nothing better than to scratch her eyes out. That is, all except the high color ladies. Those cinnamon beauties are in a class of their own!”
“High color?”
“Octoroons. Gorgeous creatures much maligned. Degraded misfits belonging nowhere, they live with daily cruelty, so men can buy what society denies them.”
“Really.” Jane was fascinated.
“Goodness me! No
, no! This is not a proper subject for a lady’s ear. Please forgive me. I simply thought you should know under what circumstances your friend now finds herself. May I suggest that you do not tell John any of this. He would most assuredly be angered by your interest and, justifiably, upset with me for my part in it.”
“Ebbely, could you give me that New Orleans address?”
“What? Certainly not! Very unseemly, not at all proper, Miss Jane!”
“Please! I promise no one will know. I won’t even tell Hannah!”
“I should hope not! If she knew I even went close to such naughtiness, she’d flay me alive!”
“Ebbely, Eugenie may need a friend. Oh, I know—I could write, then give you the letter to deliver next time you go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“To the house of pleasure.” Ebbely jumped up, nearly toppling the footstool. “Well! Really! You believe I frequent such places on a regular basis?”
“Ebbely, I only thought …”
Hands on little hips, standing his ground, Rumpelstiltskin, eyes ablaze, challenged, “I know exactly what you thought! Miss Jane, though you are a lady, still here and now, I shall give you a piece of my mind. I may be small of stature but never, ever, have I had to purchase my pleasures. Always such have been offered me as beguiling gifts to accept or refuse as I chose. Only my wares I sell—NOT my pride!” Quite overcome, Rumpelstiltskin plopped back onto the footstool.
“Please! I didn’t mean it that way! Truly! I only assumed that as painted ladies probably have to do a lot of reclining, you would go there often to supply them with your beautiful selections.”
“My, my. I must humbly beg your pardon. Don’t know what came over me. You are quite right of course. More and more, it seems that truly superb intimate apparel is being worn by women who entice and no longer by those who used to wear such loveliness simply because they found it beautiful. The world is changing—and people with it. Sad, very sad … Forgive me … Miss Jane, write your letter, and I shall deliver it!”
Hannah called from the hall. “Ninnie? Where are you? I got your Michael all dressed for going.”
“Ebbely, I have to run. John will be home and want his supper. Good-bye and thank you.”
“Dere you are!”
“Sorry, Hannah.” Jane grabbed her son, hat, coat, and sewing box and ran.
Going to the parlor, Hannah surveyed Ebbely from the doorway.
“What you doing all alone in here?”
“Thinking, dear lady, just thinking. A brief moment of respite. Now—” Straightening his waistcoat, he walked over to her, smiling. “What masterpiece of culinary perfection are you serving this devoted admirer this evening?”
“Tomorrow you got goulash, because we are making de noodles. Tonight I made, just for you, chicken and dumplings.”
“Oh, Hannah! Solace of my little heart—come, run away with me!”
“Always de kidder!” She gave him a gentle shove. “Go, wash up. Fritz come home any minute.”
Jane was so eager to get to her letter writing, as soon as John had left the next morning, she collected writing tablet, ink bottle and pen and, full of good intentions, settled herself at the kitchen table, uncorked the ink, inserted the pen tip into the holder and, suddenly found that she didn’t know how to start or what to say. Writing paper being far too expensive to waste, she decided to practice first in her copybook but, although she tried, nothing sounded right under the delicate circumstances. If she appeared to know how Eugenie was living, it would surely embarrass her and, if she pretended not to know, what would she find to say? Deciding it might be better if she took a day or two to think it through, she re-corked the ink, wiped the tip, put everything back in its place and got on with her morning duties.
Months later she would find her copybook, in it her laborious attempts and wonder why she had never written the letter, knowing that it was now too late to do so. In the old days, Teresa would have told her she had committed a sin, one of omission and, for once, Jane felt she would have agreed with her.
13
Winter winds whipped John’s shirts on the line, long before Jane had prepared the kitchen for hanging the wash indoors. Hannah was already planning to make candied apples for the children at Halloween. Mr. Kennec was busy sharpening his cutting tools for when it would be time to harvest ice on Lake Erie. Mr. Henry had been issued real leather gloves, but continued to wear his rainbow mittens because, as he put it, mail tended to slip from hands encased in leather. Across the country, roads were being built and surfaced, streets paved with asphalt instead of gravel and sand. The City of New York had gotten its first motorized taxis. Polishtown, now such an important community, practically a small nation in itself, had become a suburb of Detroit, given its own name of Hamtramck. Highland Park boasted more than twenty thousand inhabitants, could point with pride to its first motorized fire engine. There were 7,882 different categories of jobs filled, full time, around the clock at the Ford plant.
The tough, yet respected, James Couzens, who many believed was responsible for the idea of the Five-Dollar-Day, had resigned as vice president and treasurer of the Ford Motor Company, “Young Mr. Edsel” had been elected to its office of secretary. Henry Ford was working on what was closest to his heart—to give the small farmer a motorized tiller of the soil, a tractor that he could afford to buy, could depend on to serve his needs.
The construction of a new Ford plant was under way on his vast marshland holdings along the Rouge River. His industrial power realized, Henry Ford was beginning to believe that his personal stature on both the national and international scene had reached sufficient importance for him to raise his voice for peace in Europe. He proclaimed and the press eagerly quoted him, that he would gladly “give everything I possess” if he could stop the war and prevent the amassing of arms in America, declaring, he would not allow a single automobile to leave his plant if he thought it would be used for warfare. Praise for Henry Ford’s pacifist proclamations were legion. One influential newspaper calling him “one of the greatest benefactors of the human race,” adding that “this modest mechanic-millionaire doesn’t know he is a great man, makes him all the greater!”
When John brought this glowing tribute home to reread and savor, Jane, observing his obvious delight in his paper, dared to ask what it said and was answered by him reading the entire article out loud for her to appreciate; commenting when he had finished, that finally the Boss was being recognized for the superior human being he truly was—and about time, too!
Michael, covered by a cut-off sheet with two big holes to see through, that his father had painted with little flying bats, so he could be a ghost who flew amongst them, sucked on a big red candied apple, convinced he was in Heaven. On first seeing him before her front door, Hannah had screamed, couldn’t get over that at only one and a half, her Bubbeleh seemed to know exactly what was going on—even to why he was suddenly covered in a sheet—even managing a scary “BOO!!”
“What a child! Never, in all my days, have I seen such a ting! Can’t talk good yet but, a ghost—he is perfect! Even mit de booing!”
Hannah hugged him so often that Michael got a little upset, not because of the repeated attention but simply because each time she grabbed him, his sheet slipped and then his holes to see through ended up at the back of his head. Besides, he didn’t want anybody to disturb his father’s work of art! For Michael, John, with his magical hands that could make things for him to play with, was his very own deity, not to be desecrated by anyone’s carelessness.
Now that he was finally protected from the elements, Ebbely decided to increase his sales by venturing into territory once unthinkable in winter. Wearing boy’s long johns, two sets of them, one on top of the other, just in case he had to leave the sanctuary of his cozy Lizzie to patch a tire, he kissed Hannah good-bye, told her not to worry.
“But Ebbely! Even wit de New
Lizzie—so nice closed up, in dat so far—Minnesota, Fritz tells me dis time of year dey got blizzards.”
“What’s a blizzard or two to a man with a closed-in flivver! Have no fear, for I must venture to where the dour Swedes await with their Viking cousins. None of them would know one of my gossamer negligees from a stovepipe—but those hefty immigrants from out of the frozen North, they’ll grab up my double-thick woolen bloomers as though they were hotcakes! For two years, I have been trying to unload those hideous things and this time, I shall! … And, for your edification, I would like to add that in the whole country there is not a single traveling salesman of intimate apparel who can make that statement! … Now, thank you, my dear, for the roasted chickens, biscuits, multiple cakes and doughnuts—not to mention your truly divine divinity fudge. When, far away from home and loved ones, I shall think of you, shed a frosty tear and munch!”
As the elegant sedan wobbled down the street, he waved, calling, “Keep a light in the window for me—auf Wiedersehen!” And was gone.
After eighteen hours in labor, Frederika’s exhausted body finally relinquished Rudy’s son. He lived for a minute or two, then, too weak to struggle further, sighed, and was no more. The midwife wrapped him in a piece of flannel, handed him to Henrietta, ministered to the further physical needs of the mother, washed her hands, packed up the tools of her trade, and left the room. Downstairs, she informed the worried husband that a child had been born, was a boy and had died, wrapped herself in her shawls and, murmuring, “God’s will be done,” went home to her brood of ten. Frederika slept, Henrietta rocked the silent bundle in her arms, downstairs Rudy cried.