You Were There Before My Eyes

by Maria Riva

  As a new colossus known as Building B began to take shape, its girders were adorned by banners reading an eagle a day keeps the kaiser away; another, warships while you wait. Ford’s vow that the first Eagle Boat would be launched in less than three months’ time, accompanied by his rallying cry “AMERICA WILL DELIVER!” blazed across the nation’s headlines.

  War having arrested the influx of European immigrants, the migration of America’s “working poor” now accelerated to feed the enormous need for manpower of Ford’s mighty Rouge.

  Now as the new plant with its accessible river began to demonstrate its astounding capabilities, the Ford men agreed that here, as when they had first come to know him in that secret room at the birth of the Model T, the Boss had triumphed—proving once again that the impossible could truly become possible. Though still in its developmental stages yet already acknowledged as possibly the greatest manufacturing empire in the world, the Rouge needed as many seasoned men as the Highland Park and the other Ford assembly plants could spare. Dearborn being closer to where they lived, Stan, Carl, and Zoltan transferred. John, having achieved what he had striven for when still a university student in Italy—now a respected engineer, went wherever he was needed. Be it bicycle, trolley, tram, when scouting the Rouge riverbanks, John was in his creative element—often remaining days in Dearborn when returning all the way back to Highland Park took up too much of his precious time. Ebbely and Fritz amazed at John’s endurance were forever urging him to finally acquire a sweetheart of his own.

  On hearing this, Jane wondered who, then remembering their first meeting beneath the chestnut tree, laughed. Wouldn’t it be marvelous! If John did purchase his dream—she, Giovanna once village girl, would become the wife of a man who possessed a real live Lizzie. The sheer thought of it was so exhilarating, she nearby dropped a stitch of the army muffler she was knitting as one of her volunteer duties for the Red Cross.

  Proud of her husband’s achievements, when left alone Jane functioned as if he were in residence. Sometimes at night it felt strange having their bed all to herself, but she did not delve into why. When one is used to something and it is changed of course one notices, is how she explained her sudden reluctance to find comfort in a space usually now so welcoming.

  By February Mondays had heatless added to their patriotic abstinence, tin was no longer permitted in the manufacture of toys, nor caskets adorned with bronze, brass or copper, the lapels on men’s ready-made suits were narrowed to conserve wool needed for soldiers’ uniforms, penalties for hoarding sugar were strict; yet despite the country’s dedicated war effort—as no American unit had as yet seen battle—the actual consciousness of war remained what it had been, as the lending of help to others far away; a temporary emergency that would soon be ended once brave American boys were given the opportunity to make the world safe for democracy.

  Avowing her Americanism, Mrs. Nussbaum left Hannah’s Chaperone Watchers to become a part-time Munitionette remanding her younger children into the capable hands of her eldest who was a spinster in the making and therefore trustworthy to a fault.

  As more and more women took up positions vacated by men gone to war, their outward appearance changed. Hairstyles too cumbersome, complicated and time consuming vanished as a female’s once crowning glory was cut and bobbed exposing the slightly shocking nakedness of feminine necks. Having less hair to balance upon, hats lost their sweeping expanse, became smaller—their brims no wider than a sailor’s boater. No longer soliciting outrage, ankles emerged from behind their curtained sanctuary, became fully visible as skirts shortened for easier maneuvering in a man’s world. No long trains, no floating shawls, no overzealous adornment, even if left untouched within, a woman’s outward appearance announced capability, dependability, efficiency, determination, as trustworthy a person as any man.

  This transformation of women from hearth to workplace kept Jane busy sewing far into most nights. Her skill with the needle was becoming known attracting an appreciative clientele. She liked the feeling of importance this gave her. Suddenly through a competence all her own she existed as an entity without the necessity of first belonging to a superior male.

  It was March when an exhausted Russia surrendered—made its separate peace with America’s enemy, Germany. Immediately Russian immigrants be they Bolsheviks, Socialists or old-guard Romanov loyalists were looked upon and judged as dangerous traitors. As the majority of them were also Jews, this further fueled the anti-Semitism always already in place. It also laid the cornerstone of official distrust of all such labor movements led by the Socialist Party. With his close association with his Russians, Fritz was particularly concerned by the cloud of suspicion from others as they worked the line. Their country of origin’s surrender had joined them to the enemy Hun, later this accusative distrust would spread to include all Slavic communities that already had the reputation of being devotees of the concepts of Socialism and judged instigators of industrial unrest.

  “What is dis something new again?” Hannah exclaimed. “Now wit all de tings we do already to be good wartime Americans—we also supposed to save de daylight? And how, vill you tell me, we’re going to do dat?”

  “I don’t know.” Fritz was as confused as she.

  When in March the very first daylight savings time came to Michigan, it confused many—especially small children. Carl’s twins, Rose and Violet, cried in unison when put to bed before accustomed darkness decreed it. So did Johann’s little Gloria while his older girls verbalized their opposition. Young John glowered a scream in the making, Michael tried to reason his way out of the ridiculous assumption that anyone could fall asleep in daylight, adding to his legitimate argument that his best friend Gregory from across the street would certainly not be asked to do so by his so very understanding parents. Jane’s outstretched arm, index finger pointing up the stairs ended any further discussion.

  At first Hannah burned, then undercooked a few suppers until her inner clock settled itself into the new time slot decreed by omnipotent man instead of God or as she put it, “de one who put de sun in de sky in de first place and who should know better!” and slamming the porch door behind her went, not for the first time to check her patch of victory garden—to consult with her carrots if they knew what had happened to time and if it disturbed them too.

  When on May 1 Michigan became a dry state, it so pleased the Sociological Department inspectors that there were some who suspected Henry Ford had used his powerful influence in bringing temperance to Michigan a whole year before Prohibition became the law of the land. Those who had looked upon spirits as an occasional luxury for the celebration of special occasions now that such were forbidden craved their effect made desirable by their very status of illegality.

  Just before Easter, Hannah came down with such a heavy chest cold that she actually took to her bed, where Fritz joined her a day later hacking and sneezing.

  Ebbely nursing them—concocted a very good simile of Hannah’s famous chicken soup that he insisted on serving them within the privacy of their bedroom, dismissing their blushes as he scurried back down to his kitchen to try his hand at brewing curative chamomile tea from the dried buds acquired from Mr. Hirt’s. Many became ill that spring, but as they recovered after a few days, thought nothing of it.

  Morgana accepted a proposal of marriage from an earnest cleric of the Lutheran Church and Serafina predicted it would end in dire tragedy. Still, when all efforts of dissuasion failed she consented to being her sister’s matron of honor and commissioned Jane to make her an appropriate dress for the doomed occasion. Intrigued by the prospect of a Sicilian Catholic joined to a dour Lutheran, Jane wondered what color she thought would be appropriate.

  For once Morgana’s twin was caught off guard. “Well, knowing what I already know, naturally I would prefer funereal black,” Serafina paced about Jane’s little sewing room. “But, whatever the color, the style of the dress must be severe—that
way it will be useful to wear for any other somber occasion. I told our father to not allow this union—but he has been so certain no one would ever want a blind wife that when this strippant appeared he was actually grateful! No money, no proper religion and a GERMAN! The whole idea is insane! First, she will miscarry—then come to the brink of death giving birth to stillborn twins—and he? He will become a consumptive, a useless invalid for Morgana to nurse for the rest of her barren life. That’s a marriage? What color for the dress do you suggest?”

  Jane, caught up in this lurid prophecy, stuttered, “Pur-purple?” and was rewarded by a satisfied nod of approval.

  While taking Serafina’s measurements, she did venture to ask if poor Morgana had been informed of what exactly awaited in her marital future.

  “Of course! I always announce. But she is so besotted she refuses all counsel. Besides, she claims her visions contradict mine and that she even knows something about me—but won’t tell because I’m being mean.”

  Trying not to laugh, Jane rolled up her tape measure and set the appointment for Serafina’s first fitting.

  Morgana’s impending nuptial brought a new dimension to Jane’s structured world. A young woman blind from birth totally outshone by a domineering twin, Morgana had been transformed by unenvisioned love—into bubbling joy—all foreboding gone. While fitting her bridal dress, Jane was engulfed in a pervading aura of girlish flutter.

  “Morgana, if you don’t stop twitching …”

  “Oh, Jane—just think, just one more week and then I will be Mrs. Emillian-Schmidt—I mean Smith!”

  “Yes, that’s why this dress …”

  “Will he like it? Will he think I am beautiful?”

  “Yes, dear—of course. Now please stand still.”

  “Did you know we will live in a big city called Milwaukee? And I will have a sweet house of my own with a rose garden and three happy children and servants!” All witchery gone from her demeanor, Morgana actually trilled.

  “You will need them,” Jane mumbled past the pins. “I’m done.”

  Stepping out of the half-finished gown, Morgana smiled in Jane’s direction.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Before realizing Morgana couldn’t see her denial, Jane shook her head. “Well? Jane? Have you? Answer me! I know you’re still here.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how to answer you.”

  “Why?” Morgana, knowing her room, stepped to the chair holding her day dress.

  “Let me help you.”

  “No, it buttons in the front—I can do it.”

  Jane turned to collect her things.

  “Jane? You love your John—don’t you?”

  Back turned to her inquisitor, Jane answered the expected, “Of course.”

  With a blind person’s heightened sensitivity to inflection, Morgana countered, “I don’t believe you.”

  “Now don’t be silly, Morgana. You are excited and a little foolish!” The bridal finery and sewing things packed, Jane put on her hat and coat, picked up the carton case, turned at the door. “Is there something I can do for you before I go?”

  Buttoning the long row of her bodice in that assured fingering that always impressed Jane by its schooled precision, Morgana smiled, focused towards the door.

  “Poor Jane—you will have so much sorrow and yet so much joy before you reach what is still shrouded.”

  Jane rushed home.

  Now that noodle making was deemed one of many unpatriotic activities, Hannah and Jane had to find substitutes to comply with their weekly calendar of needed visits. Beating carpets seemed to fit perfectly into the time slot left vacant by the lonely noodle gone to war. On either side of a particularly resplendent example of Turkish artistry—they slapped away, creating clouds of dust that justified their decision to choose this activity over scrubbing the back porch.

  Hannah coughed, “Oy—dis dirty I didn’t tink it was!”

  “Yes, it didn’t look this dirty.”

  “Dat’s de Turkish weaving—it’s so deep, it holds de dirt, but doesn’t show it.” Hannah lowered her voice. “Ninnie, you don’t think this is too German what we are doing for de neighbors to see?” Smiling, Jane shook her head. “How is Morgana?” Hannah lifted the narrow carpet from the line and replaced it with the similar one from before her side of the bed.

  “She is so happy, she’s completely changed. Oh, she still has visions, but …”

  “Ah, no-ting so special as romance of de young.”

  Jane stopped in mid-slap. “What is that?”

  “What?”

  “That word.”

  “Romance?”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah proceeded to conjugate the word in German, relishing Jane’s confusion.

  “That important that word is?”

  “Yes, Ninnie.”

  “But, what does it mean?”

  Trying to find the right explanation, Hannah stopped flagellating the Turks, indicated they needed to sit on the back porch steps to talk.

  “Dis is not easy. But, de word is sort of de same, I tink also in your French you like so much.”

  “Romantique I know, but the nuns never explained it. I read it though, but still it wasn’t clear.”

  “Well … let me tink. First, it means a feeling. A special feeling, a special feeling dat makes de heart beat faster, de breath sort of go away because of big happiness.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be love?”

  “No, well maybe, yes, a little. But dis is different, not so serious like love is, more just happy, young and turtle-dovey.” Not to interrupt this fascinating stream of information, Jane didn’t ask what that meant, although she really wanted to. “When romance is in de air—you can feel it, all over. Like when a sunset is so extra special—you get goosepimples. Ever have dat?”

  “No.” For some reason Jane felt bereft.

  “Or suddenly dere is music like de angels sing just for you. De first kiss you get from dat someone you really like and he tell you you are his little ladylove and de poem he puts den in your pocket so you can read it—quiet, before alone you sleep.”

  Jane trying to absorb all this abundance of emotion laid before her, stared. Hannah thinking she still was unable to understand, threw up her hands,

  “Ninnie! De Saint Valentine’s Day? Dat you know, well dat’s it! Dat’s when romance is in de air, in de fancy heart mit all de so fine chocolates!”

  On returning home, Jane fished out the shoebox where she kept those things that mattered to her, unfolded Teresa’s letter, lifted from its pages the rose that John had brought her on that first Valentine’s Day in America. Careful not to harm it, Jane fingered its brittle petals, recalled the moment of its giving and felt again the unexpected joy of it—astounded that she had experienced romance when innocent of its very existence.

  Ford’s inquisitors now equally empowered by law as well as their Boss, increased their pursuit of those immigrant communities identified as having inherent national traits for drunkenness. High on their list were whiskey-drinking Shanty Irish, Italian wine lovers, beer-guzzling Germans. For once blacks and Jews were spared such lofty ranking. Jews because they were “misers—too penny-pinching to ever fork out for a drink” and “coloreds—because they were too stupid and lazy to set up stills, or know what to do with money even when they got some.”

  The temperance movement rejoiced—demon drink had been slain and saloons outlawed—and such Detroit landmarks of solace and humble comfort as the Bucket of Suds were shut down. Even famous Hatties and other brothels that depended so on liquor as companion enticement to purchasable sex could only offer the latter—that is until they became valued customers of Serafina’s family business and those on the ground floor of bootlegging operations who were reaping the monetary awards of sheer audacity with little of the criminal brutal
ity of later years.

  “Poor Rudy—not bad enough he has a big sadness so young—now dey say dey won’t take him for de war,” was how Hannah, while serving a Sunday supper, announced Rudy’s decision to volunteer.

  John turned to his friend. “You’re full of surprises!”

  “Ja—Rudy, why not tell us? And why won’t they take you?”

  “I’ve got flat feet.”

  “They won’t let you fight because you’ve got flat feet?” Fritz shook his head.

  “Dat’s what I said, Fritzchen—what has feet to do mit shooting mit de hands?”

  “I presume it is because an army needs to march,” Ebbely observed, helping himself to more coleslaw now renamed victory cabbage.

  “Silly …” Hannah plunked down the potatoes. “… like Ninnie’s bubbele—bang, bang—everybody killing everybody—like children and what for—I ask you?! I tell you what for—de gravediggers—dat’s what for!”

  “Hannah—you are a woman—you don’t know what you are talking about. Besides …”

  John thought it prudent to interrupt Fritz. “Men are dying for the principles of peace, Hannah.”

  “You hear yourself? What you say?”

  Never had Jane heard Hannah so vehement—so defiant in front of men. Deep down she agreed with her—but knew she would never have challenged the men, when suddenly Hannah drew her into the fray.

  “Ninnie—you hear what your so bright husband just say?” Jane nodded. “So? What you have to say to dat? You want your sons one day to bang-bang for real killing?”

  “No …” Jane chose her words carefully. “… of course not. But our side is not the aggressor—America and its allies are defending themselves. When freedom is at stake—one must go out and fight for it.”

  “Even to die for it?” John watched her. Jane felt him waiting for her answer.