by Maria Riva
Her labor began on a warm summer’s eve. This time aided only by experience and Hannah’s care, at dawn Jane gave birth to a son, unmarked yet with a quietness that first alarmed. When slapped, he did not bellow, only meowed. As if still bewildered by his harrowing journey into the light, he remained silent as if contemplating where he was and if he would like it once he knew. Then resigned, he allowed Hannah to cut his lifeline, clean and swaddle him, hand him in his latest cocoon over to the woman whose heartbeat he was accustomed to. As Jane looked down at him—he looked up at her—and she saw Michael in his eyes. Hannah too had seen the resemblance.
“Ninnie! You got anudder Bubbele! Just like our Michael he looks.”
Jane tore her eyes off the bundle.
“He’s alright? You’re sure? Did you look? Really look?”
“Nutting wrong, child. Nutting missing—everyting perfect—a healthy boy! I swear.” Relief overwhelming her, Hannah sobbed, “A healthy boy, Ninnie! A healthy boy—God loves you, child. God loves you!”
The baby slept. They had been through a lot together she and this helpless being and survived. Jane liked the feeling of accomplishment this gave her, a bond, a sort of victory united them. Holding him close she slept.
Without stopping to take off his riding boots, John sprinted up the stairs, hugged Hannah, kissed his wife, cradled his new son, then kissed her again. Hannah quite overcome by the picture of such marital bliss so long in coming exited the room to preserve its impression before anything could alter its perfection.
“Michelino, that’s your new brother.” John pushed him towards the bed. Jane pulled back the swaddling blanket as Michael took a look. Having gone through the arrival of his brother John, he was careful not to touch the bundle in case it too would screech, but this one only looked at him, and sucking his fist fell fast asleep. Michael decided he would do. Little John climbed up onto the bed and tried to sit on his new brother but was caught in time. Kissing his wife, John scooted the children out of the room. With the heady thought how nice it felt to be a family, Jane fell asleep.
Being a woman, Jane knew the exact moment she fell in love. Being a man, John did not; knew only that he loved the woman he happened to be married to and that sufficed. It would take more time before Jane would learn the difference between being in love and actual loving and then know to put them into the rightful category of either. But for now, she was content, basking in being treasured, a healthy son, who for the first time she wanted to nurse, actually enjoying his need of her.
Early the next morning though it was time to resume her duties she lingered, wanting to get something settled before starting her day.
“John.”
“Yes, Ninnie?”
“I was so sure it would be a girl I wanted to name her for Hannah but now … I think it should be Fritz.”
“Fritz? Do you like Fritz?”
“No, not particularly. But …”
“And it doesn’t translate into Italian.”
“I know—but without Hannah I wouldn’t have been alive to have this baby so it has to be for her—Fritz.”
“What about using his middle name—Wilhelm?”
“John, that’s the name of the German kaiser!”
“Not in English. In English it’s William and in Italian it’s …”
“Guillermo! That sounds nice. Yes, that will do. It’s decided then?”
“For you, Ninnie—anything!” And laughing John left to tell his friends the news of their choice.
Though William it was decreed—Billy he became. It suited him. Hannah often explained his exuberance for life as being the natural result of nearly having died. Just as everyone was drawn to Michael’s gentleness, as he grew Billy captured everyone’s heart by being such a happy little boy.
Michael put this new brother into the place in his heart Gloria had left behind. Rocked him when he was teething, shooed flies from him on the back porch, waited with harnessed impatience for him to grow, become his pal. Billy did not disappoint him—by the time he could crawl he was the acknowledged shadow of his eldest brother, as though one breathed for the other they became inseparable. Young John, the solitary, was content to be what he was, the judgmental onlooker of life not its gullible participant.
Their parents’ loving resumed as if birthing had never interrupted it. When John was home, he loved Jane. When away, though his body enjoyed other excitements, he loved her still. Men are capable of such separability, often women wish they could so divide emotion, keeping one from the other without destroying either.
Even when only felt not overly displayed, Jane’s love for her husband sweetened their existence. She softened, smiled more often, he finding a new sense of comfort in a home though always efficient usually devoid of much feeling, relaxed with new appreciation.
Children always acutely aware of the emotional currents within which they must exist, Michael even John allowed their self-protective guard to slip, became younger, less self-contained. Of course Billy never having known any other atmosphere but one infused by love—went right on blossoming—certain the whole world was made of it.
Their first camping trip having been such a rousing success the summer before, annual Ford-inspired camping trips captured a new wanderlust of the common man that through the freedom and heretofore unenvisioned possibilities of his Model T, had become possible. Whole families began Fording into nature there to eat, sleep and frolic as untroubled creatures of the forests, until duty to hard work called them back. Soon small cabins began to sprout by the wayside of those roads mostly traveled, one astounding establishment even permitting its patrons to consume food without ever having to exit their automobiles, dispensing a beverage named Coca-Cola that promised “to refresh the parched throat—to invigorate the fatigued body and quicken the tired brain.” One could of course also refresh oneself with Prohibition’s favorite, a very dark brown brew known as root beer.
As the country’s expanding highways took on their latest enticements, the once so astounding way stations that had been invented to dispense the fuel necessary for the feeding of the horseless carriage lost their awe-inspiring uniqueness that, only a short time ago, had been theirs alone.
Fall was beginning to strip the trees when Jane was handed a letter by the dour Mr. Jeremiah, who requested that if she was not a collector, at her convenience of course, he would appreciate being given the foreign postage adorning her envelope. Assuring him it would be his, eventually—once alone, hands trembling, she tore it open. This time Teresa had written in perfect French.
Giovanna, Ma Chere,
As celebration of the Armistice we have been given permission to write. Not knowing if a letter would find you, at first I hesitated to write it at all, yet concern overcoming uncertainty I pray this will reach you.
The wounds of war lie heavy upon the land. Memory of its carnage dismays the soul. Now many question the very root of their faith, finding no satisfactory solace to their need in prayer, many are convinced all is a lie. Nursing Sisters, such as we who attended the wounded, were often placed in juxtaposition to what we represent and what the maimed and dying expected, even demanded of us. Not simply the ministering to their flesh but for answers that in some way might restore their faith; if not in the goodness of man, then in the Almighty Saviour of man.
A nun’s habit is such a visual presence of the Church that often we in ours represented an affront to soldiers who had come to doubt its very existence. Over such destitute souls one cannot pray. Having care that our rosary did not swing against their mattress, for by chance if it did it so upset them, they cringed from our touch as though repulsed by our advertised sanctity. Yet during these endless years of war whenever that ultimate moment came to summon the priest—they welcomed his presence with the need of innocent children, afraid to be left alone in the dark.
Now, we search for food for the many who co
me to us for bodily resurrection. Their physical hunger is such that it obliterates all other hungers. I am afraid it will take much time before we are once again able to feed their faith. A starving child makes mockery of cloistered sanctity. A sin to voice, yet one that propels me on, to prove it is not so. Four years of war have only strengthened my faith in the innate goodness of man and his creator, not destroyed it.
The Spanish Influenza appeared so rapidly amongst us that we were often helpless in the face of two calamities at once. I pray that you and yours were spared—though being so far away you may not even be aware that such happened. Here two of our Sisters died of the infection, six others were spared and are recuperating blessed with a resurgence of health through prayer.
Do respond, tell me of your life. The war did not touch you, I believe and that is good. We all cheered the arrival of your brave American boys were so grateful that they had come. We nursed many here. One who was blinded said he came from the city of Detroit and when I told him my very best childhood friend lived there he told me of all its many splendors. I know I’m not allowed to remember, but it cheered him to speak of home.
Your letter announcing the birth of a son reached me before war was declared. He is included in my prayers. Now that postal service has been reestablished—please respond—I await impatiently for news of you and yours.
Yours in God,
Sr. Marie Luke, O.S.B.
Jane placed Teresa’s letter into the shoebox next to the first, looked to the children, her house, finished Mrs. Sullivan’s and her newly engaged daughter’s party dresses—and when the day was done—everything tidy—everything accomplished—all the children asleep—she took out her precious letter and read it again.
Michael, spinning his top on the front porch, saw him first, ran the three blocks over to tell Hannah, who having sensed her Ebbely’s approach was already outside looking for him.
“Ah! Two of my favorite people! The smallest and the tallest!”
“Ebbely! Ebbely! So long you take and so tin! Come, come quick put down de patchkas—first a nice cup of tea exactly how you like. Den I got still warm just-out-of-de-oven strudel, time enough to schlep from de Lizzie to inside later.” Propelling him down the hall towards her kitchen she suddenly stopped, bent down, threw her arms around the little man, gave him a crushing hug, set him back on his tiny feet and pulled him into the kitchen.
Trying to catch his breath, Ebbely gasped, “Sparta! Sparta would have made of you a goddess! My dearest Hannah either you have gained in strength or I have become even more depleted than I knew. I brought you some things, just allow me to …” And he started back towards the hall.
Hannah barked, “No! First you sit!”
Ebbely knowing that tone, sat.
“Ah, it’s good to be home.”
In one big rush of welcoming breath, Michael lisped, “Uncle Ebbely, I have a new brother, his name is William, I call him Billy—he is too small and I have to wait ’til he’s growed to play—Gregory is dead and Gloria is dead, Mama is not and Papa is working and Uncle Johann took everybody far away and I got a new string for my top, want to see?”
Ebbely said of course, a spinning top was just the thing a weary traveler needed to celebrate his return to those he loved. And so with a deft flick Michael demonstrated the gyratory magic of his wooden toy, beamed at Ebbely’s enthusiastic appreciation of his skill, then calmed down significantly to consume a healthy portion of still warm strudel.
The news of their favorite shrimp’s return spread so fast that by suppertime Hannah’s dining room was filled once again with her boys, expectant of her superlative cooking and Ebbely’s oratory talents.
Neither disappointed them.
Ebbely held court as only he could, but, remembering the last such occasion, only after clearing the subject of his dissertation with the master of the house.
“Fritz, my dear friend, knowing your penchant of the proper, the utterly pure in all things, I hesitate to recount my Iliad for fear you will deem it your necessary duty to interrupt such sections of it that might disturb, even be considered slightly shocking for the shell-like ears of your Lady and John’s so admirable wife. Although I personally find nothing that could in any way distress, remembering our past encounter, I must defer to your judgment before I can commence.” And turning away, Ebbely helped himself to more stuffing.
His friends groaned. Knowing exactly what Ebbely was up to, John ate, trying to look serious.
“Well, really Ebberhardt, such a fuss you make over nothing!”
“Nothing, Fritz? You call, though inadvertently, shocking your sainted wife and an impressionable Jane nothing?” Without looking up Ebbely continued eating.
Thoroughly flustered, his friends looking daggers in his direction, Fritz capitulated, “Okay—so tell already whatever you have to tell, I won’t stop you. But …”
“Yes … Fritz?” Ebbely’s tone was ingenuous to a fault.
“Oh, nothing.” The table exploded into laughter. Relieved that they had escaped banishment, Hannah and Jane sat down with the men. Both having noticed a new fragility about Ebbely that worried them, they welcomed this display of his usual pixielike teasing—its exaggerated liveliness seemed suddenly necessary.
“Well, how shall I begin? Tragedy never suits the retelling of it. One must experience it to know it well! And from what I have been told it has touched many of you at this table—far deeper and far more heart-wrenching than my saga of personal survival.” As though not wishing to insult the sorrow of others by his less sorrowful tale, Ebbely hesitated.
Carl cleared his throat, “It’s okay, Ebbely—tell us. We heard you were in a hospital.”
“I arrived in New Orleans a few days after my telephone call to Fritz. Though our Lizzie performed perfectly, an unpleasant journey, for already then I was feeling lackluster, weary, apprehensive, certainly not myself. On entering the city a strange exhaustion decided me to book myself into the very first reputable-looking establishment I came across, where I must have collapsed—for when I awoke I found myself garbed in but a flimsy shift—between overly boiled, rock-hard sheets in an overly long room filled with similar beds to mine containing wan corpselike creatures similar to me. Actually considering the way I felt I thought I probably would expire any minute. Raising my head for what I believed would be for the last time I surveyed the long rows of my fellow sufferers and found that I was one of many children. My friends, I assure you, had I been placed in an adult ward where I belonged I would not be here now. How long I remained—I have no recollection of. Finding myself to be still amongst the living is as surprising as it is welcome. But though one may be fortunate to survive within a hospital—to fully recuperate in one is problematical. And so I chose resurrection within the silken folds of a dear friend and longtime customer.”
“Aha, here comes the good part.” Peter leaned forward in his chair.
“You have no conception of how good.”
“Well? Go on.” Despite still being in the dining room John lit a cheroot.
“As a matter of fact, I am indebted to a shipboard acquaintance of yours, John, a Mademoiselle Eugenie de la Rochemont, a lovely young thing who with heroic dedication nursed me for many weeks, to whom I am convinced I owe my life. A treasure that Gaelic beauty, a real treasure.”
Waiting for what John might say, Jane held her breath, but it was Zoltan who spoke. “So let me get this straight—you nearly died, but you were saved through the devotion of one of your former customers of your unmentionables?”
“Yes, I must admit to be nursed by a bevy of caring damsels who finding themselves with sudden time on their hands due to a lack of living customers, has been an experience not soon to being forgotten. I felt and still do like some newborn babe, pampered and cosseted after a grave illness. As all women are mothers at heart regardless of their profession, I was in excellent hands.”<
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“Ebbely, you’re incorrigible!”
“Thank you, Carl—I try to be.”
Having kept quiet long enough Fritz wanted to know how New Orleans had withstood the epidemic.
“War and disease an unholy union you must admit—yet, admirably suited to each other’s rapacious appetite. Never having forgotten nor freed itself completely from the horrors of the Black Death, New Orleans is a city mired in theatrical doom. Every tragedy magnified then celebrated as though death itself is a sorcerer’s familiar to be placated, resurrection assured if one but knows the mumbo-jumbo and is then willing to believe it.”
The entrance of dessert, a towering chocolate soufflé exuding its enticing steam, ended any further gloom.
Jane was putting on her hat preparing to leave, when Rumpelstiltskin after saying good night whispered, “Eugenie sends you fond greetings and hopes you are well. I promised I would give you her message.”
Jane whispered back, “Oh, I was so surprised when you said her name—how wonderful that it would be she who took such good care of you. I must write and thank her. Does she know English now?”
“Oh yes—she’s quite proficient in everything.” Noticing John’s approach Ebbely repeated a loud good night and scampered upstairs.
When first informed of Mr. Henry’s residency, Ebbely ignored its implication. But the first morning when he came down for his expected breakfast, Mr. Henry, the mailman, already in place, rose, extended his hand and introduced himself as though he belonged. Two roosters circling the henhouse might have been a perfect description of Rumpelstiltskin and the Casanova mailman’s first encounter—later finding they had much in common, jazz being one of their mutual passions, they became friends—but this their first social encounter though correct was extremely frigid. Completely oblivious to anything but the German pancakes she was making, Hannah told her boarders to sit, and start eating before their breakfast got cold.
For the great day John bought a new suit, Jane made him a splendid shirt, Michael polished his father’s shoes until they shone like a brand-new Model T. Fritz wore a new vest and bowler that made him look most distinguished. Pride illuminating her whole being, Hannah kept straightening his tie.