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.”