Retrieving her delicate handiwork off the floor, Jane murmured, “Not particularly.”
“Well, you just have to look if there is a potted fern in the window.” At Jane’s startled expression, Serafina chuckled, “That’s the sign—they sell liquor. Once a week I deliver them to all our customers—our ferns are free but our booze … that’s quite another matter.” This last sally seemed to amuse her further. Putting on her latest acquisition, a splendid boater of lacquered straw, Serafina, gazing in the mirror squinted, her eyes drawn to Jane’s accompanying reflection behind her.
“Why do I see you … as though duplicated? I wonder … oh, by the way, Morgana is expecting—so now all we have to do is wait for her to miscarry! I’m off—don’t forget—Friday before the afternoon. Arrivederci!”
Frowning, Jane secured the pins in the hem of the delicate batiste.
Duplicated? She said duplicated! Really, that witch! Hannah was right—a real witch! She had a good mind not to finish by Friday. Still, Serafina paid well and Jane having seen a most splendid collar of real seal fit for her precious winter coat was determined to acquire it as well as a new pair of boots for Michael, who was growing so fast it would soon be time to make him another pair of knee pants. Sewing diligently, Jane wondered if her nest egg could reach to include a new invention—buttonhole scissors offered by Mr. Sears and Mr. Roebuck for the staggering sum of forty cents … a real luxury that she coveted even more than a fancy collar of real seal.
Both having been refused glory in combat—one because of a deaf ear, the other for being too old to pull a caisson into firing position—Mr. Kennec the iceman and his Molly came plodding along the streets of Highland Park trailing their usual gaggle of thirsty children as though this August was no different from any other. The first day of the ice wagon’s arrival, Michael gave up his special privilege and allowed Gloria to feed Molly her expected carrot. In doing so, he felt very cavalier—especially when he saw how much the little girl enjoyed it.
As the first death lists began to appear, the hatred of all things German intensified. Aided and abetted by the propaganda needed to rally a nation beginning to go sluggish by its very distance to actual combat—by many means the enemy was brought into focus to invade the consciousness of the country if not its actual terrain.
As always, rumor was an effective tool for accelerating hatred. It was whispered that those of German origin were putting ground glass into food, poison onto Red Cross bandages, explosives into every conceivable aperture for the sole purpose of killing as many innocent American women and children as possible. The evil of the Hun was graphically illustrated in a moving picture entitled The Kaiser, the Beast of Berlin. The teaching of German was banned as was the music of Beethoven. Regardless of citizenship all of German origin were suspect. Some were forced by riotous mobs to kneel, salute, kiss the American flag. Many were beaten, in Kentucky one was lynched. It was even rumored that the black radicalism that was beginning to surface was solely due to German agents.
Hannah believing herself tainted by her origin, and therefore rife for other’s punishment of her—rarely left her house. Especially nervous when visited—she cautioned those who came, to be careful if seen, perhaps not come at all for it could mean they too might become suspect of terrible deeds to destroy the glorious freedom of America. Fritz at a loss of what to do with her, yet equally apprehensive when going out amongst the people taking his tram to and from work—tried his best to assume the air of normalcy that had been, believing that as soon as the war was won, it would be again.
Jane now needed to knock on Hannah’s door to gain admittance. And even then she was usually made to identify herself before the door was opened. She had the feeling that if she had been other than a safe Italian—despite their long and binding friendship, Hannah might not have let her in. When together their speaking in German was strictly forbidden. Even if rationing and the inflationary prices had permitted it—Jane somehow knew neither jelly doughnuts nor gingerbread houses would ever emerge from Hannah’s kitchen again. If Ebbely hadn’t been in residence those who loved Hannah would not have known what to do. But he was and despite it all he made her smile, even laugh at times, played jaunty tunes upon her lovely Christmas present filling the house with jazz—even suspect Mendelssohn—recalling happy times and joy-filled days when all her immediate worries were kitchen bound, easily solvable by a pinch of salt, the addition of a bit of spice. To feed the ones one loves is such an all-embracing sanctuary that after so many years of having it, now that it was allowed her but rarely, Hannah felt its desertion at a time an exterior danger was threatening to strip her of herself. As a Jewess she knew hatred. As a German who was about to become a citizen of the country she adored—it tore her to pieces.
Often, when Hannah voiced her need to be left alone, by saying, “A little time in my kitchen for just peeling whatever mit nobody—okay, Ninnie?” Jane would use the luxury of time gained to seek out Ebbely, draw from him what had become important to her to analyze from. His ever-generous availability gave her that gift so unusual, the respect of her right to intelligence. Sometimes not to interrupt, she would simply sit and listen while he played—at other times pick up a thought that might not have been concluded to her satisfaction days before.
“Why are people judged before they are known?”
“In what way?” Ebbely fingered the keys at random.
“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”
“No, continue—you usually have a purpose.” Knowing how he liked to tease, Jane acknowledged this with a smile.
“Well … now that Russia has surrendered, suddenly all Russians are bad—where before when they were fighting with us they were good. What if Italy has to surrender—will that make all Italians into enemies?”
“Mob thinking needs to generalize to make a mob.”
“What is a mob?”
“An accumulation of humans who generally have forsaken their humanity.”
“Why would they do that?” Jane sounded like a child at school.
“Mostly it is done to them not by them.”
“Remember that day when John and Hannah were talking of war and freedom? Will we win the war?”
“The we being?”
“America, of course!” Jane sounded surprised.
“I think we must at least try.” Ebbely ran the scale of E-flat. “Soon Europe will have lost a whole generation to this terrible war.”
“I think freedom is more important than death.”
“Even if death is freedom?”
“We don’t know that.”
“But what if it is?” asked Ebbely, leaving “The ‘Jelly Roll’ Blues” for another day.
“Then I suppose all of us would court death and be done with living.”
“Sometimes, my child, you startle me, and I pride myself on not being startled easily.”