The evening Zoltan’s first romantic fling was expected, his friends on their best behavior waited with trepidation for the woman who seemingly was willing to cope with repeated sneezes, coughs and wheezes.
Standing beside him, prim and proper, not a mouse brown hair out of place, Agnes Hepplewhite looked the strictly educated young lady that she was—until she spoke and a vivaciousness quite unexpected usually kept in check by necessity, bubbled forth and overflowed, the slightest of lisps only adding to her charm. Convinced that she was destined to be an old maid amongst dust gathering tomes, to have found a well-read gentleman who wished to join his life with hers seemed a romanticist’s dream from which she feared to wake. Everyone glad that he had waited so long before committing himself, approval of Zoltan’s choice was unanimous. Jane hoped she would be asked to make the wedding finery—but Zoltan in a hurry eloped, married his Agnes across the border and so though happy for the newlyweds, Jane, disappointed, resumed her work amidst her funereal hues.
By February, having been put in charge of the retooling of Building B, that colossus erected for the construction of wartime submarine chasers now being converted for peacetime manufacture of Fordson tractors as well as the bodies for the latest Model T Sedan, John was absent from Highland Park and home for days at a time. Though she missed him, Jane occupied with children, work, overlaid by persistent apprehension, welcomed the respite from having to appear an untroubled wife to a deserving husband. While her body recovered, her inner strength was struggling to regain its equilibrium. Faced with the probability of bearing a damaged child, even one stillborn, Jane had need of whatever strength was available to her. As her pregnancy stretched before her, its remaining time became a term of anguished imprisonment awaiting calamity.
With the first faint flutter, hardly discernable unless one’s anxiety was fine-tuned for its arrival, Jane’s association with the being coming to life inside her took on an emotional closeness never felt before. Whenever it moved, its very liveliness seemed to prove a determination to survive that pleased her. Where as before she had never speculated on what she carried, now Jane found herself wondering if this feisty stranger was male or female even thinking of possible names though not actually daring to voice them. Watching the new softening awareness in a woman who though she had borne children before had done so simply as expected rote to the duty of marriage now actually wanting the one possibly denied her, convinced Hannah that this, the third child Jane carried was the first conceived within love and therefore uniquely precious.
Jane waited, sewed, and feared. On those nights when her husband was home he held her with infinite care. A man of his time, John knew the rules. Once in the family way a woman became untouchable, no longer useable for pleasure, now a life-bearing vessel to be guarded not invaded.
Licking the end of the silk thread, Jane poked it through the eye of the fine needle, thimble in place her skilled fingers took up their task. Sewing a wide, black satin border onto a mourning veil for one of her clients, she needed to concentrate on the delicate stitches this required, yet her thoughts took their own direction.
I feel so heavy today—why? If it’s born too early it will be blind … always in the dark. I wonder what that must be like. Teresa always said, “God’s light shines within, one has no need of sight.” Ha! Tell that to Morgana! Don’t be so stupid, Giovanna—all babies born too early die anyway.
Reprimanding her thoughts, Jane rethreaded her needle.
I suppose now that I’m showing I’ll have to lock myself away again—just so that my condition won’t shock the sensibilities of complete strangers—what stupidity! Unattractive? Well that, maybe so to some—but shocking? Why? I wish Mrs. Kowalsky had preferred grosgrain instead of this—I hate working with satin! Zoltan’s new wife is nice—I like Agnes. When I mentioned Margaret Sanger right away she knew who she was. Do this, do that, don’t do this, it’s not proper, behave—rules, rules, rules! What does it get you? I wonder if Agnes is one of those suffragettes who want to vote. It wouldn’t surprise me. If I was one, I’d chain myself to city hall, bulging belly and all!
Feeling rebellious, Jane put down Mrs. Kowalsky’s widow’s weeds—to continue reading a saga by Mr. Walpole that Zoltan’s Agnes, the librarian, had lent her.
Though Henrietta tried valiantly to come to terms with the loss of little Gloria, each day she failed. As though everything about her was fading, she turned pale, her corn silk hair now touched more by moonlight than summer sun, the deep blue of her eyes, bleached; nothing left over from the luminous China Dolly except the palest memory of what had been. Whenever Jane visited, she was reminded of her Valentine rose. At a loss himself, Johann watched his wife’s struggle and worried. As time passed Henrietta’s longing for the remembered shelter of her homeland increased. She needed her mother’s strength, yearned for her comforting presence, to help her to return to herself, to function once more as mother to her two remaining daughters, wife to the husband she loved. Finding no solution, Johann made his decision, negotiated employment at a Ford plant in Holland, sold his half of the house he and Rudy had bought so long ago, booked passage, and prepared to take his family back home.
After an extra special Hannah supper, the Ford men gathered one last time. As they smoked, there was a hesitancy about the room—as though each was waiting for another to speak. For years they had held each other’s friendship, relying on it—building upon it—their shared immigrant quest binding them, forming their union within their world of Ford. The future they had once known, had been so certain of seemed suddenly in transit—its destination in question. Their memories lay upon the room like a child’s necessary blanket.
Finished helping in the kitchen, Jane entered, went to sit in her corner. Fritz cleared his throat. “When are you leaving?”
“The Rotterdam sails in two weeks,” Johann answered relieved that someone had begun.
“Hah, lucky fella! No more U-boats to worry about!” Peter’s attempt at a little humor failed.
“Who you sell your part of the house to?” Carl lit his pipe.
“A Latvian, works in the paint shop. He’s a relative of the one who bought Rudy’s part.”
Zoltan blew his nose. “Good deal?”
“Fair.”
Jane watching their faces wondered why they were so bland.
“Tell me …” Johann leaned forward in his chair. “… now that the war is over will any of you go back?”
“No.” Zoltan was adamant.
Carl sighed, “I can’t go back. Everything is gone.”
“For just a visit, maybe.” Peter sounded unconvincing even to himself.
“Well,” John flicked ash from his cheroot, “I would like my parents to meet their grandsons.”
Jane never having envisioned returning to the origin of her escape—John’s response startled her.
Turning to the chair next to his, Johann asked, “What about you, Fritz? Could you go back? Not stay of course—just see it all again?”