“Maybe.”
Tinged with the hurt of having been so hated in the new homeland he loved, his “maybe” lingered in the air.
Determined to alter the prevailing mood, Zoltan changed the subject. “Hey, anybody here find out yet what’s happened to Rudy?”
“Well, he’s back,” volunteered Peter.
“We know that!”
“And, listen to this—shot down two Junkers, and got away without a scratch!”
“That, Peter, we also know—but where is he? You know, John?”
“I heard he was barnstorming.”
“What in God’s name is that?”
Jane was glad Carl asked for she was dying to know.
“It’s something these young daredevils back from the war are doing all over the country. At county fairs—they perform aerial stunts … something called a barrel roll and loop the loop over the heads of dumbstruck locals.”
“For money?” asked Peter.
“Well, if you’re crazy enough to risk life and limb for entertainment … I should hope so!” countered Zoltan.
“Do you know why it is called barnstorming?” whispered Jane in Carl’s direction who whispered back, “Beats me.”
John answered them both.
“Part of the many amazing tricks these men are able to put their flimsy crates through—is fly them so low to the ground that often they can’t pull up in time and then crash into farmer’s barns killing cows, pigs, chickens, even themselves.”
“Apart from the killing, that I’ve got to see!”
“My Hannah know about this crazy business?”
John shook his head. “Not yet, Fritz—I didn’t want to worry her.”
“Ja, better we keep it from her.”
Johann knocked out his pipe. “I’ve got to go. I don’t like leaving Henrietta and the girls alone too long—especially after dark. Anyway, we’ll all see each other again before we leave. So … I’ll be on my way. I’ll say good night to Hannah on my way out.”
The morning Henrietta went to say a last good-bye to Gloria—Jane accompanied her to the cemetery. Standing apart, not to intrude—Jane watched a mother trying to justify the desertion of her dead child, and wondered if she, in a similar situation could ever manage to do so.
Troubled by her thoughts, Jane knelt by Henrietta’s side and tended the periwinkles nestled against the small white cross.
The admonitions to write, to take care, to keep in touch, to not forget, all said, in the bright sunshine of a Great Lakes summer, Johann and Henrietta bid good-bye to dear friends, a country that had embraced them, one last time stood before the small plot of earth that covered their child—then returned from whence they had come. Through the years Hannah often remembered that first day when China Dolly had stepped into her house and brought such unbridled joy to their pining Johann, the Hollander.
19
Newly returned from yet another clandestine sojourn across the Canadian border, Serafina now was mistress of her very own Model T. She stayed long enough to voice her opinion on Johann’s exodus, claiming that now she saw nothing in his Dutch future that could be interesting to anyone. Then she dropped two additional items of news—one that Morgana, her twin, was not well—but that Guido Salvatore Antonio, her angel son Angelo was, and sped off.
With life resuming its habitual rhythms, the time of war became an aftertaste. In sun-drenched France the splendidly mirrored hall of the opulent palace of Versailles was being turned into a shrine to legal peace. Great minds of great men were eradicating war for all time on signatured paper, believing in what was beyond belief—fostering callous innocence turned inward into evil born. Henceforth, without fail the world was expected to behave itself—abide by the sage words written and attested to, not by the more than ten million men who had shed their blood, but, as in all wars, by the few who had led them so they could.
Hannah’s battlefield, forced on her by both birth and war, remained. She was still a German and still a Jew. The war had brought the shame of one into focus while partnering the other. Somehow self-guilt had entered her equation as though she herself had fostered it. Whatever the reasons, once spat upon, such remembrance becomes permanent injury. Hannah did not know why she was troubled only that she was. Concerned, Fritz turned first to Zoltan then John for advice.
“One of your feelings? You’re having one of your feelings?” Zoltan nearly choked on his own nervous excitement. “The plant? I knew it! Something is going to happen at the plant. God knows there’s enough going on at that behemoth anything can happen!”
Fritz shook his head, “No, Zoltan. Nothing like that—get a hold of yourself, my friend. Marriage should have calmed you down—it’s supposed to.”
With John the result was only slightly more encouraging.
“For heaven’s sake, that wonderful woman of yours—after all the nursing she did, the terrible worry not only for my Ninnie—but Ebbely too, all of us. My God, that woman was never off her feet! Don’t worry—she’s just exhausted—the best thing you can do is take good care of her—see she gets a lot of rest. Giving her a nice kiss now and then wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”
“I kiss her all the time!” bellowed Fritz in self-defense.
“Well—then do it … better! I don’t know. Why are you asking me—she’s your wife! Anyway, soon we’ll all be citizens—then you’ll see how Hannah perks up!” And swinging one leg over his precious English Humber John bicycled off to work.
Henry Ford and his Clara having traveled to far-off sunny California for no apparent reason other than to indulge in a well-earned vacation, no one knew what to make of the sudden rumors circulating that Ford was deserting the Model T, planning to form a new company that would manufacture an automobile he supposedly claimed would not only rival the T but undersell it by more than two hundred dollars.
Fritz cornered John as he was coming home from work.
“We’re stopping production on the T. Is that true?”
“No, we’re not.”
“Who says?”
“Evangeline hinted it may have to do with the Boss’s plan to buy out the Dodge Brothers.”
“You’re sure, John? He’s not giving up on Lizzie? After all our great success to change, now start up all over again with another sounds crazy!”
“I agree, it doesn’t make sense. There is absolutely no reason for the company to change now or to sell it. We can’t even fill all the orders for the T that are coming in.”
“Then why all this talk of a new company to make a new model? Mr. Edsel say anything?”
“Not to me. Let’s wait and see—Evangeline usually knows what’s really going on. If she believes it may be just a clever stunt—her word not mine—to scare the shareholders so they’ll sell, I’ll bet she’s right and the Boss is up to something.”
“You’ll let me know?”