“Of course. Don’t worry, Fritz—I’m sure our Lizzie will be rolling off the line for years to come in ‘any color you want as long as it’s black.’” That now famous Henry Ford statement got a laugh out of Fritz.
By the beginning of July Henry Ford achieved what he was after; had maneuvered the buyout of his company’s stockholders, his original partners, and with a little help from those Jewish bankers that he never trusted until they were of use to him, now owned the Ford Motor Company outright, lock, stock, and proverbial barrel and the rumor of that new Model Ford vanished. With his railroad, forests, mines, newspaper, hospital, schools, motion picture department, ever-increasing dealerships and assembly plants, his ships and barges hauling their endless spectrum of raw materials to his vast empire on the Rouge River, the Flivver King of Detroit was truly the monarch of Michigan.
Two days after Glory Day, Mr. Henry, the mailman, returned. No longer garbed as guardian of the United States Postal Service, he, in vested store-bought suit and silk cravat, stood in Hannah’s hallway smiling his devastating smile, as she screamed her delight at his being still among the living, then noticed his left sleeve and the large safety pin that anchored its emptiness to his side.
Confused, not knowing what to say, hands covering her mouth afraid of what she might blurt out, Hannah looked at her friend imploring him to excuse her stare. One slender hand touched hers in a gesture of forgiveness and Hannah began to cry.
“Now, now,” sounding like a concerned family retainer, Mr. Henry patted her shoulder. “Dear Lady, do not upset yourself—a small sacrifice for victory.” Lifting the corner of her apron he proceeded to dry her tears as though she were a child of three. “Besides, it’s only my left and you know I do my best courting with my right.” Mr. Henry had learned to joke. It made those concerned for him more comfortable in the presence of his affliction. Continuing his ministration, he asked if she wasn’t going to feed him as always.
Soon coffee brewed, pie, cookies, pastries, anything she could find, spread before him, they sat and talked.
“You know dat cutesy redhead de one you fancied? Well she got married …”
“To that boozer?”
“Yes. He got out of de war for something he did bad in it and now is someplace in jail.”
“And the Nussbaums?” Mr. Henry asked questions answerable, avoiding those unanswerable.
“Oh, dey had big trouble when de sickness came. De eldest girl, her you remember?”
“Yes, a real mother hen, with all those sisters and brothers.”
“Well, dat poor girl, she died. Her Mama and de udders dey all got sick—but now everybody okay again.”
“The influenza hit you hard here?”
“Yes—hit us hard—you too over dere?”
“Yes—in November just before the Armistice, we didn’t know who was killing us faster—the Huns or the fever.”
“Anudder cup?”
“Yes, please.”
“Johann our Hollander? He and his China Dolly—dey lost dere little girl. So now dey gone back to dere old country and forget. Horowitzes? Dey now live in Massachusetts where dere Boris was in a camp. Den when he was killed over in Flanders his folks stayed.”
“Everything has changed, eh?”
“Yes. You got a job?”
“Not yet, not much work for a one-armed paper hanger.”
“A paper hanger you are now?”
“No, it’s only an expression. A kind of joke.”
“Not a funny.”
“Better to joke than cry. Anyway, girls don’t cotton to a beau with too much war still inside him.”
“You still a rascal?” This was asked with the faintest of sighs.
“Yep. Gotta be.”
No need for further explanation, Hannah understood his need to be what he had been, regardless of what he had become.
“Your knitting sister, she okay and all de children?”
“Yes, she found a man to marry her, moved to St. Paul.”
“Where you live now, den? More coffee?”
“Bunking in with a friend. Thanks.”
“Lady friend?”
Mr. Henry laughed, “No, ex-army buddy.” Pointing to the plate of crullers, “Can I have another?”
“Eat! You want I should make you maybe a nice bologna sandwich to take?”
Busy munching, Mr. Henry shook his head. A second’s hesitation, then Hannah spoke what had been forming in her mind since the moment Mr. Henry had appeared, seeming so alone, covering his need with attempted joviality.
“I got plenty empty rooms, you want one? Come stay? For a while, until you find work? Fritz and me happy to have you … but, maybe … maybe you don’t want to because we are German—maybe?”
All veneer gone, Mr. Henry brushed away a tear, smiled his devastating smile and that was that.
The very next day the mailman moved his meager belongings into what once had been Stan’s room and in no time at all, it seemed as though the Geiger house took back some of its aura of bygone days. Michael very impressed being acquainted with a real, brave soldier became his ever-willing sidekick, ready to be of service whenever his new friend needed anything complicated like opening jars of Hannah’s special strawberry jam that Mr. Henry seemed particularly partial to.
Conferring in private with Jane about her new boarder—Hannah allowed her concern for him to show.
“Dat poor man. What girl will look at him now? And him always used to dem all crazy lovey-dovey over him. What he do now wit no two arms to hold dem? Many girlies will tink dats ugly, you know, not know any better, not see what a good man he is.” Hannah ladled sugar into her coffee—forgetting she had already done so before. “Fritz, he says, ‘Give him time.’ Well dat’s okay for de oldies but for de young? I don’t tink. Not so good. What you tink?”
“Hannah, exactly what’s an oldie?”
“Well, like me. Thirty-two nearly already.”
“That’s really not so old.”
“Well, if I was not married to Fritz—and I was an old maid—den I would be!”
Laughing, Jane refilled Hannah’s cup.
“Don’t worry. If someone really loves your Mr. Henry, she won’t mind about his arm.”
“Ha! You de innocent! De so in love already safe lucky Vifey—you tink doze floozy ladies he always find will be so good like dat? I got to hurry. For tonight I’m making fluffy potatoes wit real butter now allowed also a nice cabbage mit de Kummel and gravy mit real cream. If I got time, maybe even a little someting for just on de side to nosh. Before I came over I make already de shortcake to go mit de nice strawberries for after.” Hannah pinned on her hat. “You come too, Ninnie? A little strong walking good for you now, bring de children! WE EAT … AS USUAL!”
And in a whirlwind of joyous anticipation Hannah was gone.