Carl cleared his throat, “It’s okay, Ebbely—tell us. We heard you were in a hospital.”
“I arrived in New Orleans a few days after my telephone call to Fritz. Though our Lizzie performed perfectly, an unpleasant journey, for already then I was feeling lackluster, weary, apprehensive, certainly not myself. On entering the city a strange exhaustion decided me to book myself into the very first reputable-looking establishment I came across, where I must have collapsed—for when I awoke I found myself garbed in but a flimsy shift—between overly boiled, rock-hard sheets in an overly long room filled with similar beds to mine containing wan corpselike creatures similar to me. Actually considering the way I felt I thought I probably would expire any minute. Raising my head for what I believed would be for the last time I surveyed the long rows of my fellow sufferers and found that I was one of many children. My friends, I assure you, had I been placed in an adult ward where I belonged I would not be here now. How long I remained—I have no recollection of. Finding myself to be still amongst the living is as surprising as it is welcome. But though one may be fortunate to survive within a hospital—to fully recuperate in one is problematical. And so I chose resurrection within the silken folds of a dear friend and longtime customer.”
“Aha, here comes the good part.” Peter leaned forward in his chair.
“You have no conception of how good.”
“Well? Go on.” Despite still being in the dining room John lit a cheroot.
“As a matter of fact, I am indebted to a shipboard acquaintance of yours, John, a Mademoiselle Eugenie de la Rochemont, a lovely young thing who with heroic dedication nursed me for many weeks, to whom I am convinced I owe my life. A treasure that Gaelic beauty, a real treasure.”
Waiting for what John might say, Jane held her breath, but it was Zoltan who spoke. “So let me get this straight—you nearly died, but you were saved through the devotion of one of your former customers of your unmentionables?”
“Yes, I must admit to be nursed by a bevy of caring damsels who finding themselves with sudden time on their hands due to a lack of living customers, has been an experience not soon to being forgotten. I felt and still do like some newborn babe, pampered and cosseted after a grave illness. As all women are mothers at heart regardless of their profession, I was in excellent hands.”
“Ebbely, you’re incorrigible!”
“Thank you, Carl—I try to be.”
Having kept quiet long enough Fritz wanted to know how New Orleans had withstood the epidemic.
“War and disease an unholy union you must admit—yet, admirably suited to each other’s rapacious appetite. Never having forgotten nor freed itself completely from the horrors of the Black Death, New Orleans is a city mired in theatrical doom. Every tragedy magnified then celebrated as though death itself is a sorcerer’s familiar to be placated, resurrection assured if one but knows the mumbo-jumbo and is then willing to believe it.”
The entrance of dessert, a towering chocolate soufflé exuding its enticing steam, ended any further gloom.
Jane was putting on her hat preparing to leave, when Rumpelstiltskin after saying good night whispered, “Eugenie sends you fond greetings and hopes you are well. I promised I would give you her message.”
Jane whispered back, “Oh, I was so surprised when you said her name—how wonderful that it would be she who took such good care of you. I must write and thank her. Does she know English now?”
“Oh yes—she’s quite proficient in everything.” Noticing John’s approach Ebbely repeated a loud good night and scampered upstairs.
When first informed of Mr. Henry’s residency, Ebbely ignored its implication. But the first morning when he came down for his expected breakfast, Mr. Henry, the mailman, already in place, rose, extended his hand and introduced himself as though he belonged. Two roosters circling the henhouse might have been a perfect description of Rumpelstiltskin and the Casanova mailman’s first encounter—later finding they had much in common, jazz being one of their mutual passions, they became friends—but this their first social encounter though correct was extremely frigid. Completely oblivious to anything but the German pancakes she was making, Hannah told her boarders to sit, and start eating before their breakfast got cold.
For the great day John bought a new suit, Jane made him a splendid shirt, Michael polished his father’s shoes until they shone like a brand-new Model T. Fritz wore a new vest and bowler that made him look most distinguished. Pride illuminating her whole being, Hannah kept straightening his tie.
“Enough, Hannahchen—enough. We go now.”
In new frocks sewn especially for this once-in-a-lifetime day, Jane and Hannah drove with their husbands to the city of Detroit to pledge their allegiance as true citizens of the United States of America. At last that longed-for dream had become a reality.
On their triumphal return they were greeted by family, friends, children and neighbors all waving little American flags—courtesy of Mr. Henry, the mailman.
What a prideful day that was! For such a day, breaking the law seemed essential. From some dubious source Ebbely produced pre-Prohibition champagne. Not one but three whole bottles, popped their corks with ceremonial flourish and pronounced the toast.
“To my dearest friends, welcome to my country as the best example of its citizenry!”
Michael very impressed by the jubilant proceedings—went amongst the well-wishers announcing that as he was already a real borned American he was glad his Papa and his Mama were now too.
The very next day was the day of Jane’s great surprise. Ebbely drove it home, John struggled to get it into the house, where, clumsily wrapped in thick brown paper, it stood in the center of the living room waiting for Jane to unwrap it.
“Ninnie! I’m back. Come down.”
Wondering why he was home in the middle of the day, and why he sounded so excited, Jane came down the short flight of stairs—the children following her. Taking her hand, John led her to his gift.
“For you, Ninnie—open it.”
Telling the excited children to behave themselves, he sat down with the youngest on his lap—watching his wife’s face. Puzzled, wondering what such an odd package could contain and why John would give her another present when becoming an American was already the best of all gifts—she pulled off the thick paper—and gasped.