“And you say to me ‘dis costs’!” Ebbely was laughing.
“Now stop. Very nice of you telephoning. Here everybody is missing you—even my special doughnuts don’t know why so many left—not eaten. Oh, quick, I got to tell you—my Victrola—it works beautiful—Fritz bought a new platter and wit special holiday songs we all sang along!”
“Did you dance?”
“Zoltan and his Agnes—yes, my Fritz and me—no. Dere were no waltzes—just carols.”
“I will send you some new fox trot, you will adore it.”
“Fox trot? What is wit de foxes suddenly?”
“No, no—fox trot—it’s the latest dance—fast and fun!”
“Oh. You behaving?”
“Perfectly, my dear. Is Fritz there—let me speak to him.”
“You got enough money for dis?”
“Yes, Hannah—put him on the telephone.”
Gingerly Fritz took the earpiece, positioned himself at the mouthpiece. “Ebberhardt—I’m here. Happy New Year! How is the weather where you are?”
“Happy New Year and the weather is weather—listen—I don’t want Hannah to hear you so just answer yes or no. Is Ford still at it? I mean about that madness that only Jews are responsible for all the wrongs of the world?”
“Yes.”
“Has Hannah gotten hold of any of those hideous articles?”
“No.”
“Thank God!”
“Yes.”
Hannah pulled Fritz’s arm, whispered, “What are you doing? Yes, no, yes—dat’s a conversation?”
“Well, Ebberhardt, I think I better finish now. This has been a long telephone call—costing money.”
“Fritz, write me—let me know what is happening—and if Hannah ever finds out what that bastard is up to you must telephone me immediately—I will send you the number of the coffeehouse I am calling from, maybe I’ll be able to help.”
“Yes.”
“Again wit de yeses?” Hannah hissed.
“Who is there with you?”
“John and Jane and of course the children. Carl and his family came and what do you think, Zoltan and Agnes—in the motor in the snow they brought the baby, said because it’s her very first Hanukah-Christmas-New Year, they wanted her to start it here with us.”
“And right they are! Wish everyone a prosperous 1922 for me and to celebrate properly you have my permission to kiss your wife! Auf Wiedersehen.”
It was February when a great ice storm froze Michigan and made Michael angry. First his beloved school was closed down, then everyone was forbidden to leave their homes because it was too dangerous being outside. His brothers didn’t mind, John with his books, Billy with his blocks were quite content, but Michael, accustomed to running over to Hannah’s whenever he wanted—thought that such a short distance should be possible despite the cold. His father, also a captive of the weather, would be the one to ask. He found him in the cellar stoking the furnace.
“Papa—if I put on all my sweaters—all of them, maybe even two pants and my gloves and two hats—can I go to the Geiger house and not get frozed?”
“No. Everyone has been told to stay indoors.”
“Even if I …”
“I said no, Michelino.”
“Okay, Papa.” Michael sighed.
“Have you nothing to do?” Knowing his father disliked idleness, Michael just nodded. “You know even some of the big ships that bring the raw ore to the Rouge can’t move because they are locked in the ice of the big lake—come, I’ll show you where.” And Michael learned what a map was—and where within it he lived.
This year, as the commercialization of radio made its appearance, everyone talked of nothing else. How it worked no one really knew but the very idea of sound being carried on waves of air across distances then finally emerging from a box containing glass tubes that glowed—was such a startling concept that knowing the scientific intricacies of it was quite unnecessary—wonder and awe were sufficient. Soon there would be mail order crystal sets for the avid young to build at home, the marvel of a disembodied voice telling them things they had not known before. Even the unrelenting static was exciting for it too was sound coming from out of nowhere.
The very idea of maybe someday being told the latest news instead of having to read it fascinated Jane. Music, maybe even learning—would this too one day come from some place far away, fill a room with beauty and intelligence? She wondered if by next year she might have enough in her cash box to send away for a Radio Phone Crystal Set of her very own.
Spring hadn’t quite recovered from its frozen delay when John, throwing hat, gloves and bicycle clips in all directions, stormed into the house shouting, “We are leaving! Ninnie! Where are you?” His youthful face alight—a conquering hero in his step, as he entered the kitchen, Jane saw his pride before he made his announcement. “I’ve been promoted! The Boss has put me in charge! I am going to build his factories for the production of our Fordsons! In six weeks we leave for Rumania!”
“I won’t go!”
“Oh, yes you will! You are my wife!” The Italian language lends itself so well to such emotional conflict.
“I became your wife in order to get to America—not to leave it!” As the words left her mouth, Jane knew they were a mistake.
“What? What did you say?”
“I said I won’t go and you can’t make me!”
“Oh yes I can!” For a suspended moment John battled his wanting to do her physical harm.
“I am an American citizen, I belong here and so do the children!”
Incredulous at her violent rejection of what he considered glorious opportunity, John retorted, “We are going. My wife and sons are to accompany me, Henry Ford says so.”
“Well, for once your mighty Henry Ford is not going to get what he wants!”
“Giovanna!” That tone of command, the use of her given name, silenced her. “Because of the Boss’s generosity all our travel expenses, our housing, even the boys’ education—everything is being paid for. As the wife of the Ford Company representative you will have a life of luxury—a maid, maybe even two …”
Though feeble, Jane made one last attempt, “But, I don’t know Rumanian!”
“Oh, that! With your talent for languages you’ll pick it up in a week—anyway it may be Egypt!”
Where? Jane never forgot that moment when her tidy life unraveled leaving her stunned and newly afraid. Would she be allowed to bring her precious sewing machine? was the first anxiety that popped into her head until she quickly chided herself for such selfishness in the face of much more serious calamities. Searching for her hat, corralling the boys, Jane hurried over to the Geiger house.
“Hannah—John is taking us back—he says in six weeks we sail!”
The Ford wives’ grapevine always a swift and reliable source, Hannah was not surprised. Putting the children on the back porch to play she propelled Jane into the kitchen shutting the porch door behind her.
“Ja! I heard someting like dat. Here, sit—have some nice coffee.”
“But … Hannah?” That sounded like a sob beginning.
“Now, Ninnie—not de end of de whole world if de Big Boss believes so much in you—he gives you his trust, makes of you a so important Boss—”