Jane, concentrating on cutting the rolled dough into quarter-inch-wide sections, murmured, “Is she someone who works in the plant?”
“Yes.” Again a one-word answer from Hannah, a most unusual occurrence.
Jane continued cutting. Whatever was worrying her could not be permitted to interfere with the prescribed width of Hannah’s egg noodles.
“Does she work in the dynamite department?”
That did it! Hannah fell onto the kitchen chair and burst out laughing.
“Oh, Vifey Vifey! Dat is funniest ting I hear for long, long time! Oh, my!” Wiping her eyes, gasping for breath, Hannah tried to collect herself. “How come you hear of her? Never mind! She not work with dynamite. She IS de dynamite! Very sprightly, sort of soft little bundle of ‘Squeeze-me-come-on, fella’ type she is. But no floozy. Mit all dat, she is still a lady, dat I gotta say.”
“She’s that pretty?” Jane asked, wondering why her stomach suddenly felt so queasy.
“Ya—dat’s why de Boss so smitten. Everybody has idea maybe Miss Evangeline soon his special friend!”
“The Boss?” Jane breathed.
“Who else? Everybody knows, sort of. Even his smart so good missus maybe. But dat’s dere business—if okay by dem, okay by us who work for boss of good and decent Ford Company. Why you ask?”
Jane, very busy suddenly, fluffing out the perfectly cut noodles, answered her as though completely disinterested.
“Oh, nothing really. I heard the name and just wondered who she was.”
Smiling, Hannah returned to her sink to scrape carrots for supper.
November winds whipped across the Great Lakes beginning to freeze over. Morning dew no longer lay silent waiting to evaporate, acquired an opaqueness that powdered when disturbed. Daylight, foreshortened, took on the color of a tarnished blade. The North American winter had taken up its residence along the Border States.
Not even amidst the glacial granite of her mountain village had Jane ever experienced such bone-twisting cold, known it could exist where civilized beings needed to go about their daily lives. She marveled at the accustomed acceptance of the people around her—their casual explanation “that’s Michigan” when one’s breath seemed it would freeze in midair. Even that there had ever been a time when the arrival of Mr. Kennec, the iceman, had been welcomed seemed now only two months later, quite inconceivable.
Even before Halloween, the Geiger boardinghouse had been readied to withstand the attack of winter. With Fritz as marshalling foreman, the boarders were organized into an efficient squad of handymen. Hannah and Fritz’s ultimate pride, their Acme Hummer Heating and Ventilation Hot Air Furnace, courtesy of the ever dependable Messrs. Sears and Roebuck, stood freshly reamed, cleaned, and swept, waiting in the cellar domain ready to do its duty. Every pipe was wrapped in shrouds of newsprint and flannel scraps that Hannah collected in her rag-bag throughout the year, windows corked and puttied, every door had its very own threshold “snake”—a Hannah whimsy of thick sausages made of remnants, twisted, entwined, then sewn with carpet thread to keep out lethal drafts. Their name of “snake” derived from Hannah’s proclamation that as dead cloth sausages lying about depressed her, she had decided to bring them to life by giving them button eyes. Jane became especially fond of the one that reclined along the base of their bedroom door. One of its buttons, being smaller than the other, gave it a cross-eyed myopic expression of perpetual surprise. She christened it Francis after an illustration she remembered from one of Sister Bertine’s favorite class books dealing with the lives of saints, in which the monk of Assisi had been depicted as close-eyed as his birds. Hannah so loved this idea of affording her snakes personal identities, she christened the fattest one stretched beneath the back porch door Hercules—because, of all his brothers, who kept out drafts, he was the one who had the toughest job to do.
Heads swathed in woolen mufflers, mittened hands clumsy, Hannah and Jane were taking wash off the line. Hannah sighed, “Winter here, Vifey. No more hanging out. Wash freeze—snap right in two. Everyting now have to hang on pulley rods from ceiling in warm kitchen.” Jane, too cold to speak, nodded. “Soon de holidays coming and den we go into big city of Detroit, you and me, yes?”
“Oh, yes, Hannah, please!” Jane’s words muffled by the scarf Hannah had tied over her mouth, saying “Freezed lips no good for kisses.”
“Now you speak so good American and you no greenhorn no more, maybe time you look it smart for de so fine city shopping.”
“But, Hannah—I won’t be able to make anything in time!”
“No—no—not make! Ready-made from a store bought by de mail-ordering American way.” Grabbing the handle of the full basket, Hannah motioned Jane to take the other and between them, they carried the wash up the back porch and into the kitchen.
Unwinding her mufflers, Jane protested, “Anyway, I can make them better … and store-bought costs too much!”
“You want to look Italian Mountain Woman, fresh off de boat? Or American married lady mit husband steady working, even mit raise, in biggest motor company in whole world?” Not waiting for an answer, Hannah plunked one of her precious mail-order house catalogs onto the kitchen table, opening it to the Ladies’ Garments section. Peeling off her mittens, unwrapping herself from yards of knitted wool, she sat, patting the seat of the kitchen chair next to hers.
“Come, child, sit … nice and cozy … we look for outfitting you as befits.” An inner excitement stirring, Jane sat. “See, right away—here is nice skirt. Says ‘serge’ better dat dan dolman cloth—lasts longer. Oh, looky here—coat perfection for de skirt—just right. Sturdy overcoat too you need—Michigan cold for long, long time—so money well spent for into future!” Wetting a finger on her tongue, Hannah turned pages, pointed, delighted, “Here! Look! We got de hats! All first quality … dis one—dat will look special smart on you—not too fancy like floozy, but good classy ladylike. Good shoes already you got. Real leater soles very important. People notice. Like in old country, look—decide about you right off. But in America, here you can look what you want to be—not be stuck what you are. Important what your purse holds, not where you first come from. My Fritz say, maybe dat not so good dis for people sometime, but I say, work hard, behave yourself, do everyting right, so when time comes you can show off—why not? Be proud! Enjoy!”