It was so warm in Mr. Hirt’s Aladdin’s cave, the pungent aroma from hanging sausages and hams melded with that of an endless assortment of cheeses and roasted coffee beans. On long electrical cords, single lightbulbs suspended down the length of the store from the ceiling gave off their yellowish glow, contributing to the illusion that all was golden treasure within.
Jane stood on tiptoes, glad her shoes were protected, for already so early in the morning, the sawdust covering the floor had turned to soggy mush. Her eyes ran along rows upon rows of japanned tins in all sizes, wooden boxes of all shapes, stone crocks, earthenware jars, labeled drawers, along laden counters up to the rafters where pots, pans and strainers dangled, crowding each other for any remaining space, down to the rows of open barrels and gunnysacks.
All day they shopped. Their basket becoming heavier as the day wore on. Although Hannah had her select tradesmen in Highland Park, the butchers and fishmongers that were housed in separate buildings bordering the square were visited to look and see what was being offered to fancy Detroiters and at what exaggerated prices. It seemed to Jane that Hannah longed for more than she bought. Coming face-to-face with a mighty carp, so fresh one had the impression one could hear the roar of its sea, she looked it in the eye, murmuring under her breath. “Ach—you beautiful ting. How I would like to take you home mit me, treat you right—make you New Year feast!” then bade him farewell, knowing such a luxury was not to be. Jane, puzzled by such longing for a fish, asked, “Why, Hannah? You like carp that much?”
“In Germany, very important dat fish. For de welcoming of de New Year you gotta have whole fish, head to tail, steamed mit peppercorns, onions, lemons and big bunches of dill. Everybody have to eat it to have good luck. Also goes perfect mit champagne drinking. Next day, no one have de upset stomach—so start de New Year feeling Honkey Dorey. I don’t like carp much, but to be lucky? I eat plenty!”
Now the open sheds were deserted. Amidst mounds of wilting vegetable trimmings and broken crates, the square lay silent. Against a darkening sky, snow was beginning to fall. Tired, yet satisfied, their basket filled with treasures, Hannah and Jane started home. On the way, Hannah pointed out important landmarks, while Jane marveled at the electrical illumination of the city. Everywhere lights were beginning to shine so bright, signs could be read without the slightest difficulty as though it were day. But it was the sight of her first traffic light that impressed Jane the most on that already exceptional day of wonders. The way it stood on its very own island, its conical roof atop a small guardhouse in which a uniformed gentleman waved his white-clad arms at automobiles and trolley cars whizzing in all directions directly below. How, by simply illuminating, changing its three colors, the traffic light took absolute control, commandeered instant response, from men and their machines alike. To think that such an invention should even be necessary was in itself astounding.
When the trolley passed the drugstore where the first ice-cream soda was invented, Hannah became rhapsodic, explaining how it came to be, the shape of the special glass it was always served in, so, as Hannah put it “de foam can have de room to bubble over de ice-cream ball Vifey, I tell you dis also a greatest Detroit invention—so delicious it is, angels would like a sip! Maybe in summertime after de baby come, we go—okay? Den you can have strawberry—my favorite! From de fresh berries, soda gets pink! My treat! … Look, Vifey. See? Dat’s Mr. S. S. Kresge’s big Five and Ten Cent store. In dere everyting costs only dat little. Next time I take you dere … You like today, child?”
Jane nodded, eyes shining.
On their return, supper awaited them. The men beaming, proud of having accomplished all their household duties as instructed, pulled out Hannah’s chair, made her sit, insisted she not lift a finger, have a drink of their beer while they bustled about serving her stew, her noodles, her bread, her pie as though they had prepared it all themselves from scratch. That evening, she regaled them with snippets of the day’s adventure, lauded them for being such good, reliable boys, then reminded them that for the next two weeks, she would not permit the slamming of doors, the making of the slightest drafts—for now that she had her spices, the serious Christmas baking would begin.
The next day, Mr. Henry, sporting a new, ingeniously knitted head covering, with slits permitting only his eyes, nostrils and lower lip to brave the elements, delivered into Jane’s hands the very first letter she had ever received. Allowing himself to be hauled into the kitchen as though defenseless against Hannah’s superior strength, he called back over his shoulder that if Jane was not partial to collecting postmarks, he would be more than pleased to receive the foreign one on her envelope. Leaving the two to their flirtatious banter, Jane raced upstairs, glad that as John had gone with Fritz to a meeting of the German Harmonie Club in the city, she could read her letter in private, not have to share it until later.
In her feathery script, Teresa conferred on her God’s blessing, as she was permitted to write letters, hoped that this one would not only reach America but find Giovanna well. She had entered the Benedictine Order, was now a postulate in its convent in Reims that she might become fluent in French in the pious hope that when she had taken her vows, she might be chosen to serve as a nursing Sister of her order in the Belgian Congo.
Teresa was full of news. Her sisters were married, babies born, others on the way on a regular basis. This depressed her Mamma enormously, as she had always planned to have more than just one nun among her brood of daughters. It did not help that even some of her brothers still hesitated between celibacy and husbandry, although Marcus—surely Giovanna remembered him … the youngest, who never could find work but could juggle four stones all at one time—was now a Franciscan monk. As poverty seemed to suit him, by taking their vow for it, this would give Brother Marcus the sanctified allowance to pursue it further.
Jane chuckled. That streak of off-hand humor that she always found so appealing in her friend was still there and this cheered her.
… I am aware that I have referred to myself in the first person which is a sin—to be confessed, penance done. One reason why the writer of this letter still much too conscious of self, finds it is difficult to communicate on paper, except for news apart from her.