So rare was the sight of an automobile standing on the street, the boarders knew immediately that Ebberhardt Fishbein had arrived.
“Where is he? Where’s our mighty shrimp?” Fritz and John called, at the same time.
“Hannah, stop kissing your precious Ebbely and let us have him!” the others shouted.
As the little man appeared, the boarders pounced on him as though he were a favorite ball they all wanted to play with. Pretending fright, he took refuge behind Hannah’s height, so they twirled her about, as he ran down the hall the men in hot pursuit. Everyone was having a whale of a time.
Hannah, clutching her sides, gulped for air.
“My ribs, dey are splitting! Dey always like dis crazy when he comes back. Vifey, quick—while de boys play, we get de supper going.” Still laughing she marched back into the kitchen, “And me—always want so much have children? I got ’em here already!”
That evening, suppertime never ended. There was so much to tell, so much to listen to, no one wanted to break it up by leaving the table. First, Mr. Fishbein was minutely questioned on the performance of his very own Model T. Had she broken down and, if so, why and under what hazardous conditions? Had she proven as reliable as the men knew she was? How many miles had she withstood before needing an oil change—on and on they questioned, interrogated, eager to hear from the only one of them who possessed, drove what they could only build, until Ebbely, they all called him by Hannah’s affectionate diminutive of his given name, held up his tiny hands in mock dismay. “Stop already! You’re giving me a headache! That pile of black tin parked outside? Well, let me tell all of you everything in just one word, Perfection! A marvel! A joy! I should find a woman like that!”
“You son of a gun—that good, huh?”
They could have kissed him.
“Nothing better. If she could cook, I’d marry her!” Looking up at Hannah, he inquired, “Sweet Lady, any more of this heavenly borsch?” For such a small person, Rumpelstiltskin could consume an amazing quantity of food. Hannah, delighted, rushed to serve him. “Delectable as always. Home cooking! And Hannah’s! You lucky devils! You don’t deserve her! Fritz does, but you don’t!! Now, tell me your news. I already know all about Henry Ford’s announcement. The whole country is buzzing! Every town I went through, the newspapers were full of it! Truly, an amazing gesture by an amazing man. By the time I come through here again, you’ll be so rich you’ll be too big for your britches! Oh, before I forget, John—allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations. Nice lady you got there. We got acquainted this afternoon and I like her … no frou-frou like the others.” Zoltan coughed. “Still got that cough I see, Zolly. I told you the last time, a little horehound dissolved in warmed brandy never fails.”
“If Mr. Rich Traveling Man would bring me some, I’ll do it!” Zoltan retorted.
“Hey, Ebbely. I’m looking to buy a house and I’ve already written Henrietta to come, bring the children. By summer we should be settled in our own home.”
“Johann—at last! After all these years! How delightful!”
“And I, I have asked Frederika to marry me,” Rudy announced proudly.
“Sweet Lady, what are you? A landlady or a marriage broker? I don’t know if I should leave you all for such long periods of time—can’t trust you to behave!!”
“Ebbely, how far were you this time?” Jimmy asked.
“Oregon—wettest state in the Union! Excellent territory for long drawers!”
“What does the rest of the country think of President Wilson?” Fritz asked.
“Personally, I am still of the same mind. He’s not to my taste. Such a haughty man cannot know the needs of the common man. As for my clientele, although they haven’t the vote, their influence over their husbands is considerable. The ladies are charmed having a ‘true’ gentleman in the White House. ‘How lovely! How refreshing! How cultured! And how he adores his sister.’” The table applauded the little man’s talent for perfect mimicry of dithering womanhood.
Although Jane knew it was men’s privilege to discuss subjects deemed too intricate for women’s comprehension, she ventured to ask the table at large, “Excuse me, please—but in a free country like America, why does it not allow women to vote?”
“Because they know nothing about politics and belong in the kitchen,” answered Fritz before his wife smacked the top of his head with the soup ladle. Sheepishly, wiping dollops of borsch from his moist pate, Fritz gave Jane a look as though blaming her for bringing up the subject that got him into trouble. Jane, eyes downcast giving her full attention to the soup before her, heard her husband fill the momentary embarrassed silence with a good-natured, “Don’t mind my wife. She is always sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
This produced a few chuckles, the atmosphere eased. Jane swallowed her soup as though it contained nails.
“Mrs. Jane, now that we are so well acquainted, permit me the liberty of asking when you plan to deliver!”
“Early May, Mr. Fishbein.”
“Then I shall plan to return around that time bearing a gift or two.”
“That would be most kind, Mr. Fishbein.”
“No, no, my dear. Hannah made me an ‘Ebbely’ and here, Ebbely I am.”
Jane smiled her gratitude for much more than the use of a name. Hannah, clearing the soup plates, kissed the top of Rumpelstiltskin’s head as she removed his plate.
“Jimmy, this time I overnighted in the grand city of Chicago. Needed to restock on one of my best-selling items, camisoles of such pure cashmere they float. Like an infant’s sigh. So as a lark, I treated myself to a moving picture show. Very amusing. Laughed a lot. A funny little man … I believe a compatriot of yours … Charlie something or other. Oh, and fedoras, mostly pearl with wide bands of darker ribbed silk are now the rage in Chicago and other Eastern cities. The rest of the country is still partial to our bowlers except, of course, farmers and field hands who wear straw.”
Hannah paraded in a huge platter of succulent chickens, roasted to perfection, nestled amongst whipped potatoes, glazed carrots, and peas—Rumpelstiltskin’s favorite dish. Creamy gravy, flaky biscuits were passed around, everyone complimenting the cook by eating in silence, not wanting to stop in order to talk.
“What a feast!” the guest of honor sighed, mopping his brow, “the energy! The energy it takes to consume such a meal! I’m quite exhausted! Don’t make me move, Hannah—don’t make me move, I implore you!”
“There he goes again!” Johann laughed.
“Ebbely never tells his stories right after eating,” said Peter, slightly disappointed.
“Where do you put it all?”