Frederika, not yet showing sufficiently to cause embarrassment, wearing her favorite shade of palest green with new bonnet to match, walked on Rudy’s arm to catch the Inter-Urban trolley, with John and his family, accompanied by Fritz, following behind.
Having been asked to be the godparents, Peter and Dora greeted them at the entrance to the church. They waited for Zoltan’s arrival which, when he finally appeared, slightly out of breath, was spectacular! In a moment of uncharacteristic abandon, Zoltan had bought himself a complete morning suit, striped pants, tailcoat and all and, in order to do its splendor justice, had added pearl-gray spats and matching top hat. People entering the church thought he must be the groom of a wedding no one had heard was scheduled to take place.
“Zoltan! If Jimmy could only see you now!” exclaimed Rudy. “You look like you’ve been invited to take tea with the king of England!”
“Too much? You think this is too much? Maybe … the spats?”
“Don’t let dem kid you.” Hannah looked him up and down. “Smart! Like a real millionaire, so handsome you look. Vhy you not married—still living wit dat grouchy Mama, I don’t understand. Girls crazy for a nice-looking man like you! … Come, everybody we go in … or all de front places vill be full vit strangers.”
It was such a special occasion, everyone so festive, at their best—even Violet and Rose accepting water splashed onto their little heads without complaining—that Jane never once felt the urge to escape, get away from the cloying dominance of consecrated ground. Afterwards, they all met up at Carl’s home for Easter treats and wine. While the babies slept, Johann’s girls munched hard-boiled eggs making sure Michael didn’t eat the brightly colored shells he found so pretty, the women admired each other’s clothes, the men crowded into the small parlor, drank wine and talked.
Johann lifted his glass. “Here’s to your girls, Carl!” The others joined in the toast. “John, I heard you may be one of the men going to San Francisco to help set up the company’s exhibit?”
Peter took out his pipe. “What exhibit?”
“Remember last year, when the Boss wanted to show off the moving assembly line at the Michigan State Fair?”
“Sure, but we couldn’t get it working in time.”
“Well, my friend—now it is, so now Ford is going to show off his famous baby to the whole world at the San Francisco’s Panama-Pacific Exposition!”
Fritz turned to John. “True? You really going all the way to California?” Carl spoke before John could answer. “Listen. It’s not only the line the company wants to show off, I hear the Sociological Department is planning a display of its own.”
“What in God’s name can those people show?” Johann refilled his glass.
“The before and after?” murmured Zoltan.
“You’re kidding! What are they going to do? Make some poor bastard and his brood stand there filthy, then wash the whole miserable bunch down, right there in public—before all the people?” Stan laughed derisively. “The reporters will have a field day!”
Carl put down his glass. “I don’t think even that department, with all its do-gooders will dare to go that far!”
“They’ll do something, though. Ford has his heart set on showing the country his many achievements, not only his fast method of producing Model Ts, but also as philanthropic industrialist.” Zoltan held out his glass to Carl, who was pouring more wine.
“The Motion Picture Department is preparing a film, showing the assembly plant in motion,” remarked John.
“Now, that will be a sensation!” exclaimed Fritz.
“So will the actual line display! It will take up a whole building of its own. Ford wants to assemble eighteen complete Model Ts—maybe even more, during a three-hour demonstration every single day.”
For a moment, even the Ford men were stunned by the idea.
“My God!” Rudy shook his head. “Can that be done, John?”
“To tell you the truth, at this moment I’m not sure it can. But, Henry Ford has his mind set on this and that means …”
Ebbely interrupted him. “And that means, my dear automotive geniuses, that in San Francisco, city of superlative elegance and elitist culture, your so famous, revolutionary assembly system will be spitting out little black Lizzies like shit from a goat’s behind!” Laughing, the men raised their glasses in agreement.
Peter, who had wanted to be a musician before becoming a wheel man, asked, “Is the Ford Band going to perform?”
“You mean the March and Two Step or the Concert Band?”
“Either one will for sure,” said Fritz. “The Boss loves his bands about as much as he does his fairs.”
“You’ve got to admit, they’re great for keeping the name of Ford before the people,” added Johann.
“And that sells more Lizzies!” Rudy drained his glass. Zoltan looked at Fritz. “Think we’re going to make it to Ford’s goal, giving buyers a rebate if we hit more than three hundred thousand in sales?”
“Well, we still have some time to go before next August, so—yes, I think it could be possible. John, what do you think?”
“You know me—I think—with Henry Ford, nothing is impossible!”
“Here we go!” his friends chanted.
“Well—you asked me!” John countered good-naturedly.
“Anyone got the latest news on the war?” Carl looked over at his friend. “What about your Russians, Fritz? They know anything?”
“All they know was that in Flanders, there were terrible casualties. The British attacked the German line at a place … wait a minute … starts with a CH …”
“That’s Neuve Chapelle, I believe.”
“Ebbely? How did you know that?”
“Louisiana. Their newspapers keep up with the war as though their own people are fighting over there. In a way, they probably are, being mostly of French descent.”
“Two of me younger brothers are in the fighting!” In all the years that Rosie’s father had lived in America, his speech had not lost the lilting proof of his Irish roots.
“Where, Mr. Haggarty?” asked Johann of their host.
“Their regiment, the Irish Fusiliers, are said to be somewhere near Belgium.”
“Have any of you gotten any letters from home?” Peter looked worried.
“My parents wrote, mail from Holland isn’t affected,” answered Johann.
“You’re lucky.” Rudy sighed. “Since war was declared, I’ve had only one letter and that was written before the fighting began. Don’t say anything to Frederika—but I am really worried. And, let’s face it, we, as Austrians, are the enemy.” Rudy looked at Fritz. “And so are you, my friend.”
“I got first papers—I’m not an enemy!”
“Well, if the war goes on and America has to take sides, you will be, naturalization papers or not!”
“I’ve had mail from Italy—and all of it is infuriating!”
“What’s the matter, John, your family refuse to leave?” asked Stan.
“You’re damn right. How did you know?”
“Mine are too scared to budge out of Rumania.”
“Mine are too loyal to the kaiser and the Fatherland … if you can swallow that!” Fritz grumbled.
“Mine are just undecided—like the whole damn country.”
“John please don’t take offense, but that is so typically Italian!” ventured Ebbely.