One sun-drenched morning, once again exposed, free of his winter cocoon, he came, looked up at her waiting on the porch, waved a slender milk-white hand in her direction, smiled his devastating smile and then, passed her by. Only Mr. Henry could make not getting a letter, though fleeting, a sensual experience. Sighing, Jane went back into the house to cook and clean. Maybe he would stop tomorrow.
Frederika, very satisfied with the results of Jane’s work, recommended her to a neighbor who was also with child. A fat lady to begin with, at first Jane had great difficulty in finding enough in the seams to let out, until she had the idea to use the material in the hem, working it cleverly into inserts in the bodice then putting a false backing for the hem of the skirt. The blossoming lady was so pleased to once again fit into her Sunday best, she told her friend, wife of the coal merchant, all about the Italian woman on Louisa Street who was so skilled with the needle.
Slowly, Jane accumulated cents until they added up to a whole dollar—then two. There was no need to conceal her special activity from her husband, for John rarely took notice of what held no interest for him.
At times aware that he had probably made an excellent choice after all, John was very satisfied with his wife. Her respect for his work, her willingness to take second place to it, endeared her to him. She functioned independently, never needed tedious cosseting or cavalier behavior to keep her in a pleasant mood, as so many wives seemed to require. Hannah’s influence had been as constructive as he had known it would be when first he had decided to bring Jane into her orbit to benefit from her example. John liked to have things turn out correctly as planned. Now, after two years together, he had become used to her. Not necessarily in the physical sense, nor an emotional one, but simply that she existed. Though at times this puzzled him, it did not disturb him unduly. As with most ambiguities relating to human behavior, John did not delve, accepting their existence as though of no overly serious consequences. What he could see, could feel with his hands, that John understood—intangibles eluded him. His meticulous intelligence was focused on conclusion, not the intricacies of its process. As Jane became symbolic of his male achievement as breadwinner, husband, father, John began loving her as such. Jane, feeling affection, began to love him for nothing more than that—he seemed to like her. And so their marriage solidified, both oblivious to the nullifying direction this might take. Except for a war too far away to cause them any physical harm, their life had become comfortable. So comfortable that John, taking an obliging woman to bed now and then, did not disturb its grounded structure. John did not consider his sexual release as an act of faithlessness, and Jane, had she known, would probably have thought the same for, during these scattered interludes of not being her husband’s focus of desire, the reprieve from that constant fear of another pregnancy she found a pleasant change.
Serafina, predicting rain for the Fourth of July, persuaded her father to set up a tent he had once used in his garden for a meeting of the Brotherhood, then told everyone to come and have their picnics there. Glory Day dawned, bright and sunny, but by noon the skies had opened up, drenching everything in sight. Serafina triumphant, swept amongst the picnicking groups beneath the sheltering tent, greeting friends, accepting their homage as their clairvoyant savior.
Rudy, watching her, turned to Stan. “She’s amazing! How does she do it? Even when she’s wrong, in one way or another, she’s right. Of course, you know Hannah is convinced your wife is a witch!”
“Hannah isn’t the only one.”
“You’re joking!”
“I’m dead serious! The whole family is strange. You think we Rumanians, with our werewolves and legends of crows that pluck out the eyes of fresh corpses are weird? We are as pure as the driven snow in comparison to a house full of Sicilians!”
Rudy roared with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” John joined them.
“Stan agrees with Hannah. His Serafina has the Evil Eye!”
“All Sicilians do.”
“See! What did I tell you, Rudy. The whole lot are touched in the head!” Stan wasn’t joking.
John laughed, “They’re not exactly, crazy, Stan. Just strange—full of macabre superstitions … and dark secret rituals.”
“Must be that constant hot sun beating down on their heads,” Rudy chuckled, “makes them a little peculiar.”
“Well, you three are having a jolly time. What’s so amusing?” Ebbely joined them.
“Stan was criticizing his in-laws.”
“Oh, my God! Not here!” Ebbely looked furtively over his shoulder. “The place is full of them! Some look quite ferocious. I saw one, with a distinct bulge under one armpit!”
“It takes one to know one!” Stan grinned.
“Yeah, Ebbely, got your trusty cannon with you?” John asked.
“Now please,” Ebbely lifted a tiny hand, “I don’t mean to offend, Stan, but never would I be so foolhardy as to venture into your father-in-law’s domain carrying a concealed weapon! Dangerous! Very dangerous! Not being Italian, even more so! Shall we rejoin the ladies? Hannah’s huckleberry pies look divine. John, I have tasted your Jane’s lemon meringue—bliss! Absolute bliss!”
“You staying awhile this time?”
“No. In three days I will be on my way, heading towards trellised balconies, painted women, steaming cocoa for breakfast with flaky croissants—in a town that wakes by night, makes love by day.”
“Hey, Ebbely, where is this paradise?”
“Ah, my poor deprived! Prisoners of cold machines and endless precision—New Orleans of course! Pampered harlot of the South! Once she has seduced you, a man is never the same again!”
The morning Ebbely left, he reached up, pulled Hannah’s face down to his, gave her cheek the softest of kisses, then allowed her to straighten up again, as he put on his driving gloves. “Dear Lady, have no fear! I shall return, this time bearing pecan pralines that, once tasted, one never forgets—and real cocoa powder just for you—I’ll stop off at John’s to say good-bye.” And he vaulted over the fake door of his Model T, squirmed over to the driver’s seat, calling, “Beware of somber men coming to do God’s work in the name of our saintly Henry! Keep those Watchers alert! Farewell! Auf Wiedersehen!”
The repeated honking of Ebbely’s horn brought Jane running out of her house into the street.
“Tall Lady! I have come to say good-bye! Give that delightful son of yours a chaste kiss from me. Tell John to treat you kindly—I shall return before the chestnuts fall! Now, stand back, no more cranking—observe how my new special self-starter springs this heap of tin into instant action!”