“No. What about, Fritz?” Peter wiped the last bit of gravy off his plate with a piece of bread.
Jane, on her way to the kitchen, stopped to listen.
“It seems some students at Harvard and Yale got together, raised enough money, sent seventeen Model Ts as ambulances over to France.”
Johann leaned back in his chair.
“Remember? Jimmy predicted our Lizzie would go to war.”
“Yes, she’ll show them a thing or two!”
“Hope he gets to see her in action!”
“Mein Gott! Johann—you want our fine Jimmy to get hurt?”
“Hannah, not as a passenger … I only meant—”
“Wonder where he is,” Fritz interrupted, voicing what was on all their minds.
Ebbely breached the ensuing silence by complimenting the cook, waxing euphoric over the sensitive seasoning in her onion gravy. The women cleared the table, the men, waiting for dessert, talked of war.
Across the sea, tough Lizzie was taking a mere war in her stride. Built to withstand, maneuver the gumbo mud, mire, ruts, gullies, furrows, the appalling conditions of rural America’s roads, the scarred landscape of war in Europe didn’t faze the Model T. Shell holes, mortar craters, torrential rains that created rivers of impassable mud, nothing stopped it. Where Tin Lizzie had to go, was needed, she somehow always managed to get to. In the front trenches, soldiers began to look for her, cheering her on as she sped across the battlefield under fire, picking up their wounded.
Whenever a new story of their Lizzie’s bravery reached the Ford men, they thought of Jimmy Weatherby and his prediction that she would turn out to be a true heroine, wondered where he was, hoped no harm would come to him.
In the cozy kitchen, curled in his wash basket, now too small for him, Michael slept while Hannah and Jane added new layers to snakes, others waiting, curled in their basket at their feet. Winter would be early this year. Already the morning skies had that deadened look, as though they too dreaded what was in store for them.
“You wit child, child?” How did Hannah always know such things? Without looking up, Jane nodded. “When?”
“Easter, maybe.”
“Good time, spring. Summer better, warmer but springtime okay too.”
They worked in silence. Michael dreaming, smiled.
“John know already?”
“No. So early yet. I wanted to be sure.”
“Maybe he not happy?”
“Oh, no. He accepts such things.”
“What you mean wit dat?” Hannah rethreaded her carpet needle with button thread.
“He’s sensible. Anything he knows he can’t change, he learns to live with.” Hannah, stabbing her needle through the belly of her snake, acknowledged this with an offhand, “Aha!”
Jane looked up. “I know your ‘Ahas’! What are you thinking?”
“You got me, Miss Sharpie. What I tink is, ‘sensible’ don’t make hot stuff between de sheets! Dere! You wanted to know? You know!”
Jane’s perpetual astonishment at Hannah’s gift for hitting any and all nails squarely on their head did not hinder her answering laughter. “Hannah, you’re really naughty! What would Fritz say if he heard you talk to his John’s Missus that way?”
“After ten years, he hear me plenty. So? You stop dodging and answer? Or what?” Silent, Jane fished out another snake needing repair from the basket. Hannah knew when not to push. “You know dat our China Dolly is also?”
“Yes. They came over to tell us. Johann was so excited—like this was his first! Henrietta too. Their girls, being excited, I can understand—but …”
“Johann is hoping dis time it will be a son. Every man want dat. And China Dolly—she just happy she can still have more.”
“I suppose so.”
“Also, dis new baby will be dere first real American! Dat make them happy. Even if it turns out dey get just anudder girl, American is American! No matter what!”
“Don’t let the Boss hear you say that.”
“And why, Ninnie?”
“Well, I found out that no women are included in the Five-Dollar-Day profit-sharing plan, because Mr. Ford said he expects women to marry.”
“So? What’s wrong wit dat? Every girl want to find a man to take care of her, only right! And what dat have to do wit being true American of which we were talking?”
“Well—oh, it’s not important.” Michael, having lost his dream, sucked his thumb. The women sewed … “I read …”
“Still reading? Remember when you first come, Ninnie? Such a young old country girl you were and I let you creep up to de attic to read … let on to nobody your secret? Nice time, dat.”
“All the time you knew?”
“Sure, in my house—I know what people do.”
“Now I can read new news. When John is finished with his Free Press, I take it!”
“He not mind?”
“I don’t think he notices.”
Hannah swallowed an Aha!
Jane picked up another snake. “The other day I read there is a woman who is making speeches about … the words they used was ‘birth control.’ The paper said this woman is planning to start a place where she can teach women all about family planning.”
“You know what, Ninnie? I tink sometimes you read too much.” Hannah, finished with a snake’s eye, cut the thread. “The name of dis crazy lady? You remember?”
“I think it’s Singer … no, no, Sanger … that’s it! Margaret Sanger. Would any woman really dare to go to a place like that, Hannah?”
“Not a lady for sure! But dat poor Missus O’Reilly? She could use some of dat controlling, whatever dat is.”
Jane began to pack up her sewing box.
“I wonder what she teaches?”
“Don’t you get any fancy ideas! It’s got noting to do wit you. Now controlling—all over for you anyway!” Seeing Michael was awake, Hannah lifted him out of his basket. “Got to get a bigger basket for him … save dis one for de next … Bubbeleh, you want now a little applesauce?” Michael hugged her neck. “Ninnie, you making here with me de noodles tomorrow, like always?”
“Yes.”
“Dora, she says she wants to learn—so I said sure, come—so we won’t say nutting, okay?” Hannah, suspecting that Peter’s wife might be barren, took extra care not to indulge in happy talk of expected babies whenever Dora was present.
While Hannah fussed over little Michael, Jane started to assemble their belongings in the hall. It was late and she still had supper to prepare. Rumpelstiltskin, coming down the stairs, saw her, whispered, “My dear, may I speak with you?”
“Of course, Ebbely.”
“Not here. I have news of a private nature.” The little man led Jane into the parlor, closed the door behind them. Jane wondered what might be wrong. “Please, do sit—looking up at you … my neck … well, you know.” Jane sat. Ebbely settled himself on the footstool at her feet. “Now, that’s better. Missus Jane, I will come right to the point. On my last trip I had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of your friend,” he stressed the word as though wishing he could use another … “Mademoiselle Eugenie.”
“Oh, Ebbely, I am glad—but I didn’t know you were in Charleston?”