Winter winds whipped John’s shirts on the line, long before Jane had prepared the kitchen for hanging the wash indoors. Hannah was already planning to make candied apples for the children at Halloween. Mr. Kennec was busy sharpening his cutting tools for when it would be time to harvest ice on Lake Erie. Mr. Henry had been issued real leather gloves, but continued to wear his rainbow mittens because, as he put it, mail tended to slip from hands encased in leather. Across the country, roads were being built and surfaced, streets paved with asphalt instead of gravel and sand. The City of New York had gotten its first motorized taxis. Polishtown, now such an important community, practically a small nation in itself, had become a suburb of Detroit, given its own name of Hamtramck. Highland Park boasted more than twenty thousand inhabitants, could point with pride to its first motorized fire engine. There were 7,882 different categories of jobs filled, full time, around the clock at the Ford plant.
The tough, yet respected, James Couzens, who many believed was responsible for the idea of the Five-Dollar-Day, had resigned as vice president and treasurer of the Ford Motor Company, “Young Mr. Edsel” had been elected to its office of secretary. Henry Ford was working on what was closest to his heart—to give the small farmer a motorized tiller of the soil, a tractor that he could afford to buy, could depend on to serve his needs.
The construction of a new Ford plant was under way on his vast marshland holdings along the Rouge River. His industrial power realized, Henry Ford was beginning to believe that his personal stature on both the national and international scene had reached sufficient importance for him to raise his voice for peace in Europe. He proclaimed and the press eagerly quoted him, that he would gladly “give everything I possess” if he could stop the war and prevent the amassing of arms in America, declaring, he would not allow a single automobile to leave his plant if he thought it would be used for warfare. Praise for Henry Ford’s pacifist proclamations were legion. One influential newspaper calling him “one of the greatest benefactors of the human race,” adding that “this modest mechanic-millionaire doesn’t know he is a great man, makes him all the greater!”
When John brought this glowing tribute home to reread and savor, Jane, observing his obvious delight in his paper, dared to ask what it said and was answered by him reading the entire article out loud for her to appreciate; commenting when he had finished, that finally the Boss was being recognized for the superior human being he truly was—and about time, too!
Michael, covered by a cut-off sheet with two big holes to see through, that his father had painted with little flying bats, so he could be a ghost who flew amongst them, sucked on a big red candied apple, convinced he was in Heaven. On first seeing him before her front door, Hannah had screamed, couldn’t get over that at only one and a half, her Bubbeleh seemed to know exactly what was going on—even to why he was suddenly covered in a sheet—even managing a scary “BOO!!”
“What a child! Never, in all my days, have I seen such a ting! Can’t talk good yet but, a ghost—he is perfect! Even mit de booing!”
Hannah hugged him so often that Michael got a little upset, not because of the repeated attention but simply because each time she grabbed him, his sheet slipped and then his holes to see through ended up at the back of his head. Besides, he didn’t want anybody to disturb his father’s work of art! For Michael, John, with his magical hands that could make things for him to play with, was his very own deity, not to be desecrated by anyone’s carelessness.
Now that he was finally protected from the elements, Ebbely decided to increase his sales by venturing into territory once unthinkable in winter. Wearing boy’s long johns, two sets of them, one on top of the other, just in case he had to leave the sanctuary of his cozy Lizzie to patch a tire, he kissed Hannah good-bye, told her not to worry.
“But Ebbely! Even wit de New Lizzie—so nice closed up, in dat so far—Minnesota, Fritz tells me dis time of year dey got blizzards.”
“What’s a blizzard or two to a man with a closed-in flivver! Have no fear, for I must venture to where the dour Swedes await with their Viking cousins. None of them would know one of my gossamer negligees from a stovepipe—but those hefty immigrants from out of the frozen North, they’ll grab up my double-thick woolen bloomers as though they were hotcakes! For two years, I have been trying to unload those hideous things and this time, I shall! … And, for your edification, I would like to add that in the whole country there is not a single traveling salesman of intimate apparel who can make that statement! … Now, thank you, my dear, for the roasted chickens, biscuits, multiple cakes and doughnuts—not to mention your truly divine divinity fudge. When, far away from home and loved ones, I shall think of you, shed a frosty tear and munch!”
As the elegant sedan wobbled down the street, he waved, calling, “Keep a light in the window for me—auf Wiedersehen!” And was gone.
After eighteen hours in labor, Frederika’s exhausted body finally relinquished Rudy’s son. He lived for a minute or two, then, too weak to struggle further, sighed, and was no more. The midwife wrapped him in a piece of flannel, handed him to Henrietta, ministered to the further physical needs of the mother, washed her hands, packed up the tools of her trade, and left the room. Downstairs, she informed the worried husband that a child had been born, was a boy and had died, wrapped herself in her shawls and, murmuring, “God’s will be done,” went home to her brood of ten. Frederika slept, Henrietta rocked the silent bundle in her arms, downstairs Rudy cried.
Not heeding anyone’s advice, refusing all help, even her husband’s, Frederika rose, washed, bound her breasts against the milk, dressed in black, packed away the ready baby clothes, then went about her daily tasks as though a child had never been born. Henrietta and the others, denied admittance to her grief, could only watch and worry. While Rudy allowed friendship to help him, Frederika shunned all attempts at it.
Fritz built the small coffin, Hannah lined it with a remnant of blue satin. Jane made a little pillow for his head. Standing apart from the circle of friends, Frederika watched the internment of her child, as though a distant relative attending out of politeness. Rudy, ashen-faced, seeking comfort from Johann and Henrietta by his side, didn’t notice. Afterwards, coffee and reassuring food awaited everyone at the Geiger house, where friends murmured the timeworn words that are never actually listened to, nor truly helpful, yet still seem necessary to be spoken by those helpless to do more.
Jane, keeping busy in the kitchen washing dishes, was singled out by Serafina offering to dry. It was such an unusual gesture from this nondomestic woman, Jane looked at her surprised.
“You didn’t go to the burial, Jane. Why?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It interests me. When I saw it, you were absent, yet you belonged.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sometimes Serafina’s habit of saying things that no one could follow irritated Jane.
“The other night, I had a vision. I saw the burial. It was quite distinct. Though not in color in shades of gray that fluctuated, the faces were sharp, quite startling! Yours wasn’t there, but I FELT you!”
“Oh, really. These many visions of yours, they must take up so much of your time. How do you manage?”
Serafina rarely reacted to sarcasm, either because she considered it beneath her dignity to acknowledge it or, as Hannah thought, because that anyone would not take her seriously was simply inconceivable to her.
“Why did I feel your presence if you weren’t there?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
Serafina dried the last plate, handing it on to Rosie to put away.