Sensing his wife was not sufficiently impressed, he took her by the shoulders. “Don’t you understand what that means, woman? Every one is spoken for, every dealership is screaming for more. There are a million—A MILLION satisfied customers! Our car has not only changed the daily lives, the very habits of a nation, it has captured its heart! Maybe—even its soul.” Looking down at his son still clinging to his leg, he smiled, “You want a ride up the stairs?” Tightening his hold, the little boy nodded, ready. “Okay, here we go!” and stiffening his leg, John hoisted his monkey son up the stairs.
Four days later, amidst cheers, flag waving, bands playing “I Didn’t Raise My Boy To Be a Soldier,” well-wishers, some in the grip of patriotic hysteria flinging themselves into the icy waters to swim alongside, Ford’s Peace Ship left the Hoboken pier. Neither Mrs. Ford nor Thomas Edison, nor most of the invited and announced important peace advocates were aboard; besides the real danger of being torpedoed, most had second thoughts on the advisability of the entire venture. The press, first so beguiled by Ford’s sincerity, now viewed his peace mission as doomed to fail, resorted to ridicule in their coverage of it. When a dissenter sent a cage of live squirrels to the ship with a note that read “To go with the nuts” and another a large bag of raisins bearing the same sentiment, the press was quick to print the story; some papers, rechristening the Peace Ship “Good Ship Nutty,” accompanying their editorials with biting cartoons to play up the absurdity of a bunch of Boy Scouts believing they could stop war as easily as leading an old woman across the street.
Waiting for the daily communiqués from the Peace Ship, the Ford men were described by their respective wives as being simply impossible to live with. Serafina even going so far as to inform her father that to preserve her nerves, she might have to return to the sanctity to be found under his roof until such time as Ford’s peace had been achieved. Adding, that if his ship wasn’t torpedoed, Henry Ford deserved to be for disrupting everyone’s life with his crazy crusade; one of the few times Jane could understand her, even thinking she might agree with her.
Henry Ford was lampooned, dubbed a buffoon, a fool—Rosika Schwimmer a “Great spider weaving the web of her plans,” and more. By the time the Oskar II was about to reach its destination, there were some amongst the reporters who actually felt sorry for “The Flivver King,” had come to the conclusion that Ford had only acted like a gullible, well-meaning child and now might need their help to have his image of car-maker folk-hero resurrected for the good of the nation.
When, on December 18, the Oskar II reached Norway, an ailing Henry Ford was hustled off the ship by two of his trusted men. One, a Bible-thumping clergyman, head of his Sociological Department, the other a most obliging chauffeur-cum-bodyguard who was destined in the not-too-distant future to feather a most fortuitous nest as reward for private services done his Boss far beyond the call of duty. The “Spider,” unsuccessful in holding her generous benefactor fast in her web, Henry Ford left his funded commission behind to do the best they could without him, and returned home.
By all normal standards, his return should have been one of public ridicule but, surprisingly, it was not. Once again, the country took him to its heart. Especially grassroots America, who regarded him as one of their own. Henry Ford had always put their needs first and just like the trusty dependable machine he had given them, had never let them down.
The Ford men were jubilant, though the Boss might have lost, in the end he had won. No man could be asked to do more than his best.
Having found adequate lodgings, even a warm stable to bed down his Lizzie in, Rumpelstiltskin decided to forgo the hazards of winter roads, lay over, spend the Christmas season among the hearty natives of St. Paul.
Out of the bowels of her larder Hannah called to Jane pulling off her galoshes in the hall. “Come! I’m in de larder pinning. You gotta see!” Intrigued, Jane looked in. “Come in, Ninnie, shut de door I gotta pin. Ebbely, he sent me new picture postcards, bad news written on dem but de postcards, dey are funny. I put dem up, den you can have a laugh!”
“Bad news?”
“Our Ebbely, he’s not coming back for dis Christmastime.”
“Oh, no!”
“Well, he says better he stay nice and cozy in a town in dat Minnesota and I tink dat’s sensible. Iciness can make his Lizzie slip around and maybe he has den an accident. So, better we miss him so he stay safe … dere.” She stepped back. “See, dey don’t have picture like de others—dese are special funny drawing postcards wit Model T jokes … which you like best?”
Laughing, Jane picked the one that had little birds perched on the branch of a tree, chirping as a Ford went by. “Cheap, cheap, cheap.”
“I like de goat wit de terrible stomach cramps, complaining, ‘I ate a Ford and it’s still running.’ Many good jokes about our Lizzie so small but strong. Here,” Hannah pointed to another card on the door, “dis one—see—a happy Model T passing a big limousine stuck in de mud, says, ‘De big car fumes and throws a fit, but de little Ford don’t mind a bit.’” Hannah sat before the larder door, relishing her collection. “You know of any udder motorcar in de whole world dat gets special postcards made of it?” Jane had to admit it was wondrous indeed. “And I hear dat in de big cities where dey have dose music halls, dere dey tell Tin Lizzie jokes—make people laugh … not to be mean, just give everybody a good time for dere money.”
“You know any, Hannah?”
“Fritz tell me one, just like dey say it professional … see if I remember right … Policeman. What is de charge against dis fellow? Second policeman. Stealing a Ford car! Judge. Take de prisoner out—and search him.” They both enjoyed that one. “Okay—we make de bread now. You got de kümmel?”
“The what?”
“De caraway—you said you wanted to learn to make de rye bread wit de seeds.”
Together they baked their weekly breads, Jane being taught the secrets of producing a sour rye that was truly superlative. But, no matter how often she tried over the years, diligently following each and every step, Jane never did manage to turn out a loaf as perfect as Hannah’s.
Their twins still too young to be exposed to the cold night air, Carl and Rosie decided to stay home on Christmas Eve. Johann and Henrietta’s girls had caught a chill and so they too would have to remain home. As Dora’s sister had come all the way from Buffalo to spend the holidays, Peter too had no choice but to stay, play host. Her pregnancy now well advanced, Serafina was adamant that when Stan drove her to her father’s house, he stay by her side, the ever-attentive father-to-be. With no one to drive him, his mother in a fouler mood than usual, Zoltan cornered Fritz at work, made his heartfelt excuses, asked him to be sure to convey to Hannah how much it grieved him to have to miss her Christmas Eve celebration this year. Hoping that going to the Geigers’ would bring a little cheer, Rudy persuaded a disinterested Frederika to make the effort, arriving at the welcoming house just as John and his family were being greeted by an excited Hannah.