Zoltan cleared his throat. “John, there is a dangerous chasm between helping and forcing.”
“You too?”
“Yes, John—me too! Sometimes your blind devotion to Ford is simply childish.”
Johann leaned back in his chair. “Okay—don’t take our word for it—go ask some of the women.”
“Oh, what would they know—they always exaggerate the least little incident and they …”
Stan interrupted. “Well, that is true—Serafina gives me blazing hell for the slightest …”
“You should live a day in my house, Stan.” Peter joined a topic he was versed in. “I get the ‘Well, my first husband didn’t hang his pants on the bedpost—he knew what was proper behavior!’ Nothing like a widow to make a second man feel no good.”
“You think you’ve got something to complain about? Ever live under one roof with Irish temper? My God, my Rosie throws things—at me!”
“Come on, Carl—she is expecting again so she’s bound to be a little nervy,” Ebbely soothed.
“Nothing to do with it! She threw a shoe at me on our wedding night!”
His friends laughed.
“What did you do to her?” asked John.
“None of your damn business!”
“I’ll tell my Jane to ask her. She and your Rosie are thick as thieves.”
“No you don’t—then she’ll know I said something—and really give me hell!” Carl laughed.
“Hannah never exaggerates,” observed Fritz.
To a man heads turned toward him in disbelief.
“WHAT? Hannah doesn’t exaggerate?”
“Well, I mean about really important things—I know for a long time she doesn’t—like with this inspector thing …”
“That’s true,” Johann acknowledged. “So ask her. John, I hear we’re getting a government order for two thousand ambulances—with special storm curtains.”
“Yes, and there’s a rumor going around that we may be building warships.”
“Ships? Where for God’s sake?”
“The new plant in Dearborn,” John said, lighting another cheroot.
“That monster? It’s not even finished—the war will be over before that’s up and running!”
“But the mouth of the river is there, Carl, and the draft should be sufficient for shipbuilding. If the war lasts another year, we’ll be producing.”
Zoltan looked about the room. “Anyone see in the papers that not enough men have volunteered for service so the government may have to institute conscription?”
“Yes,” Fritz answered him, “and then they still have to be trained …”
“Well, it’s perfectly clear the country isn’t ready for war.”
“Right you are, Zoltan, but we will be and faster than anyone expects.”
“Oh, John!” Ebbely smiled, “You never disappoint. I think it’s that unqualified optimism of yours that I like about you the most.”
“Hey,” Peter’s voice held an agitated edge, “if we get conscription what will happen at the plant?”
“Well, some think women may take men’s places in many shops—not just ours.”
“Next thing they’ll get the vote!” grumbled Fritz. “It’s all those crazy women over in England that started all this. Troublemakers, all of them.”
“Well, if you ask me, women and politics just don’t belong together.” Johann knocked out his pipe.
Peter agreed, “Yeah, to vote you have to know who to vote for and why you want to. When I get my citizen papers and I can vote, you bet your bottom dollar—I’ll know.”
“Well,” Carl relit his pipe, “these women think all they have to do is push a piece of paper into a box and presto—they’ll be equal. It takes more than that. But don’t tell Rosie I said so.”
“Evangeline thinks …” The mention of that cute bundle of bright-eyed feminine pulchritude instantly solicited comments from John’s friends.
“Aha! So the fair Evangeline is still your private source, John?”
“Does your wife know?”
“You better watch out, she’s the apple of the Boss’s eye!” added Stan.
“Now don’t get any ideas, my friends. She just got married!” John announced.
Zoltan sneezed. “All kidding aside, John, you still should watch out—from what I hear, that so convenient marriage has nothing to do with her still being the apple of the Boss’s devoted eye.”
Thinking that the subject of John as possible lothario competition to Henry Ford might be headed towards dangerous conclusions, Ebbely drew the men’s attention away by asking had they heard that the territory of Alaska had just given women the vote, which made Fritz exclaim, “What? Eskimos vote? I tell you the whole world is going topsy-turvy crazy!”
Johann turned to John. “What were you about to say?”
“Well, Evangeline thinks that one day women will be on the assembly line.”
“See! What did I just say?” Fritz felt vindicated.
“Can you just imagine a woman on the assembly line?” John laughed.
“Why is that idea so hilarious?” Ebbely asked.
“Oh, come on, she’d get so rattled—she’d have the vapors—be dead in an hour!”
“I agree,” Stan got up, “I’ve got to go. By now Serafina has had a vision of me crushed beneath my Lizzie and will be out looking for my car and corpse just to make sure she was right. Say good-bye to your wife for me, John.”
“Me, too,” Zoltan sneezed. “Can you drop me, Stan?”
“Sure. Anyone else? Carl? Peter? You want a ride? Okay—let’s go then. Good-bye, John.”
Those who lived in Highland Park left to walk home. The front door closed behind them just as Jane came downstairs after putting the children to bed.
“Everybody just left, Ninnie—they said to tell you good-bye.” John picked up his newspaper.
“It was nice having them come here after work.”
“Yes—I think from now on we’ll do it more often.”
“I’m sorry I missed them. Did you talk about something special?”
“Oh, nothing of interest for you—just men talk. Supper nearly ready?”
Jane left to plunge the spaghetti into boiling water.
As more and more talk revolved around the influx of migrant blacks seeking work up north, Jane became interested in why that should cause such a stir. Never having seen people whose skin was different from hers before coming to America, she was intrigued by their very difference.
That they were human was obvious. That for some reason they were not regarded as such was also obvious. In her work as Watcher that now extended into the deplorable sections of Detroit—where Italian immigrants vied for living space with those from out of the deep South—Jane was familiar with the plight of those frightened by the stigma of the African savage who their old country cultures believed had a taste for the delicacy of white man’s flesh. That color had such a potent influence on reactionary behavior bothered her. When she mentioned her confusion to Hannah it surprised her that this compassionate, generous woman who had taught her so much, with this, became so noncommittal, it bordered on evasion. Never one to allow sleeping dogs to lie longer than absolutely necessary, Jane went in search of her other mentor.
Rumpelstiltskin looked up from his book as she entered the parlor.