The reunion of Paul with his father was a joyful one. Jules looked over at Hanna with misty eyes. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough, Hanna.”
She answered in her direct, honest manner. “It was a pleasure to have him with me. But what of Natalie?”
“The Doktors say she can come home in a week or so.” He looked down at Paul, who was listening closely, and chose his words carefully. “There has been no return of feeling. Her right arm has also been affected.”
Hanna hid her shock as well as she could. She had expected the paralysis in the lower portion of Natalie’s body to continue, but had been hoping and praying that nothing more would be damaged. But once that was accepted, her practical nature focused on the day-to-day requirements. “I will take care of Paul,” she said.
“I have hired a woman to tend to Natalie and Paul,” said Jules. “You have a business to run.”
“I can do both,” insisted Hanna. “They need someone they know and care for.”
He gave a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you would say that. I can use your help–desperately.”
“I will come over mornings to get Paul off to school, and then I will be here evenings to help you put him to bed.”
“You will be spending half your time on streetcars; I will send Reuben for you each day.”
“That is not necessary, Jules.” She chuckled. “I am up even before the streetcars begin running.”
The woman whom Jules had hired arrived with a suitcase in hand, directly after lunch. She was a stout, middle-aged widow named Frau Weiss, and within the hour she was already a fixture in the family. She took to Paul and Hanna at once, and they to her, and her understanding of Hanna’s role in the family took little explaining. Hanna breathed a sigh of relief. Jules could not have chosen help more ably.
Seeing that all was under control, Hanna took a streetcar to her shop. All there was perfectly in order. Elfriede had even picked up the package that Hanna had left at the Rosenthals in her rush to the hospital, had done the alterations, and had delivered the items in quick order. The same with those being worked upon. She had even taken some new orders, and had fitted the apparel with great caution. Hanna told her, at once, how pleased she was, and the young German blushed with pride.
In mid-afternoon, Hanna went to the hospital. Natalie had been transferred from the infectious disease ward to a private room. They fell into each others arms, both weeping with sorrow about Natalie’s condition and gratitude that she had survived. Hanna had to explain twice all that had taken place during her quarantine with Paul, and they talked on and on about how they would adjust to the future. Natalie’s strength of character came through in each comment. Although she had lost control of much of her body, she would do the best she could with what was left. She accepted at once Hanna’s offer to help with Paul. Jules would get her a wheelchair, and she would help Hanna bathe and put Paul to bed.
Hanna was infected with her enthusiasm. “You must rest first,” she told her friend. “You must gain back your strength.”
“I will have all the time in the world to rest,” she replied somberly. “Now, tell me about Frau Weiss.”
“You will love her.”
It was dark by the time Hanna returned to Jules’ house. Frau Weiss had prepared a huge, tasty supper. Jules ate with gratitude. After ten days of Rueben’s bland cooking, everything tasted great. Afterwards, Jules went to the hospital. He could not take Paul, for children were prohibited from visiting hospital rooms. Hanna played some games with the child, bathed him, and then tucked him into his bed. She read him a story until his eyes closed. Turning down the lamp shade, she went downstairs. Jules was soon home with more news about Natalie. Her morale was high. She could not wait until she saw her son again.
In another week, Natalie was home, but the brave words and splendid ideas were challenged at every turn. The smallest body function became a major problem, her desire to help bathe Paul was beyond her capability to reach out with her good arm, its muscles severely atrophied by the disease; her attempt to read to her son quickly draining her strength. Even attending the evening meal with the family meant being carried down and up the stairs and being strapped in her chair. All food had to be cut to bite size, and her use of her left hand was weak and erratic. It was left to Hanna to take on more of the obligations of a mother, and it brought her pain for the sorrow she saw in the eyes of her friend.
Paul accepted it best of all. He came to realize that his mother was unable to perform many of her functions of play and dressing him and taking him about, and even to speak except for short periods, but he had his Tante Hanna about to make up for his loss.
And Hanna did make up for the loss–to the entire family. She was at the house each morning by the time they rose; she saw that Paul was washed, combed, dressed, fed, and off to school on time, then she sat by Natalie for a short while to talk and to take breakfast at bedside. Natalie managed only part of a roll and coffee, but Frau Weiss gloried in making Hanna two eggs and two rolls, and a serving dish of jam with a pot of tea to quell the savage hunger she woke with. Then Hanna was rushing off to her shop to take care of her work.
Spring gave way to the heavier days of summer, and Paul was out of school.
Now he was in everything. Natalie laughingly told Hanna that he was starting to read his books to her. She began sitting on the lawn, watching him play ball with other children. He even took pleasure in eating his breakfast with his mother and Tante Hanna. Natalie was responding to this increased attention wonderfully.
One morning at breakfast, Hanna looked over at Natalie. “What do you think of my taking Paul to my shop today?”
Paul’s eyes lit up. “Oh Mami, can I go? Please, Mami.” She nodded, laughing at his eagerness. He turned back to Hanna. “Can I use one of the machines, Tante Hanna?” he asked.
“On the condition that you make something useful, not just sew material together. What would you like to make?”
He shrugged, perplexed. “I don’t know what to make.”
“How about a case for a pillow?”
“Oh, yes. That shouldn’t be hard.”
Natalie was still smiling. “Have Reuben drive you to your shop.”
“It is not necessary. We enjoy the streetcar.”
“All right,” conceded Natalie. “But you should learn to drive, Hanna. Then you can take the car when you need it. Why don’t you speak to Jules about it?”
“Later, perhaps.”
In half an hour, they were at the shop. It was now fuller, for almost every other week she was compelled by the volume of work to add another seamstress. There were now six, and the girls were already at work under the watchful eye of Elfriede, now her lead machine operator.
“Frau Charnoff,” said Elfriede. “A letter came for you yesterday afternoon.”
It was lying on the finishing table, bulky and official looking. Hanna told Elfriede to get Paul started on his pillowcase, and then she opened the letter with a sense of apprehension. Her eyes opened wide. It was an invitation from Friedrich Fergl to bid on making two thousand khaki shirts. She knew that he manufactured uniforms for the German army, but two thousand shirts! He certainly knew how small an operation she owned. She studied the specifications, glad that she had experience in the shirt factory at Königsberg. The request was relatively simple, and it was evident that the shirts were destined for troops patrolling the colonies in Africa. But she had only three machines, the new one given to her by the Fergl family and two second hand ones that she had purchased at the cost of many necessities. For this order, she would need an additional machine. Better two, as a margin of safety. But there was not enough money for the first one, even if she used the remainder of the savings accumulated with Jakob.
Could she do it with only three machines? That was the question. She could work her girls on two shifts to get maximum usage of the equipment, but that would mean giving up her dressmaking trade, and she was not about to entertain losing that for a single contract.
Her mind kept returning to the shirts. With three machines on a single shift, she could complete eighteen shirts a day, thirty-six with two shifts. She would need almost ten weeks to do the job, but the specifications allowed only forty-two working days, a shortfall of three weeks. That meant she must obtain more time, ask for only part of the contract, or not bid on the work.
She knew without argument that she wanted the order, so, tossing off her coat, she sat at the table, shut out the sounds of the workers, and began her calculations. She would require an experienced cutter. Also a boy to carry the material upstairs, help with the work flow, and assist the delivery wagon driver to take the finished goods downstairs for transportation to the factory. Friedrich would provide the material, thread, buttons, etc, so it was simply a matter of labor.
She decided on one Mark, twenty Pfennige per shirt. Then she remembered her experience with Herr Mahler of Garmisch. He had paid her extra for quality. She would continue to give quality. She crossed out the twenty Pfennige and changed the figure to forty.
She would not send back the bid by mail, she decided. She went to where Elfriede was working with Paul at her side. The young woman had used good judgment, for she allowed the boy to sew on the machine for a few minutes, then told him to take out the stitches by hand. He was happily employing the scissors to do so.
“Elfriede,” said Hanna. “I will have to leave for an hour or so. Watch the girls.”
“Are you going out?” asked Paul, still working on the stitches.
“Yes. But just for a short while. Do you want to stay here?”
He looked up, his eyes alight. “Oh, yes, Tante Hanna. See here. I sewed the line crooked. When I get it all open, Elfriede said I can try again.”
Hanna smiled at the young woman. Somehow, she reminded her of herself– what was it? –only about ten years ago? Hanna slipped into her coat, and in short time was on the streetcar to Fergl’s factory. It was a huge operation, several times larger than the one in Königsberg. As Hanna was led to his office, she estimated that he employed well over 200 women, each with her own machine.
Hanna smiled in greeting at the tall, almost cadaverous man in his early fifties. She had heard that his father had started the business forty years earlier, had expanded to other countries, and then had been ruined in the depression of ‘91. He had committed suicide, an action totally contrary to Jewish principles, and Fergl had taken over. He had worked day and night for seven years before all debts of his father were paid, and it was said that on the following Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, he had beat on his chest with tears in his eyes thanking the Lord for helping him to clear the slate.
After a few pleasantries and some talk about Natalie, Hanna handed over her written bid. Fergl studied it carefully, leaning forward in his chair. Then he sat back.
“You have decided on two shifts with three machines, then,” he said.
Hanna’s lips parted in surprise. How did he know? Had he been keeping track of her?
Fergl’s face creased in a small smile. “No, it isn’t magic–or Jules. The company you bought the two used machines from also deals with me.” He looked again at the bid. “You’re twenty Pfennige too high.”
Hanna had to laugh. “Do you read everyone’s mind?”
He grinned back. “Only those I like. And I like the way you didn’t put on airs and came right over with the bid. I didn’t expect a reply this fast.”
He got up, went to the door, and out past his secretary’s desk into the factory. A few minutes later, he came back with a short, big-bellied man. “This is Herr Horstmann, my plant manager,” he introduced the two. Hanna saw that Fergl could have signaled for his secretary to find the man, but did things himself. She liked that. “Do you have those spare machines repaired yet?” he asked Horstmann.
“Two days ago. Nine are ready. I’m waiting for parts from England for the other six.” He almost spit when he said the word England.
“Send four of the operational ones to Frau Charnoff’s shop.” Hanna’s throat was suddenly dry. He turned to her. “You can’t complete the contract with only three machines. I’m leasing four of mine to you for those twenty Pfennige I’m cutting off your bid.” She nodded gratefully at him, unable to trust her voice. “Do you have a cutter?”
“Not yet. But I know of a couple looking for work.”
“If they’re looking for work, it’s because they’re second rate. One of my cutters broke his ankle a month ago. You can have him for a couple of months. On crutches he’s better than most men on their feet. It will cost you twelve Marks a week. Also, he’ll make certain your people don’t eat up the material with bad cutting. All right?”
“Yes, of course, Friedrich. Thank you very much.”
He dismissed Horstmann with a wave of his hand. “What will you do with your dress trade?”
She looked him levelly in the eye. “I am hoping I will not need it anymore.”
“So, you’re a gambler?”
“I try not to be. But we will work hard to fulfill the terms of this contract.”
“And the contract after that,” said Fergl.
“God willing.”
Fergl laughed. “You sound like Jakob, may he rest in peace. He was a genius. Some of him has rubbed off on you.”
“I hope it is more than just a little.” She stopped to think of that. “But, it is true, I suppose. Sometimes I open my mouth and out come his words.”
Fergl stood up and held out his hand. “You’ve got the order. I’ll give you ten days to organize.”
On the streetcar back to the shop, Hanna could barely still her pounding heart. She was taking a great risk, she knew, for anything could happen - breakdowns of equipment, illness of her people, even unusually adverse weather conditions. If she failed to meet the terms of the contract, there was a penalty clause which could wipe her out. But much of the excitement was the thought of mass production, which attracted her greatly. At the shop, she said nothing to the workers. There were still a few days to consider work flow, rearranging of the shop, getting more help, and the dozen details which were necessary.
Paul was still hard at work on his pillow case and was surprised when she said it was time for lunch. They walked to her room at the Rosenthal’s and had soup and salad, and then she told him to catch a nap on her bed. She sat at Jakob’s desk to plan her work, but soon Paul was by her side, unable to get to sleep. She settled him on her lap, and in minutes he had dozed off. She worked around him, and by the time he stirred, half an hour later, she had mapped out her procedures.
At the conclusion of the workday, Paul had completed his pillow case, and they took the streetcar home. He could barely wait to show the fruit of his labors to his parents, and they smiled at how content he seemed.
During supper, Hanna told them about Fergl’s contract. Jules was pleasantly surprised.
“Uncle Freddy is a good operator,” he said. “If he likes your work, you’ll make out.”
“I thought the family put him up to it.”
“Two thousand shirts! Nobody, least of all Uncle Freddy, gives out an order like that because of friendship. Can each of your women average six shirts a day?”
“They will have to work steadily,” she admitted. “I will see to that.”
Natalie put down her spoon. “We may not see you as much once you start,” she observed sadly.
“Of course, you will. I have taken all that into account. I will still get here as much as before.” She reached over and hugged Paul. “I could not go a week without my little marvel.”
“You’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn,” laughed Natalie, “to take care of everything.”
“I am up at dawn anyhow,” said Hanna musingly. “I do not remember a dozen mornings in my life I was not up by then.”
Once the two women had gotten Paul to bed, read him a short story, and saw his eyes close, Hanna wheeled Natalie to the master bedroom. Jules was seated in a deep chair, reading the newspaper. He folded it to one side.
“A Likör?” he asked them.
“Not for me, thanks,” said Hanna. “I have to be off. I have clothes to wash, a room to clean, and a letter to write.”
“Are you still writing to that detective in Königsberg?”
“Yes.”
“Has he learned anything?”
“Not yet.”
Jules shook his head. “You never give up, do you?”
“There is a lot at stake, Jules. The children and Stephen are the only family I have left.”
“The youngsters are grown up now, you know.”
Hanna stopped in her tracks. My God, went through her mind, he is absolutely right. I had not thought of them as anything but children. Gitel is now, oh, Good Lord, twenty-two years old! Slender, pale Gitel, who ate like a bird, would now be a grown woman. If she is alive, she will probably be married and have children of her own. And Reba, sturdy, grinning Reba, now twenty-one years old. And little Cossack killing Zelek, fifteen years old. It was almost beyond belief.
She expressed her concern later that evening in her letter to the detective agency owner. Over the years, whenever she had saved a little extra money, she had asked for another effort to find her family, but without success. The agency had even found a contact in St. Petersburg, the capital, whom they considered discreet enough to risk revealing the names of those sought, in the event access could be obtained to official files. Again without success. It was not unusual, the agency owner had written, for no records to be found. To the Russians, they were just little people, of no importance, not worth the bother to write down a name.
By the end of the year, Hanna’s business was booming, for after a month of work on the contract, Fergl saw that she was far ahead of schedule and offered her a second order of three thousand shirts. He leased to her an additional six machines, and after a little alteration to her shop, she was again well ahead of schedule. She found it hard to believe how rapidly her personal savings account was growing.