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.
CHAPTER 33
The summer of 1912 was one of plenty. Everywhere there was growth, prosperity, strides made in manufacturing, development of medicine, and to Jules, a very special bonus–a new, red touring car sporting one of the world’s first electric starters. In mid-July, he drove Natalie, Paul, then five years old, Hanna, still a slim, vibrant woman just turned twenty-seven, and Frau Weiss, off on a summer vacation. They headed to a house that Jules had purchased on the Bodensee, directly next to the one owned by Fergl. Once there, everyone pitched in to help the men get a sailboat they had purchased ready for the season.
One afternoon, during the first week, Hanna was playing ball with Paul in the back yard when a trim sailboat pulled up at their private dock. A tall, athletic man with reddish-brown hair and an adventurous, bushy mustache handled it himself, and Hanna was impressed for it took both Jules and Fergl to moor their boat, even though it was nowhere near as long.
The stranger was elegantly dressed in white duck trousers, a blue striped shirt, and a navy blue jacket with polished buttons. He took off his white and gold captain’s hat and waved it gaily at Hanna.
“Gnädige Frau,” he said, with an accent, in a brisk, baritone voice. “Is this Herr Fergl’s house?”
Hanna caught the ball deftly and turned. “Next door, mein Herr.”
“Are you a friend of Herr Fergl?”
“Yes. I am a guest of his nephew, who resides here.”
White teeth flashed in his bronzed face. “I approve of Herr Fergl’s choice of friends.” Hanna’s lips broke into an ever so small smile, not unnoticed by his bright blue eyes. “Is Herr Fergl at home?”
“I am afraid not. One moment, please.”
She walked quickly into Fergl’s house, and soon came out with Martha.
“May I help you?” asked Martha. “I am Frau Fergl.”
The man expertly threw a line onto a bollard and snubbed his boat. “Ah, Frau Fergl,” he said, stepping onto the dock and bowing. “I am Bernard Reigler, of Amsterdam. My father does business with Herr Fergl. He asked me to stop by and present his compliments.”
Martha then saw the Netherlands flag flying from a pole at the stern of the boat and smiled a greeting. “Oh, yes, Herr Reigler. My husband has spoken of your father a number of times. He is out fishing with Herr Weiner, his nephew. Would you like to come in and wait? They should not be more than an hour or so.”
“Many thanks.” He reached out for two packages aboard the boat, and came up the walk.
“This is Frau Charnoff,” said Martha.
“Delighted,” said Bernard. As they shook hands, his sharp eyes saw the ring on her finger.
Hanna started down the steps to continue playing with Paul.
“Come inside, Hanna,” said Martha. “It’s time to relax and have some lemonade.”
“Aw, Tante Martha,” said Paul. “I can’t play without Tante Hanna.”
“You can find something to occupy yourself.” She had seen the look of interest given by the handsome Dutchman at Hanna, and she was not about to allow Paul to interfere. “I’ll send Frau Weiss out with some lemonade and cookies for you later.”
Without waiting for further discussion, she started inside. Bernard held open the door for Hanna and watched her tall, slim body, barefoot, with a long cotton skirt clinging gracefully to her trim hips, and white, open necked waist shirt, showing the thrust of her well proportioned breasts, precede him int
o the entry. In the parlor, Martha introduced him to Natalie, who had been watching the goings-on from her wheelchair near a window. The stranger bowed a greeting without the least self-consciousness, and was promptly served lemonade from a pitcher cooling in a bucket of ice.
“Ah, this is absolutely first class,” said Bernard, wiping his mustache after a long pull.
“Would you believe that the lemons are from Palestine?” asked Natalie. “From the farm of some Jews there.”
“From Eretz Israel,” said Bernard softly. He drank again. “It is good,” he said appreciatively. “Are you one of the movement’s followers?”
“What movement?” asked Natalie.
“Zionism.”
Natalie shrugged her shoulders. “I know very little of that.”
“They want a homeland in Palestine, do they not?” said Hanna.
Bernard turned his intense blue eyes on her. “We do,” he said quietly. “And not Palestine. Israel.”
“If I forget thee, O Jerusalem…” said Hanna softly.
“May my right hand forget its cunning,” added Bernard, smiling.
“My husband, Jules,” said Natalie, “says it is a meshuggener’s dream. A mishegoss.”
Bernard did not take offense. “It’s not unreal, Frau Weiner. Not even wacky. Look what is happening in Austria. Anti-Semitism there is nearly as bad as in that crazy Russia and Poland. My father was at the first Zionist Congress back in ninety-seven. They’ve seen conditions become worse over the years. We must have a homeland. There is no other choice.” He turned to Hanna. “You have an accent, Frau Charnoff. Where are you from?”
“From–“She hesitated the slightest moment, and then went on, “Lithuania.”
“You also have an accent, Herr Reigler,” said Martha grinning.
He threw up his hands, smiling. “I have tried to learn German better, but what with Dutch, Yiddish, Hebrew, and French–I don’t have enough gutterals left over.”
Paul came running in. “Papi’s coming!” he announced with great pleasure. “They caught some fish.”
“Come along,” said Martha, motioning to Bernard. “My husband and nephew, after having spent enough money on equipment to buy all the fish in the Bodensee, expect us to show some enthusiasm with whatever they catch.”
They trooped outside to see Jules and Fergl shouting at each other about how best to bring in the boat. Since Bernard had taken the side they found easier to dock at, they were coming in poorly. Bernard saw the problem at once and trotted out onto the dock.
“Throw in your aft line,” he called out. “The back one,” he explained.
Fergl tossed it over, and Bernard deftly caught it and began pulling in the boat. He snubbed it to a tie, and then motioned for the forward rope. Jules cast it in, and soon the boat was secured.
Fergl stepped ashore. “Thank you. We’re not usually that bad.” He held out his hand. “I am Friedrich Fergl.”
“Bernard Reigler, of Amsterdam. My father said to pay his respects.”
“Irving Reigler,” said Fergl, breaking into a smile. “How very nice of you to come. Your father is a wonderful man. How is he?”
“Like always. Gruff, but tender inside.”
“Jules,” said Fergl. “This is the son of a man I deal with. He provides a lot of my materials. My nephew, Jules Weiner.”
Jules shook hands. Bernard was about the same age as he, but seemed so…lacking in typical Jewish presentation, with that tousled reddish hair and huge mustache.
“Do you work with your father?” he asked.
“No. I’m a Doktor. A surgeon, to be exact.”
Fergl picked up a pail containing a number of fish inside. “We could use some surgery on these.”
“They look beautiful,” said Martha. “But no cleaning of fish in the house.”
“I told you,” said Fergl to Jules in exasperation. “I told you not to put bait on those hooks. That we should stop at one of the villages and buy some cleaned fish. The girls would never know the difference.”
“Or you could have stopped at a village and had the fish cleaned before coming home,” suggested Bernard.
“Ah, ha,” said Fergl with satisfaction. “Now, that’s a son of Irving Reigler for you.” He pointed a forefinger at the Dutchman. “Let me tell you about your father, Herr Doktor. He makes me look like an amateur businessman. For ten years I have been trying to pull one over on him. I have decided to give up.”
“How about the fish?” said Martha. “We can use them for supper.” She turned to Hanna. “I guess it’s you and me again.”
Bernard slipped off his blue jacket. “Let me. I’m really very handy at it.”
“I will give you a hand,” said Hanna.
Jules opened his mouth to say something, but Martha moved in at once. “An excellent idea. But only if you will have supper with us.”
“I will be delighted,” he said. “I have a cutting board on my boat,” he said to Hanna.
“Let’s go,” said Martha authoritatively, shooing the men towards the house.
Frau Weiss, wide awake to what was going on, grabbed Paul as he made a line for Bernard’s boat. “You, Paul. Into Tante Martha’s house. We’ve got lemonade for you.”
Bernard handed Hanna onto his boat. It was beautifully kept; the brass gleaming; the mahogany scraped and varnished; the deck well scrubbed.
“Just a moment, please,” he said, dropping down the gangway into the cabin. In short order, he reappeared holding aprons and gloves. “Slip it on,” he said to Hanna, holding the upper part of the apron open, and then tied a bow at her back. He got into his own apron and led her to the rear of the boat. Lifting the top of a bench, he took out a well-used cleaning board, two sharp knives, and two scalers.
They cleaned a number of fish, Hanna keeping up evenly with Bernard. He scraped the leavings into a pail, and closed it securely with a lid. “I’ll throw this overboard when I get offshore. It makes good eating for the other fish.”
At Jules’ house, he and Fergl tended a fire on the outdoor grill. Natalie had been moved nearby and was giving them both instructions.
“My wife,” explained Jules to Bernard, “likes her fish fried. The rest of us prefer them grilled. Tell her about fried fish, Herr Doktor.”
“Grilled fish is healthier than fried fish,” said Bernard dutifully. He turned back to Jules. “That medical advice will cost you fifteen guilders. Unless you call me Bernard.”
“For fifteen guilders,” said Jules, stretching out his hand, “I’ll call you Bernie.”
Smiling, they passed out their given names, then while the men tended the cooking and drank cool beer, Frau Weiss and Hanna set up a long outdoor table and carried over benches and chairs. At the last minute, Jules put a pan over the charcoals and fried a fish for Natalie. Soon, they were digging into fish, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, and bowls of fresh vegetables, amid refreshing conversation.
At dusk, Bernard stood up. “I’ll have to be off.”
“Where are you staying?” asked Jules.
“On the Swiss side. It takes an hour to cross.” He looked about. “Oh, those packages I brought.”
“They’re inside,” said Martha. “I’ll get them.” Soon she carried them out and handed them to Bernard.
He passed the two to Fergl and Martha. “From my father.”
Martha received a brooch of a gold trimmed silhouette on onyx, and Fergl got a matching tiepin. “They’re beautiful,” said Martha. “Thank your father very much for us.”
“I’m sorry I did not bring anything for you,” said Bernard, motioning at the others. “May I bring a little something tomorrow?”
“That is not necessary.” said Natalie.
“We’ll be at a cove tomorrow, about five or six kilometers west of here,” said Jules. “It’s an excellent place to swim.”
“I’ll meet you there,” said Bernard.
“Don’t bother about food,” said Martha. “We’ll be bringing sandwiches and chick
en and Lord knows what else.”
They accompanied him to the dock, and in just a few minutes he raised a sail and was gliding out. Once away from shore, he set his second sail, and soon his boat was speeding swiftly out of sight.
They sat outdoors, sipping their coffee. “He’s a very nice fellow.” said Natalie.
“Who?” asked Jules, playfully.
“That young, handsome, expert sailor who knows how to clean fish.”
“Oh, him,” said Jules shrugging. “I’ll wager he’s also the top surgeon in Holland.” He turned to Fergl. “I like him,” he admitted.
Hanna looked at her watch. “Bedtime,” she announced to Paul.
“Ah, Tante Hanna,” said Paul. “Just a little longer.”
“None of your sweet talking to me. When is the only time that children grow?”
He had played this game before. “When you sleep,” said Paul.
“Did you ever want to reach up and touch the stars?” she continued.
“Yes!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
“How will you do that?” she asked.
“By growing,” Paul went on with their game.
“And how do you grow?”
“By sleeping!” he shouted, Natalie, Jules, and the Fergls joining in.
Laughing, he was shepherded towards the house. “I’ll give you a hand,” said Frau Weiss.
“Relax,” said Hanna. “I can handle him. I will bring him back to say goodnight when he is in his nightclothes.”
When he had gone inside, Natalie looked at the others. “Bernard likes her,” she pointed out.
“Why shouldn’t he,” remarked Jules. “She is the finest woman he’ll ever meet.”
Natalie sighed plaintively. “Her husband, Stephen.” she said.
“He’s dead,” said Fergl, flatly.
“You will never convince Hanna of that,” replied Natalie. “But if something came of it, she would go to Holland.”
They were all quiet as they thought of what Natalie had said. Fergl lit a cigar and idly watched the smoke curl up.
Enemy of the Tzar Page 33
