Well, wouldn’t you?
6
ALL ABOARD
Dinner that evening was served in the dining car—with Joe’s parents. We’d barely started on our soup, which was oxtail and would have been almost a meal in itself back in Germany, when Joe said, “Attention all passengers. It’s been great to have you here to get to know Marguerite, Mom and Dad, but I’d like to announce here and now that I reserve the right to dine alone with my bride for the rest of this trip. We’ll be happy to meet you for breakfast, but I’m bound and determined to make a honeymoon of this thing.”
His mother said, “Of course, dear, if that’s what you want,” but she exchanged a most knowing glance with Joe’s father, then went on, “Youcouldbe grateful to us for allowing you to travel with her in so much style, but never mind, we understand.”
Joe said, still calmly, “If you recall, I wasn’t planning on doing this on your dime. Remember how Dad bought the tickets as a surprise? Which I appreciate, and I’m sure Marguerite does, too. And the Plaza was a nice touch, so thanks for that.”
“And this way,” his mother said, “you could afford to payfor Marguerite’s very …beautifulnew wardrobe. You may have to adjust your ideas a bit, dear, in the future,” she told me. “I’m sure it seems like all Americans are fabulously wealthy, after what you’ve known, but remember, Joe’s going to be a student working toward his law degree, which will take many years. Do you remember when you were in law school, Jacob? And that little apartment we had?”
“I sure do,” he said. “You made some good meals there.”
“On the weekends, I did,” she said. “During the week, I worked as a secretary to help put Jacob through school. I had to quit when Barbara came along, but I certainly enjoyed being a career woman until then. We did have some lean times, though, when we were more than happy to go to Mom and Dad’s for dinner and bring home a nice plate of leftovers.”
“What about the job was especially nice?” I asked. “I plan to do the same—to get a job while Joe becomes educated. I’ve been working for nearly three years, so I’m accustomed to it.” That was as near as I felt was polite in reply to the comment about my new wardrobe. I wanted to say, “I bought all this myself,” but would that embarrass Joe? I didn’t know. Better to be silent.
“It was a firm of stockbrokers,” Mrs. Stark said. “In a beautiful old building in San Francisco. The Roaring Twenties, you know; a very good time to be in the investment business. I picked up quite a bit of useful knowledge there, didn’t I, Jacob?”
“You sure did,” he said. “I don’t mind saying that I take my investment advice from you. You haven’t steered me wrong yet. I’d say you earned that new mink jacket.”
“But then,” she said, “I had my degree, of course. My parents sent me to the University of California, across the bay in Berkeley. It was unusual for a girl to receive a college education at that time, but my father was a doctor with a rather exclusive practice.”
“And if there’s one thing Jews believe in,” Mr. Stark said, “it’s education.”
Mrs. Stark picked up the thread again. “Without a degree, though, you can’t expect to find such a prestigious position. I take it you weren’t sent to college at all, Marguerite.”
“No,” I said. “I was too young when my parents died. Hitler didn’t believe in educating women, but my father did. Unfortunately, he didn’t live to send me, and then, as Joe may have told you, things became very difficult. My schooling stopped when Dresden was bombed. I don’t know typing or shorthand anyway. I could get training for them, I suppose, but I prefer my former profession.”
“And what was that?” Mrs. Stark asked, before eating a dainty spoonful of soup. “You worked in a shop, I think Joe said.”
“Yes,” I said, “but mostly, I was a baker.”
I achieved one thing. Everybody stared at me. Then the waiter removed our soup bowls and returned with our main course. In my case, it was a piece of fish with Meunière sauce, while Joe and his father had selected steak. I hadn’t seen a piece of meat that large in years, but it arrived without any sauces or special preparation, which was odd. I said, attempting to change the subject, “Is that type of meat easy to cook? It seems as if it might be. Fish, also. The same as cooking sausages, I expect. You put them in a pan and turn them.”
“Even I can cook a steak,” Joe said.
“I’m afraid you didn’t understand me, dear,” his mother said. “Steak is a very expensive cut of meat. You’ll be expected to manage your household on the budget Joe sets, and as I mentioned, he’ll be a student.”
“On the GI Bill,” Joe agreed. “Which just about covers Stanford. If I’d gone to Cal—the University of California—it would cost less, because it’s a state school, but I started atStanford, and the South Bay’s a pretty nice place and much less foggy. I figure we can make it with a little extra hustle on my part, and if you have a job too, it’ll be that much easier. The apartment isn’t much, but it’s sure better than what we had in Nuremberg. Warmer, too, and with more electricity. And don’t worry, Marguerite. We’ll set that budget together, and there can’t be another woman in America as frugal as you.”
“A job as a baker,” his mother said flatly. “Really?”
“Marguerite bakes the best bread you’ve ever tasted,” Joe said. “Dozens of loaves of it every day. That’s what she was doing when I met her, didn’t I say? Somehow, she managed even when she couldn’t get wheat flour, or yeast, or a single spoonful of sugar. Her potato bread makes the stuff in the supermarket seem pretty flat.”
“I’ve never heard of a woman baker,” his father said. Less critically, which was a welcome change. “Was that what your father did, then?”
“Uh …” I looked at Joe. “No.” I went to take a bite of green beans—there were potatoes on the plate, too, but I wasn’t eating those—and knocked against Joe’s side. “Pardon me.”
“Your train case is lovely, dear,” Mrs. Stark said, “but it would be better not to bring it to meals. It’s rather in the way. I’ll just hint to you that other than a quick touch-up with your lipstick, it’s not done to apply makeup at the table.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I have some possessions that I prefer to keep by me.”
“Whatdidyour father do for a living? Joe’s barely told us a thing about you,” Mr. Stark said. It was a terribly inappropriate thing to ask, by my standards, but he was my father-in-law, so that might be different, and this was, after all, America. He also may have been trying to change the subject..
“He certainly didn’t tell us much, “ Mrs. Stark said, “exceptthat he’d married you.Afterhe came home. The news came as quite a surprise.” Not a happy one, I was guessing.
