Sugar House (9780991192519) by Jean Scheffler

"Anchors
Aweigh." The musicians—dressed alike in white seersucker suits, red
bowties and white straw boaters with a red ribbon to match—swayed
and tapped their feet, encouraging the boarding crowd to dance
along to their song.
    "Can we ride on the top deck, please?" said
Joe. Ojciec nodded his approval, and Joe took off running toward
the ladder in the middle of the boat. Not stopping to glance at the
second deck, he arrived on the third deck, found a bench with a
view of Canada and sat down. Matka found him sitting there,
ferociously swinging his feet, as if the force of his small legs
could encourage the captain to power up the engines for the trip
down the river.
    Ojciec stood in the center of the deck
talking to two men in Polish. His father seemed to have a knack for
finding his countrymen wherever he went. It was his way of feeling
comfortable in a new country and learning of new employment
possibilities. Not that Ojciec wanted to leave Ford Motor Company.
He'd never earned a higher wage and was hoping to be promoted to a
safer part of the line after his year anniversary. But foremen in
the plant had much control, and any worker could lose his job with
no notice. Ojciec had seen several men fired for such small
indiscretions as missing one bolt on a wheel well or struggling to
keep up as an engine moved down the line. The foreman, not always
of the highest ethics, might have had an altercation outside of
work with one or perhaps feel a line man was trying to take over
his own position and would dismiss the employee for the smallest
infraction. So Ojciec always kept his ear to the ground to stay
abreast of the goings on within the labor community.
    Joe's bench trembled beneath him, and he
could hear the engines come to life as the boat began to get under
way. Slowly at first, then faster, the Columbia began her
journey to Boblo Island.
    "May I go look on the other side of the boat,
Matka?" asked Joe. He wiggled in his seat and craned his neck at
the river.
    "Be careful, and meet me at this bench when
we near the island," she replied, smiling.
    Weaving his way through the long skirts of
the women on board, Joe made his way across the sixty-foot-wide
wooden deck to the Detroit side of the boat. Nearing the front of
the boat, he grabbed a vacant spot on the railing with his small
hands and stepped up on the lowest bar to increase his field of
vision.
    He watched the activity on the riverbank. The
sprawling Wayne Hotel grabbed his attention first. A large sign on
the top floor touted that it was the newest mineral bathhouse in
the city. Bright blue awnings hung above hundreds of windows, and a
pavilion and large cafeteria were located directly in front of the
hotel.
    A smaller ferry was pulling away from its
dock and heading north on the river. Joe waved at the riders as
they passed by the Columbia , and they jovially waved
back.
    A man in his early twenties standing next to
Joe leaned down and asked, "Ever ate at the Gardens, boy?" His
thick Hungarian accent sounded similar to the Polish accents of
Joe's neighborhood. Joe looked up and saw a pair of warm brown eyes
looking at him. The man's light brown hair was a bit too long and
hung in his eyes when he looked down at Joe, but his face was
friendly.
    "No, sir. Never ate at a restaurant
before."
    "No? Well, nothing so great about it, anyhow.
Probably nowhere near as good as your mama's cooking. I myself
haven't eaten there either. I heard it's a decent meal but a bit
pricey for my taste. Friend of mine went to the bathhouse to try to
cure his bad back. Aches him all the time. Well, Old Serge paid
three dollars to stay there for a day and get treated with this
Sulpha-Saline water that's supposed to come from a spring on the
property. Said he felt better the next day but by the next week it
was hurting him same as before. Maybe that's how they make their
money. Keep ya coming back every week." He laughed at this and
continued, "Course don't know anyone who could afford