Sugar House (9780991192519) by Jean Scheffler Page B

homes had towers and ornate balconies, and
turrets. Passing in front of the second mansion, Joe could see a
streetcar lumbering along the middle of the avenue headed
north.
    "Does that streetcar go to Detroit from all
the way down here?" he asked his companion.
    "Sure does. Actually starts out farther south
than here though."
    "Where'd you learn all this?" Joe asked. The
breeze from the water poured into the open side of the boat and Joe
took off his cap to let the soft wind ruffle his blond hair.
    "Well, don't have much of an education. Been
working in factories or such since I was your age. My pa couldn't
get much work when we got here. Back then, immigrants were the last
to be hired, but children were a good commodity 'cause they don't
cost as much to pay. I had little fingers for jobs that were in
tight places, and I learned the language quick. Worked for the
Detroit Stove Works starting at age seven, putting small pieces on
the stoves. My ma took in laundry and seamstress work at home, but
she died a few years ago. Pop finally got a steady job with the
city in the Public Works Department. Ha! Ya know what he does all
day? Walks the streets with a barrel wagon and a shovel, cleaning
up after the horses. But he was happy to get it. Steady pay, and he
likes being outside. Says working in a factory would kill him.
Doesn't smell like a garden when he gets home, but he's happy as a
rose, he says."
    "I think I'd rather work outside than in a
hot factory too," Joe said.
    "Not sure how much longer he can go on with
that work though. Lately there are more cars than horses on the
streets. Well, by the time he got steady work it was too late for
me to go back to school, so I've been working ever since. I started
thinking I was going to be one ignorant son of a gun on account of
not having any learning, so I set out to educate myself. Learning
about my surroundings was one of the first things I did. Started
riding the steam boats on my days off and listening to all the
folks who knew what they was talking about while I rode up and down
the river. Been down as far as Toledo, Ohio, and north to St. Clair
Flats. Sometimes I take the interurban to Monroe—that's about forty
miles south of Detroit—and see what I can in the country down
there. Talk to the farmers and the fisherman; wander about and grab
a ride home before it's even dark out. Don't cost much and I like
to get out of the city sometimes. Don't get me wrong. I love
Detroit and there's always something going on, but a fellow likes
to breathe some fresh air sometimes, hear a little nature and have
a little bit of quiet."
    Joe agreed. He hadn't left the city since
arriving almost a year ago and had almost forgotten about the quiet
solitude that Mother Nature provided. With the Columbia leaving Detroit far behind her, Joe realized how accustomed he had
become to the dirt and grime of the city. For all its glory,
Detroit was a loud, steaming town with smells of burning rubber,
ash, chemicals and smoke.
    "You still work at the stove factory?" Joe
asked.
    "Nah, I work for Stroh's now; biggest brewery
in Detroit. Pays more, and I get two free beers on my lunch breaks.
I'm saving up to buy a farm outside the city. Maybe down this
way."
    Looking at the blue sky, trees, green grass
and animals on the river banks, Joe took a few deep breaths and
filled his lungs with the fresh county air. It was cool on this
side of the boat, as the sun had not reached overhead. The
orchestra downstairs continued to play, but even their songs had
become gentler and slower as the Columbia moved closer to
their destination. The passengers relaxed as the boat moved beyond
the factories and boatyards and the land became greener and the
trees denser on the riverbank and westward beyond it. When they
passed a final small shipyard, Joe could see a three-story hotel a
block from the river.
    "That's the Grand Hotel of Trenton," Vic
said, when he saw Joe eyeing the pretty structure. "Trains come up
from Ohio and