The Hired Girl(100)

The rain plashed, and I washed the dishes, and Malka sniffed and dried. It was all very melancholy. When the doorbell rang, I snatched off my canvas apron, put on my cap, and raced upstairs.

Mrs. Friedhoff stood on the porch with Irma in her arms and Oskar clinging to her hand. She looked just awful. She has a dumpy figure, but a thin face, and today it was downright haggard. She asked if her mother was in, and I said she wasn’t.

Mrs. Friedhoff’s face fell. Then she began to cry. Not loudly, but she blinked and her mouth wobbled and tears rolled down her cheeks. Oskar gazed at his mother with stricken eyes.

I forgot I was the hired girl. I said, “Mrs. Friedhoff, you’d better come on in,” which was presumptuous, because it isn’t my house.

But in she came. I took Irma from her and led Mrs. Friedhoff to the parlor. She sank down in the rocking chair, and Oskar climbed into her lap and buried his face in her neck. I asked Mrs. Friedhoff if she wanted a cup of coffee. Then Anna — I know I shouldn’t call her that, but it’s what Malka and Mimi call her — began to tell me her troubles.

It seems her housemaid and cook, who are sisters, are both leaving. Mr. Isaac Friedhoff is in the Arizona Territory — something to do with the railroad — and earlier this week, Oskar was sick. (At this point in the story, Oskar twisted around to face me so he could boast about all the things he’d coughed up.) Mrs. Friedhoff was up all night caring for him Monday and Tuesday. But by Wednesday morning, he had the appetite of a wolf and had begun to tear around the house, though the doctor said he should be kept quiet. “He didn’t say how I should keep him quiet,” sobbed poor Mrs. Friedhoff, “only that he should rest. But Oskar never rests. The first three years of his life, he never slept through the night, and he won’t take a nap. But around eight last night, he went off to sleep, and I thought I should sleep, only Irma had an attack of croup, a dreadful attack, and I thought I might lose her.” She found a handkerchief in her handbag and swiped at her eyes. “It was terrible. I’d have sent Isaac for the doctor, if he’d been home, but when is he ever home? I’ve told him we need to get a telephone, but Isaac doesn’t like them. I ran hot water until the bathroom filled with steam so that the poor child could breathe. The walls were dripping. Just before dawn, she stopped coughing and slept. Only then Oskar woke up, and he’s been like a little wild animal all day.” Oskar wiggled guiltily. “I wanted Mother to watch him. If I don’t sleep, I’m going to be ill.” And with that, poor Mrs. Friedhoff wept afresh. Oskar flung his arms around her neck and choked her with his sympathy.

I know what I did then wasn’t like a hired girl, but I’m certainly not ashamed of it. “Mrs. Friedhoff,” I said, “you’re oysgematert. You go upstairs to your old bedroom and take off your wet things and have a good long nap. Mrs. Rosenbach’ll be home before long, and until she is, Malka and I will mind the children.”

“Oh, Janet, would you?”

“Of course we will,” I said. “You know Oskar likes my stories. And Malka’ll take care of Irma all right. Your room’s all nice and clean for Rosh Hashanah. The bedding’s fresh, and we put up the winter curtains yesterday.”

It didn’t take much persuading to get her to agree. She handed over Oskar and Irma and stumbled up the stairs, sobbing that I was a treasure and a dear, kind girl.

I took the children down to Malka. I handed over Irma, who was wailing in a listless, maddening kind of way. Malka wrapped her in a shawl, very tightly. It seems Mrs. Friedhoff ’s doctor believes that swaddling is bad for babies, but Malka says there’s nothing like it for a baby that won’t stop crying, and in fact, five minutes after she was tied up like a parcel, Irma went to sleep and wasn’t a bit of trouble.

It was Oskar who was the trouble. Malka thought she’d make cookies with him, so I finished washing the dishes while she showed him how to measure out flour and sugar, and how to break eggs. He was greatly interested, but once the cookies were in the oven, he needed some other amusement. I remembered a Hans Christian Andersen story from Miss Lang’s book, about a magic tinderbox and dogs with eyes as big as saucers. I told him that; he liked it so much that I told it twice. By the time I’d finished, the cookies were done, and Oskar ate thirteen of them, with milk.

After that, he wanted to go outside, but it was still raining cats and dogs. The phrase “raining cats and dogs” made Oskar prick up his ears and demand to see Thomashefsky, which made Malka sad. He then announced his intention of exploring the dumbwaiter. It seems that Mr. Rosenbach once showed Oskar the dumbwaiter and explained how the pulleys worked. I let him crawl onto the shelf and hoisted him up and down until he was tired of it. When at last he crawled out, he began to race around and around the kitchen, making train noises.