The Hired Girl(102)

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Janet?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, in a low voice. “I was only —”

“You were trying to convert my grandson to Christianity,” Mrs. Rosenbach said, and her voice was like steel: hard, cold, and polished. “I won’t tolerate that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “He saw my crucifix, and he asked —”

“I’m not interested in how it happened,” Mrs. Rosenbach said. “If you ever say one more word about your religion to my grandson, you will leave this house without a reference. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I will not consult Mr. Rosenbach. The decision will be mine alone, and it will be final. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I turned away so she couldn’t see my face, and I began to gather up the bedclothes. My hands were trembling.

“Mama,” said Anna. I’d forgotten she was there. “Mama, there’s no harm done.”

“How do you know there isn’t?” asked Mrs. Rosenbach. “You don’t know what kind of impression may have been made.”

“Yes, but Oskar isn’t impressionable,” protested Anna. “If it doesn’t have to do with snakes or machinery, Oskar doesn’t care. And I’m sure Janet meant no harm.”

“I don’t know what she meant,” retorted Mrs. Rosenbach. “I had thought better of you, Janet,” she said, with a grave detachment that made me hang my head. “Set your cap straight and go help Malka with dinner. We’ll be dining early, because of the children.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said I, and made haste to leave the room. I didn’t cry in front of her, but I wept as soon as I reached the servants’ staircase. I cried hard. Then I wiped my eyes with my hands. I didn’t want Malka to see me in tears and ask what had happened.

What I did wasn’t wrong. I’m sure of that. Jesus told His disciples to spread the Gospel, and He promised that we would be blessed if we were persecuted for His sake. Every time I say the Creed I say that I believe in the Holy Catholic Church. If I truly believe, how can I fail to share my faith with others?

I’m sure what I did wasn’t wrong.

But I feel so low about it. Somehow, Mrs. Rosenbach made me feel so ashamed and scared and even remorseful. The worst part was when she said she’d thought better of me.

I wish it was Tuesday and I were back at the opera. It’s queer to think that two days ago I was so happy, and now I’m wretched.

Perhaps if I go to sleep I can dream my way back.



Sunday, September the seventeenth, 1911

I went to Mass today. Father Horst greeted me kindly, which made me feel worse about deceiving him. How long ago the opera seems! It was a glorious day, but I’ve paid for it. I’m worn out with waiting and wishing and longing: waiting for real life to begin, wishing — oh, why should I bother to deny it?— for a kind word from David Rosenbach. After Tuesday, I thought he might come to the library at night, so we could talk.

But David’s busy. Not busy working, like Mr. Rosenbach, but with engagements: baseball or tennis in the park, dinner parties, and dances. He swoops in and out of this house like the daring young man on the flying trapeze. Malka and I never know how many places to set at table.

He hasn’t spoken to me, not once. Of course, we can’t very well talk when the others are around. But I’ve been here in the library every night, listening for his footsteps. I’ve stayed up long past midnight, hoping he’ll come.

I was glad to go to Mass today and think about something that wasn’t David Rosenbach. During the service, I kept my mind resolutely on God. Afterward, I went to kneel down before the Blessed Virgin and think about my sins. I felt so wistful and low-down it was easy to repent.

I examined my conscience, which is always a melancholy business. I haven’t done too badly by Malka this week. She’s been working me almost to death, because she misses that cross old cat. But I’ve been patient, and I haven’t answered back. I was feeling proud of myself about that, but then I remembered how I lied to Father Horst, which was just pure badness. So I repented that I lied.

I recalled what happened with Oskar and felt uncomfortable. I explained to God how good my intentions were, and how it was just too bad of Mrs. Rosenbach to be so cold and withering. But I felt as if I’d missed something. At last I asked the Blessed Mother what she thought, and she said, “Well, you see, Joan, they trusted you.” It was then that I saw I’d been wrong. I knew all along that converting Oskar was going against the Rosenbachs’ wishes. I went behind their backs. It was a kind of betrayal.