The Hired Girl(108)

I prayed that something would happen to David so that he might see the light and want to be a Catholic. But I didn’t have much faith as I prayed. The day was overcast and the church was dark and my head hurt. At last I just bowed my head and asked God for mercy and forgiveness. Then I got off my knees and left the church. The sky was white and it had begun to drizzle. I didn’t have my red umbrella, which would have raised my spirits. I walked home in the rain and longed for David.



Wednesday, September the twentieth, 1911

We’re almost ready for Rosh Hashanah. I’d thought we’d cleaned everything that could be cleaned, but today Malka remembered the chandeliers. We washed the prisms in hot water and vinegar to make them sparkle. Tomorrow we’ll begin preparing for Friday night’s dinner. There have to be sweet things for Rosh Hashanah, so that the New Year will be sweet.

David will be home on Friday!

Something nice happened this afternoon. While I was pressing the table linens, Mr. Solomon came downstairs. He saw that Malka was dozing with the Prodigal Cat in her lap, and he pointed to the ceiling. I took the hint, unplugged the iron, and followed him up the stairs.

Once we were out of Malka’s earshot, I asked him if he wanted anything. He said he hoped I would grant him my forgiveness. It seems that Rosh Hashanah has a lot to do with forgiveness. Before the New Year, the Jews try to atone for any injuries they’ve done.

I was confused. I said very fast: “I’m sorry I read your poem and sent it to Nora Himmelrich.”

“No, no, no,” said Mr. Solomon, showing the palms of his hands. “I’m not asking you to apologize to me. You said you were sorry. No, I’m asking your forgiveness. I shouted at you and made you cry.”

It touched my heart when he said that. Most men don’t give two pins when they make a girl cry. “It was my fault,” I said awkwardly. “Anyway, I forgive you.”

“You’re a generous girl, Janet,” said Mr. Solomon, and his sweet-for-a-man smile lit up his face. “Thank you. Now that we’ve forgiven each other, I’ll tell you a secret. Two secrets.”

In a flash, I thought of David. I thought maybe he’d written Solly and sent a message for me. “Oh, what is it?”

Mr. Solomon lowered his voice in a teasing way. “I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

“Are you?” I said. I was glad he was happy, but disappointed because his secret had nothing to do with David.

“Yes, because Miss Kleman has agreed to be my wife, and Father is willing to send me to yeshiva. If you hadn’t sent that sonnet to Miss Himmelrich, those things might never have come to pass. Or they might not have come to pass so soon.”

I think this might be true. I guess Mr. Solomon would have asked Miss Kleman to marry him eventually, but he might have needed a little push. Sooner or later, he would have told his father that he wanted to study Talmud, but it might have been later. Mr. Solomon isn’t a go-ahead like David. “What’s the other secret?”

His smile broadened to a grin. “The part of the sonnet you wrote was better than the part I wrote.”

I was so surprised that I said, “Was it?” and he gave a little nod and turned away, because he’d said everything he had to say.

I looked after him, smiling. I do like Mr. Solomon, even though he isn’t David. I don’t always like Mrs. Rosenbach, but she raised good sons. David and Mr. Solomon are the two nicest young men I’ve ever met. Likely they take after their father.

With a peaceful heart, I went back downstairs and finished ironing. Then I took an armful of Mimi’s freshly ironed petticoats and made my way up to her room.

I was lucky to find her in. Mimi’s almost as much of a gadabout as David, but she was sitting on her bed, playing a game of bridge with herself — she told me she’s a demon at bridge, though she’s too young to play with the bridge ladies. I put her clothes in the proper drawers and banged the last one shut. “Rosh Hashanah,” I announced, “is a time of forgiveness.”

Mimi scowled. I noticed she was wearing her glasses. She often “forgets” them when she goes out, but she wears them at home. “I don’t see what that has to do with you,” she said coolly.

“Well, you haven’t forgiven me,” I retorted, “which is mean, because I never meant anything bad by you. I just wanted you to be able to read properly, so you wouldn’t be a dunce. Anyway, your glasses are becoming. If you were a proper Jewess, you’d forgive me, because it’s Rosh Hashanah.”