The Hired Girl(109)

Mimi’s face was a study. Her mouth looked fierce, but the eyes behind her glasses were thoughtful. The silence between us lengthened.

“It’s Rosh Hashanah,” I repeated, “and I’ve missed you. And starting on Friday, God’s going to be making up His mind whether to write your name in the Book of Life. How do you think He’s going to feel when He finds out you haven’t forgiven a poor servant girl?”

Mimi’s mouth quivered. “I don’t believe He’ll mind,” she retorted, “because you’re not a Jew. Rosh Hashanah is a time of forgiveness for Jews. You’re not Jewish.”

“You are,” I reminded her.

She frowned again. “You think of yourself as a member of this family,” she said slowly, “as if you’re almost Jewish. But you’re not. You’ll never be one of us.”

She couldn’t have known how those words would hurt my feelings, but they did. I guess it showed in my face, because suddenly she cried, “Oh, poor Janet!” She leaped off the bed, scattering the cards, and hugged me.

I was startled, because I’m not used to people hugging me. There was David, and before that, the awful man on the train, and before that, Mark, when Cressy kneed me in the eye. Mimi must have felt my surprise, because after a few seconds, she stepped back.

“Do you forgive me?” I persisted.

“Yes,” said Mimi. “I’ve missed you, too. It was abdominable what you did to me, but it’s Rosh Hashanah, so I’ll let you off.” She flashed me one of her starry-eyed smiles. “It’s been awful dull with David back in New York and that Miss Krumm coming every day. Did you ever see anything as hideous as that suit she wears? I want to show you something.”

She went to her dresser and opened her jewel box. The child is twelve years old, and she really does have a jewel box. It’s ridiculous, but she has a set of real pearls and a necklace of green glass beads that came from Venice. Now she took out a gold filigree chain with a magnifying glass at one end. The glass was enameled with sparkling stones and mother-of-pearl. Mimi looped the chain around her neck and lifted the glass by its stem. “Watch.”

She flicked a hidden spring and the magnifying glass sprang apart, making two glasses with a bridge in between. She let the bridge rest lightly on her nose, like a butterfly. “It’s a lorgnette,” she explained. “I made Papa buy it for me, so that when I go to parties I don’t look like a dowd. It’s nice, isn’t it, the way it springs apart? I’ve been practicing with it.” She tilted it coquettishly.

I applauded.

“I bet I’ll be the only girl at school with a lorgnette,” Mimi said. “Papa says I should save it for parties, but it’s too good to save. I have a new dress for Rosh Hashanah, white with white lace. Do you want to see it?”

Of course I’d seen it, because I’d ironed it. It took a good half hour to iron, because it’s so delicate; I had to iron it under a cloth. But I didn’t mention that, because I didn’t want to take the bloom off our forgiveness. Mimi explained why her dress was better than the one Maisie Phillips wore to the last school exhibition. It seems that where frills are involved, Maisie doesn’t know when to stop.

After we exhausted that subject, Mimi brought up another. “You got in trouble,” she said as if she relished my disgrace. “With Oskar. I heard Mama telling Papa about it.”

So Mrs. Rosenbach told her husband. “What did he say?”

“He said oy,” Mimi said succinctly. “But it’s all right. He wasn’t as mad as Mama was, and Anna likes you because you let her take a nap.”

I was glad of this, though I still think of Anna as a dull sort of person. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so dull if she had more sleep. I sympathize with her because I can’t sleep either. I lie awake at night and think of David and imagine all sorts of things. But I don’t get to sleep until nearly dawn, and then I can’t get up. I feel so groggy and woolly-headed.

But tomorrow is Thursday, and on Friday, David comes!



Thursday, September the twenty-first, 1911

David’s back, and a day early. I was trying to make aspic from Malka’s pitiful little tomatoes when I heard the front door open. I heard his footsteps and his voice. There’s no voice like David’s.

I was wild to see him, but I couldn’t show it, because Malka was right at my elbow. Presently Mrs. Rosenbach came down and told us there would be five for dinner. I hastened upstairs to lay the fifth place, hoping to catch a glimpse of David, but he’d gone to his room to change. Once the supper dishes were done, I prayed that Malka would nod off with the cat on her lap, but she stayed in the kitchen, planning and replanning the menus for Shabbos. After about a century, she went to bed.