The Hired Girl(114)

I think about David all day long. There’s nothing more absorbing than thinking about him. I count and recount the proofs that he cares for me. From the beginning he said he liked me. He says I’m a magnificent creature and a peach and the limit. He gave me a sketchbook. He took me to the opera, and bought me a red umbrella, and kissed me. He said I’m darling, and that’s a real love word. (I wish he’d said my darling; that would be better.)

I run my mind over these things, and I am dizzy with joy, but then I’m afraid. I’m afraid because Ma warned me against men — though she never knew David. I tremble, because I’ve given away my heart. I’ve given it to a Jew, which is all right on the one hand, because I no longer believe that Jews are so different from other people, or that they’re not as good. But on the other hand, the Rosenbachs won’t want David to marry a shiksa. If David marries me, our children won’t be Jewish, because a Jew is the child of a Jewish woman.

I don’t know how much David will care about that. He isn’t religious like Solly. But Mr. Rosenbach will mind. He’ll want all his grandchildren to be Jews. That makes me feel terrible, because I love Mr. Rosenbach. He’s never been anything but good and kind to me.

So then I wonder if I could convert to Judaism. If I converted, would my children be Jewish, or would I have to be born a Jew in order to pass it on? I can’t find out about this because there’s no one I can ask without exciting suspicion. And I don’t want to convert, because I’m a Catholic. Even though I’ve never taken the Blessed Sacrament, in my very bones I’m a Catholic. I don’t want to be an apostate. I pray about it, but even when I’m at my prayers, my mind wanders off to David and I can’t pray properly. Father Horst says that God loves to grant mercy and forgiveness, but it seems to me that God must be getting awfully tired of me and my problems.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what will happen. I love David and I believe he loves me. I know I could be a good wife to him, though I don’t know if our marriage would be legal because of my only being fourteen. David needs someone to believe in him, and I do, with all my heart. If his father disinherited him, I’d work for him. I’d go on being a hired girl so he could paint. We’d be poor, but I’m not afraid of poverty, not if I had David.

In books, lovers have happy endings. Mr. Rochester had to go blind, but Jane came to find him, and they were married. And Walter Gay came back from shipwreck to marry Florence. In The Woman in White, Walter Hartright had to rescue Laura Fairlie from an insane asylum, but then they got married. The only person who didn’t get married was Rebecca in Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe couldn’t marry her, because she was a Jew. But that was long ago, and Daniel Deronda —

There’s the front door. The others are back.



Sunday, September the twenty-fourth, 1911

I am writing from the eighth floor of the Marlborough apartment building. I’ve never been so high up in my life. It’s dark as I write, and the windows are open; I can look out and see the streetlamps below. The view makes my stomach feel queer. I know I won’t fall out the window, but I’m afraid I might be tempted to jump.

I feel like a princess in a tower. I don’t mean the aristocratic part of being a princess, because I’m still a hired girl. What I mean is that I’m high above the earth, and I’m here against my will. The Marlborough apartments are luxurious; even the servants’ rooms have electric lights. But I don’t want to be here. I want to be back at the Rosenbachs’, close to David.

When I came back from Mass this morning, Malka said Mrs. Rosenbach wanted to see me in the parlor. I went upstairs in a state of clammy trepidation. I haven’t spoken to her since Thursday, unless you count things like “Shall I clear, ma’am?”

Mrs. Friedhoff was in the parlor with Mrs. Rosenbach, and Mr. Rosenbach was there, too, reading his newspaper. He lowered his paper to smile at me. Then he went back to reading.

Mrs. Rosenbach addressed me courteously. She said she had a favor to ask. It seems that Mrs. Friedhoff’s mother-in-law and aunt-by-marriage are coming to stay tomorrow and won’t leave until Friday morning. That puts Anna in a fix, because she still has no housemaid. Mrs. Rosenbach asked if I would be willing to stay at the Friedhoffs’ apartment for a week, partly to tidy up, but mostly to look after Oskar.

“You’re so good with him,” Mrs. Friedhoff said pleadingly, “and he’s fond of you. My mother-in-law is very strict, and so is her sister. Oskar is so boisterous, and they think he’s spoiled.” (I think Oskar is spoiled, too, but I didn’t say so.) “If you could take him to the park, and let him run”— she fumbled with her purse strap, as if she was ready to bribe me then and there —“or out for an ice cream, or to the zoo; he loves the zoo. I’m willing to pay you for the extra trouble, of course.”