The Hired Girl(118)

I stayed there, kneeling. I don’t know how long. I don’t think it was long at all. Then I got up very quickly, as if someone had commanded me. I stopped trying to repent, not because I wasn’t bad, but because it was beside the point. I started walking as if I’d made up my mind about something, which I hadn’t.

I came home through the rain. It was hours later that I realized I’d left David’s umbrella in the chapel. I feel terrible about it, because I love it dearly. But I’m pretty sure Father Horst will find it and keep it for me.

Now that that thing — which wasn’t a thing, but I don’t know what else to call it — has happened, I see that I was never meant to be a Jew. I don’t mean that in an anti-Semitic kind of way, because the Jews are good and noble-hearted and love God. They go on loving Him even though they’re persecuted for it. But I have to be a Catholic. Even though what happened this afternoon doesn’t make sense when I put it in words, it was real and it was important and it happened in the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament.

I think there must be hope. Somehow it will be possible; somehow I will find a way for David and me to be together. But even as I write this, my eyes are closing. I’m worn out and can’t find my way.



Thursday, September the twenty-eighth, 1911

I am sunk in misery. The old ladies have decided to stay through Yom Kippur, which doesn’t begin until sundown on Sunday. I had thought they’d be gone tomorrow, and I’d see David by Friday night.

I believe Mrs. Friedhoff (Anna) is as wretched as I am. She’s the one who has to talk to them, and their conversation is nothing but whining. Kitty calls the old ladies the Pills. They are like pills, too — the bitter kind that get stuck at the back of your throat and don’t dissolve.

Today Mrs. Rosenbach came to visit. I was handing around cucumber sandwiches when Miss Plaut started saying how sickly Irma was, and Mrs. Rosenbach said that they must all remember how many advances had been made in medicine since they (the older Mrs. Friedhoff and Miss Plaut) were young, which, of course, was many years ago. Ha! It took the old ladies a few seconds to realize they’d been insulted; she’d slipped under their guard that easily. I don’t always like Mrs. Rosenbach, but I admire her. She can be as smooth as cream and as sharp as a paper cut.

Yesterday it stopped raining, so I took Oskar to the zoo. It ought to have been inspiring to see animals that I’ve only read about in the geography book, but I kept looking around the zoo for David. I wanted to see him so badly that I was convinced he’d be there. Oskar spent a long time mooning over the boa constrictor. I lost interest in it before he did. I preferred the sea lions and the bears.

When I came back to the house, Kitty took me aside and told me she had awful news. That was when she told me that the Pills were staying. I wanted to scream with frustration. Now it will be Tuesday before I see David again, because he’ll be in services all day Monday.

The only good thing, Kitty said, was that the Pills were going to the Rosenbachs for Shabbos dinner, and Anna had said we would have the evening off. (The Pills are particularly nasty to Kitty because she’s Irish.)

I went to Anna and told her I was worried about Malka working too hard without her Shabbos goy to lend a hand. Anna told me it would be all right, because Malka’s planning to cook everything before sundown and keep the food in the warming ovens. I offered to go over in the evening and help with the dishes. Anna said I was a kind and thoughtful girl, but that I needn’t worry about all that. She said Kitty and I deserved a rest, and that she would order a little chicken for just us two.

I’m not a kind and thoughtful girl. I’m a hypocrite. I don’t care about poor Malka and the dishes. I’m just desperate to be under the same roof as David Rosenbach.

I wish Anna weren’t so considerate.



Saturday, September the thirtieth, 1911

David’s going to Paris.

Nobody told me, of course. No one would think to tell me. After Yom Kippur, he’s going to New York. He’ll stay with Mrs. Rosenbach’s parents for a few days, and then take the steamer to Paris.

I wouldn’t have found out, except I overheard the Friedhoff ladies talking. Anna had taken Oskar for a walk in the park. Once she left, the old ladies started to gossip. They didn’t bother to lower their voices, because Kitty and I aren’t real people and don’t count.

They started with Malka’s Shabbos dinner, which they thought was indigestible, and then they went on to say that Malka must be failing. They said that it was a pity, Mr. Solomon marrying a Polish girl, and that Mirele was unpleasantly pert and would never find a husband. They said Mr. Rosenbach was too Amerikanisch, and they wondered what dress allowance he gave Mrs. Rosenbach, because they were sure she would bankrupt him. And then they said it was a shame to let that youngest son go off to Paris to play with paints, because he’d only get into debt and lose whatever morals he had.