The Hired Girl(29)

I waited.

“I live up the street”— he pointed to a place beyond the trees —“in the corner house, with my parents and sister and my brother David, but just now David’s in New York with my father. There are servants’ rooms at the top of the house that aren’t being used. Perhaps my mother would let you stay there. She might be able to help you find a job. There’s even a possibility — but we’ll talk about that later on. Will you come with me?”

I stared at him with my heart in my mouth.

“My mother’s very good,” he said. “She may seem a little brusque at first, but —” He fumbled in his pockets and brought out a card. “I ought to have introduced myself. I’m Solomon Rosenbach.”

I took the card. It was too dark to read it, but I felt vaguely reassured. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing a villain would do — give me his card.

“Will you come with me? You can’t spend the night on that bench. You won’t get a wink of sleep —” His face broke into a smile, and it changed everything. He was such a serious-looking person, but that wide, sweet smile made him look as if he were no older than I am. “And I won’t either.”

He was so kind, so truly chivalrous. I could say that he spoke to me with tenderness, except that makes it sound as if he had a particular interest in me, and I’m sure he hadn’t. I believe he would have spoken the same way to a lost child or a wounded dog. And the child — or the dog — would have trusted him and followed him home at once.

But I wasn’t a dog or a child. I’d trusted one man that night, and he’d insulted me unspeakably. “I can’t.”

He looked thoughtful, turning the brim of his hat between his fingers. Then he smiled again.

“You’re quite right, you know. It’s dangerous to go home with a stranger. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk to my house and hope that you’ll follow me at a safe distance. Then I’ll go inside, and afterward — as soon as I can explain — my mother will come out on the porch and invite you in. Will that suit you better? She’s very respectable, my mother. In fact, we all are, but you’re right not to take my word for it.”

I considered his offer. “Thank you,” I said. My voice creaked a little but I didn’t cry.

“There’s a good girl,” he said, and I guess that was patronizing but I didn’t dislike it. I followed him just as he said. He ran lightly up the porch steps, and when he reached the door, he wiped his feet on the mat.

My opinion of him rose even higher.

At first I waited on the pavement. Then I crept up to the porch. The windows of the house were open. There were no lights on in the front room, but it was dim rather than dark, because the room behind it was lit, and there was a big archway connecting them. I heard voices, and a woman exclaimed, “Oh, Solly! It used to be cats and dogs!” and then I heard his voice, hushing her.

That was when I knew I was safe. Because his mother — Mrs. Rosenbach — sounded like a mother, an exasperated mother. There’s something about the way a mother talks to her child. Listening, I felt kind of homesick.

After that, I couldn’t hear much. I can’t say I didn’t listen, but their voices were low and blurred. Then she came through the archway and a light came on. I didn’t know electric lights came on so suddenly. It wasn’t like gaslight; it was quicker and ten times brighter. I retreated to the top of the porch steps. The door opened, and Mrs. Rosenbach came out.

She stood silhouetted, with the light at her back. I was surprised by how small she was. The top of her head just clears my shoulder. But small or not, she was mistress of the situation. If she’d been a teacher and rapped on the desk with her ruler, everyone would have fallen silent.

“Come in,” she said briskly, and I went.

Once I was inside, I didn’t look around very much; my whole attention was fixed on Mrs. Rosenbach. But I was aware that the house was fine. There was wood paneling halfway up the wall, carved and dark and rich looking, and big paintings with gold frames. It was almost like a church, it was so fancy and solemn, and the ceiling was high above my head.

But I was watching her, trying to tell if she would be kind to me. What I noticed first was that she was elegant, more elegant even than Miss Chandler (though not more of a lady). She wore a shirtwaist dress, silk taffeta I think it was. The way the cloth was made, it gleamed like polished copper in the lamplight but was jet-black in the folds. There were pleats down the front, and the buttons went down one side, instead of being in the middle. She had a slender waist and dark hair — it was only a little gray — and keen eyes. And though it was a warm night, and she wore a high collar, she didn’t look flushed or creased, and she carried herself like a queen.