The Hired Girl(31)

“Malka’s over seventy, and she’s no longer strong. Until last year, Minna did most of the heavy work. But last year, Minna received an unexpected proposal of marriage — a widower, a man she knew when she was young. We’ve tried to replace her, but Malka”— she made an irritable clucking noise —“Malka has very strict standards of housekeeping, and none of the young women have been able to please her. She says young women nowadays don’t know what it is to work.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you accustomed to work, Miss Lovelace?”

Miss Lovelace. It sounded so pretty, even better than I’d expected. I answered her by throwing out my hands, showing first the palms and then the backs. I never thought I should be glad of my rough, work-scarred, big-knuckled hands. “Oh, I can work,” I assured her. “I grew up on a farm.”

“What can you do?”

I took a deep breath. “I can cook and scrub and sweep and dust. I can sew, of course, and mend and darn. And I can kill a chicken, and dress it, and plant a garden and put food by, and make sausage, and blacklead the stove and keep the fires going. I don’t guess it matters, if you send the laundry out, but I can wash and starch and iron. And I can whitewash, and tend chickens, and churn, and take up the carpets and beat them, and —”

Mrs. Rosenbach lifted her hand. I stopped talking.

“Are you tactful?”

I had to think about that one. “I couldn’t say, ma’am. I didn’t have to be too tactful on the farm.” Then I rallied. “But Miss Chandler said I showed signs of a refined nature. I think I could be tactful, if I set my mind to it.”

“You’ll need to set your mind to it,” Mrs. Rosenbach said drily. “What we are looking for is someone who can shoulder the heavy work without making Malka feel that she’s an old woman. She’s touchy,” she added, in a way that made me wonder how much she liked Malka.

I heard footsteps, and young Mr. Rosenbach came in with my sandwich. He’d cut it in triangles and put it on a plate, instead of carrying it around in his hand, the way Luke does. He’d remembered the glass of milk, and he’d put sugar cookies on the side of the plate where the sandwich wasn’t. He even handed me a napkin. I never met such a man in my life.

Once I smelled food, I was hungry. But I didn’t gobble. I took a small sip of milk to show my refined nature and daintily nibbled my sandwich, which was cheese.

Mr. Rosenbach said, “Is it settled?” and his mother raised her head and gave him a look.

“Nothing is settled. I’m telling her about Malka.”

“She needs a place to spend the night,” Mr. Rosenbach persisted, in such a mild tone of voice that it didn’t seem like nagging. “It’s getting late.”

I glanced at the clock. It was past ten.

“She may stay here tonight,” Mrs. Rosenbach conceded. “If Malka doesn’t make too great a fuss, she may stay a few days.” She turned back to me. “If you do your work well, I will provide you with a written character, which will help you in your search for employment.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, but I felt a little disheartened, because she didn’t seem to think I’d be working for her. “I think I can help your housekeeper without hurting her feelings. And you’ll find me very willing.”

She tilted her head. There was something about the way she did it that reminded me of that word satirical. It isn’t a word I think about much, but it flashed through my head just then. “Willing to work in a Jewish household?” she said, and when I didn’t answer right away, she added, “You, I think, are not Jewish.”

“No, ma’am,” I said. I was as taken aback as if she’d asked me if I was an Indian. It seemed to me — I mean, it doesn’t now, but it did then — as though Jewish people were like Indians: people from long ago; people in books. I know there still are Indians out West, but they’re civilized now, and wear ordinary clothes. In the same way, I guess I knew there were still Jews, but I never expected to meet any.

“It’s just as I said, Solly,” said Mrs. Rosenbach, “she has no idea.” She seemed both irritated and amused. “Have you ever met a Jew before, Miss Lovelace?”

“No — no, ma’am,” I stammered, “but I’ve read about them in the Bible. And in Ivanhoe, Rebecca was a Jewess, and she’s my favorite character in the whole book.”