The Hired Girl(66)

So I humbled myself and agreed to forgive Mrs. Rosenbach and say I was sorry for the flouncing. I wasn’t sorry, but I strained myself to say so. The apologizing wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, because Mrs. R. wasn’t cold or scornful, only grave. She said she knew I was disappointed but the important thing was that Moonstone had a good home, and I was free to go on with my duties. She even said she valued my apology, because she knew I was an honest person and wouldn’t say I was sorry unless I meant it.

Then I felt guilty, because I didn’t really mean it. But there was no point in saying so. I said, “Yes, ma’am.” And I was careful not to flounce when I left the room.





Monday, August the seventh, 1911

I have had an adventure!

It was late last night and I was in the library trying to read the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. That was Mr. Rosenbach’s idea. I finished The Moonstone and was going to start The Woman in White, which is also by Mr. Wilkie Collins. It begins in such a fascinating way: This is the story of what a Woman’s patience can endure, and what a Man’s resolution can achieve. How can anyone not want to read that? But yesterday Mr. Rosenbach asked me what I was reading. When I told him, he looked thoughtful and said that if I wanted to become truly educated, I must read history and philosophy as well as novels.

So I asked for some philosophy because I thought that sounded elevated, and he gave me the Meditations. It isn’t long, for which I am grateful because it’s slow going. It seems to me that Marcus Aurelius doesn’t want anybody to get excited about anything. I don’t want to live like that. If anything exciting ever happens to me, I want to get excited about it. Of course, thus far my life has been tedious because of Steeple Farm and being only the hired girl, but there is such a thing as real life, and sooner or later it’s going to begin. I suppose I might have to suffer a little because real life is like that, but I hope I will suffer nobly. Mr. Marcus Aurelius has some ideas about that, too.

So there I was, reading Marcus, and then I decided to refresh myself with The Picturesque World. I look through the plates almost every night; they are so fascinating. As I was musing over engravings of the Alhambra, I heard the sound of footsteps on the front porch.

I was in my nightgown. My kimono is perfectly lovely, cream colored with apple blossoms on it, but I don’t always wear it once I get inside the library because these summer nights are hot, and my kimono’s too nice to perspire in. I tell myself that if I ever heard anyone coming, there’d be time to put it on. But when I heard the front door open, I didn’t think about my kimono. It was nearly midnight, and everyone was in bed: Mr. and Mrs. Rosenbach, and Mr. Solomon, and Mimi, and Malka. No one ought to be coming into the house.

And whoever was coming in was coming in stealthily. Usually the front door sticks, so that opening it makes a sound like a sneeze, but this time the door opened slowly, so that the sneeze was muffled and prolonged.

I thought of screaming to rouse the house, but I didn’t dare. Isn’t that queer? My heart beat like a rabbit’s, but my mouth was too dry to scream. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

But it was happening. And even though my mind couldn’t believe it, my body knew it was time to be frightened, because the footsteps were coming toward the library. So I moved — oh, so swiftly! — to the hearth. I picked up the poker, grasped it with all my strength, and glided forward — my feet were bare and the carpet is thick and I scarcely made a sound. I saw the doorknob turn. As the door opened, I leaped forward and brought the poker slashing through the air.

He swerved and ducked. It makes my blood run cold to think how close I came to killing him. He leaped back and held up his hands in surrender. “Jehoshaphat!” he cried. “Great Jakes, don’t kill me!”

At that instant — that very instant — I knew who he was. I gasped, “You’re David!”

He gaped at me with a queer mixture of amusement and shock — because I really had frightened him. “Yes, I’m David,” he said, “but who are you? What are you doing in Papa’s library in the middle of the night?”

I was so startled I almost said my real name. I stammered, “I’m Jo — Janet”— like that. I don’t think he noticed the slip. “The hired girl. Your father gave me permission to read his books.”

“You’re Papa’s little girl?” he said incredulously. “That’s what he calls you, you know: the little girl who loves to read.” He gave a shout of laughter and looked at me, and that’s when I realized that I was in my nightgown. I was dreadfully mortified. Thank heavens it wasn’t that awful old rag I brought from Steeple Farm but one of the new things I bought with Mimi.