The Hired Girl(73)

There was a burst of laughter. I felt my cheeks burn. I couldn’t believe she was mimicking me. I could have cried with mortification.

“But your Malka is a treasure,” protested Mrs. Schoenberg. “So loyal! Who can find servants like that these days?”

There was a chorus of agreement. I heard fragments of stories: one lady’s housemaid dressed finer than her mistress; another was bold enough, during the dead of winter, to ask for a fire in her bedroom; another had followers. I scarcely listened. My soul was too harrowed up. To be called rough and childish and backward — and I’d worked so hard to please Mrs. Rosenbach! Then, out of the chorus of voices, I heard Mrs. Mueller say she would never trust a shiksa in the house — especially with unmarried sons.

“Janet’s not like that,” Mrs. Rosenbach said firmly. “She’s not a flirt. I don’t mean she doesn’t have her little crushes — just now it’s Moritz — but she’s as innocent as a child. I have no worries on that score.”

“Servants always prefer the master to the mistress,” said Miss Himmelrich. “They’d rather take their orders from a man.”

“Moritz is much interested in Janet,” said Mrs. Rosenbach. “He has an idea she’s unusually bright. He’s trying to get her to read the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, poor girl.”

There was another ripple of laughter. I clenched my teeth and vowed I would read every page of those awful Meditations. Then Mrs. Mueller said in her vile and insinuating way, “She’s not a bad-looking girl. I wouldn’t want her having her little crushes in my house. What if she falls in love with Solly?”

“I never have to worry about Solly.” Mrs. Rosenbach sounded serene to the point of smugness. “Solly would never look at a girl who wasn’t Jewish. His faith is too important to him. And Janet is scarcely Jezebel.”

“Be grateful David’s not at home,” Mrs. Mueller said meaningfully, and Mrs. Schoenberg trilled, “Oh, David! Such a one for the girls!”

“He’s staying with the Gratzes in New York, isn’t he?” Mrs. Mueller’s voice sounded greedy for details. “I heard there might be a match between David and the Gratz girl.”

“There will be no match,” Mrs. Rosenbach said crisply. “David is far too young to settle down. And Isabelle Gratz is a giddy schoolgirl. I can’t imagine how these rumors get started. Whose turn is it to deal?”

I heard the sound of the cards shuffling and the smack of them being dealt on the table one by one. Mrs. Schoenberg sighed in an exaggerated fashion and said, “Ach, this hand is more like a foot!” and Mrs. Mueller snapped out, “One spade.”

They had finished talking about David — and me. They were back to playing cards again. I lingered a few minutes more but heard nothing.

I went downstairs with my mind reeling. I seethed with indignation — I hated Mrs. Rosenbach for saying I was backward and like a child. And how dare she mistake my gratitude to her husband for a silly crush? Mr. Rosenbach is kind to me and gives me books to read. I should be base, I should be infamous, if I failed in gratitude to a man who gives me books.

And what did she mean by saying I wasn’t Jezebel?



Tuesday, August the twenty-second, 1911

Today I saw Father Horst. Right off, I asked him if Jezebel was very good-looking. He seemed a little startled, but he opened his Bible to Kings and ran his finger up and down the pages. Once he’d reviewed the scriptures, he explained to me that the Bible didn’t say what Jezebel looked like, except that when she was an old woman, she painted her eyes. He added that she was very wicked, because she encouraged her husband to worship false gods.

I felt a little bit better after that, because I’d thought that what Mrs. Rosenbach meant was that I was too homely to attract Mr. Solomon. But she hadn’t been saying that.

Then I asked Father Horst about a passage in the prayer book that’s been bothering me. It says that we can’t have any pleasure without giving pain to Jesus: We cannot find pleasure to our liking without at the same time offending Him. If that’s true, it’s horrible, and I said so. It’s worried me a good deal.

I think Father Horst was taken aback. At first he was stern. He said if I wanted to be a good Catholic I must learn to be obedient and not ask so many questions. He showed me the IMPRIMATUR in the book, which is a sign that the Church approves of the book and a guarantee that there’s nothing in it that’s bad for morality.