The Hired Girl(78)

“Did you tell her she had to leave?” Mr. Rosenbach asked Mr. Solomon.

“He said I was untrustworthy,” I explained, “and I was. But I didn’t mean to be.”

Mr. Solomon looked awkward. I mean he looked as if he felt awkward. “I was very angry,” he told his father. “I think I had a right to be angry.”

“You did, you did!” I assured him. “I was awful.”

Mr. Rosenbach went over to the table and took his rolled-up tie, as if he meant to put it on again. He uncoiled it and hung it around his neck so that it fell down on either side, like Father Horst’s stole. He said, as if to himself, “She’s very young.”

That nettled me, a little, because I’m not as young as all that. Mr. Solomon is twenty-three, which is only five years older than I am, or would be, if I really was eighteen. But then Mr. Solomon sighed, and my heart rose, because there was something forgiving in the sound. He said, “Let no one be punished on my account.”

It sounded to me like a quotation. Later on I told Malka what he said — because of course she gave me no peace until I told her everything — well, not everything; I told her about the sonnet, but I didn’t mention Nora’s name. And I refused to tell her about Ruth Kleman, because that’s Mr. Solomon’s secret. After Malka exclaimed and scolded and enjoyed herself tremendously — because my being in trouble is meat and drink to her — she told me that what Mr. Solomon said is part of a famous Jewish prayer. It’s a beautiful thought, I think. I must ask Father Horst if the Catholics have any prayers like that.

And now I vow, on this page, that from this point on I will never meddle with Mr. Solomon’s life. Or anyone’s life. I will remember that I’m a hired girl, and work harder at my job, and if I want something to happen, I will only pray about it and not do anything. I won’t go gadding about with Mimi, because Mrs. Rosenbach doesn’t like it, and I won’t hanker after being friends with Nora Himmelrich, because she’s above me, and I won’t allow myself any silly, idle thoughts about Mr. David. I will be good and grateful and read Marcus Aurelius and other improving books, and not flounce, and wear my kimono over my nightgown no matter how hot it is, and not spend money on silly things like parasols and bottles of perfume that smell awful.

I pray that in time I will respect myself again.



Tuesday, August the twenty-ninth, 1911

I have quarreled with Father Horst! I hope that isn’t a sin, to quarrel with a priest, but I think he was wrong. Though maybe thinking that is a sin, too.

He was glad to see me when I came for my weekly instruction. It seems to me that Father Horst likes me, or used to before today. He is very pleased by how quickly I’m learning the catechism. Once he said he never knew what question I’ll ask next, and the way he said it was almost admiring. I’d have sworn he liked me. I like him, too. He’s a teacher, after all, and I generally get on with teachers.

But after greeting me today, Father Horst announced that he’d found a new place for me to work. He has a parishioner named Mrs. Possit who is looking for a virtuous, hardworking Catholic (but not Irish) girl for live-in housework and help with the children — she has six of them, all under the age of nine. She’s willing to pay five dollars a week. Father Horst told Mrs. Possit he knew the very person for her.

I was puzzled. I reminded him that I already have a job, but he countered by saying that Mrs. Possit is a good Catholic woman and I’d be part of a Catholic household. He said that it was his duty to guide my footsteps on the path to a devout life. All the Possits, even the servants and the babies, come to Mass every morning. And he said that Mrs. Possit would be like a mother to me, and he repeated the offer of five dollars a week, as if he thought that was a very good sum of money for me to be earning.

I didn’t say that the Rosenbachs give me six, because that isn’t why I refused. I don’t believe I’m a mercenary girl; it’s that I like the Rosenbachs. I explained to Father Horst how Mr. Solomon saved me from the streets, but Father Horst interrupted me and said that I shouldn’t say Mr. Solomon saved me from the streets because that makes it sound as if I was on the streets. But I was on the streets, I said to him, I almost had to sleep in them, and he said, never mind that now. The point was, he was sure the Rosenbachs were very good people of their kind, but he wasn’t happy about me working for a family of Hebrews. I said pleadingly that Mr. Rosenbach lent me books and Mrs. Rosenbach forgave me for setting the attic bedroom on fire, and you wouldn’t find many Christians who are that merciful and kind. I told him how they even let me come to Shabbos one night, as if I were a guest instead of a servant.