The Hired Girl(87)

Anna’s room was easy because she doesn’t live here, and it’s neat as a pin. But Mimi’s room was a mess, as usual, so I had to pick up after her. Neither of the carpets was very heavy, so I was able to carry them downstairs by myself. I hung them over the clothesline and beat them soundly. I got so dirty and damp — I had on my old brown shmatte from the farm — oh, such clouds of dust! It was warm and sticky today. Malka says the longer it stays warm, the better it’ll be for us, because soon we’ll have to feed coal to the octopus. That’s what she calls the furnace — it looks like a big black octopus, with arms that send heat to all the different rooms. Malka says the housework is harder in the winter, because of the coal dust.

But I’m not afraid of coal dust. And I believe I can manage the octopus. I don’t look forward to shoveling coal all day, but at least I won’t have to carry a coal scuttle up and down the stairs.

It’s a queer thing, but beating the carpets did me good. After I finished them, the pains in my stomach were gone. I hauled them upstairs and hammered them down again. By the time I finished, Malka had made lunch for the bridge ladies. She said I was a good girl and allowed me a break to change and wash up.

At quarter to twelve my packages were delivered from Rosenbach’s, and because Malka was still in a good humor, I snatched time to try everything on. I did look like a lady, with my new hat and fawn-colored suit. I looked downright citified, and so grown-up! My fall hat is a perfect darling.

Tonight I had a surprise. I came down to read in the library, and there was a package on Mr. Rosenbach’s desk with a note on it: For Janet. Inside was a sketchbook — oh, such a handsome one, with a dark-green cover and rough paper! David explained to me that rough patches in the paper hold the chalk the way a waffle holds butter.

Beside the sketchbook were two envelopes, one filled with willow charcoal — David says it’s the best kind for drawing — and another with six colored chalks in it: blue and red and purple and green and orange and yellow. They must be from David’s personal supply, because the tips weren’t sharp but rounded.

He remembered, he remembered! I don’t believe David Rosenbach is a suitable person for me to think about, but he did remember, and oh, I am glad, and I’m going to draw a cup!



Thursday, September the seventh, 1911

I have had such a fascinating conversation with Mr. Rosenbach! Now that I work here, I understand how Jane Eyre felt about Mr. Rochester. I don’t mean being in love with him, but finding him more interesting than anybody else at Thornfield Hall. Jane was a servant, with no one to talk to but the housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax. It’s the same with me, except Malka is a lot more aggravating than Mrs. Fairfax.

What happened was this: Malka took in the post this morning, and there was a letter for me. The minute Malka saw my name on the envelope, she asked me if I had a young man, because if I did, I wasn’t allowed one.

I was frying fish at the time, and I felt her question was tyrannical. I said indeed I did not have a young man, and I didn’t want one, but if I ever did want one, I didn’t see what business it was of hers — and then, right in front of me, she tore open my letter and read it!

It flashed through my mind that the letter might be from David, and my heart stood still. Then Malka said, “What’s that priest been saying to you?” and I realized my letter must be from Father Horst. I snatched it from her and ran my eyes over the lines. Oh, how repentant I felt! He began by saying that he hoped his letter would find me in good health. He’d missed seeing me at Mass and for my weekly instruction. He feared he was to blame for my absences, and that what he’d said about the Jews had been a stumbling block for my faith. He’s prayed about it, and he wonders if he was wrong to try to persuade me to leave the Rosenbachs; he even wrote that perhaps I’d been right to rebuke him for his prejudice against the Jews. At the end of the letter, he said he believed my Faith to be genuine and that he hoped nothing would diminish my desire to be received into the bosom of the Church.

I do think that was kind. And I think it was very humble of him to say that he might have been wrong. I felt kind of consecrated, having a priest say that my faith was genuine. But to Malka, of course, his letter was nothing less than a confession of anti-Semitism. She forbade me ever to speak to him again.

I said I had every intention of speaking to Father Horst again. Then Malka said I would have to choose. She said I’d have to choose between a lying priest and the family that took me in off the streets and gave me the clothes on my back.