The Hired Girl(92)

“I came to tell you I’m not going to be your friend anymore,” she announced, “and what’s more, I wish I never had been. Just because of you, Papa took me to the ophthalmologist”— her voice caught on the hard word —“and from now on, I’m going to have to wear glasses, horrible glasses, all the time. And Papa says it isn’t my fault I read so badly, but he’s going to arrange for me to have extra tutoring, so I can catch up with my schoolwork. Extra tutoring!” she wailed. “And he said I should be grateful to you. But I never, never will be!”

I set my chamberstick by the mirror and went to sit by her. Even by candlelight, I could see how red her eyes were. Malka had told me that Mr. Rosenbach has a friend on the school board who’s an ophthalmologist. The friend agreed to see Mimi this very morning. Malka said her little Moritz was never one to let the grass grow under his feet.

I searched for the right words. “Oh, Mimi, it won’t be so bad.” I put my hand on her shoulder, but she dashed it away and scowled through her tears. “Once you learn to read —”

“I already can read,” she said petulantly, “and I don’t like it. I don’t even want to like it. I don’t want to be a goody-goody like you, reading Plato and Louisa May Alcott and all that. And you were a sneak, to go to Papa and tell him my eyes are bad. He says I’ll get used to wearing glasses and won’t mind. I will mind. How could I not mind looking frightful? There’s a girl in my class — Ethel Marx — she wears glasses, hideous thick things, and you know what we all call her? Grasshopper. Her eyes bulge like a bug’s eyes.” She crooked her thumbs and forefingers into circles and framed her eyes with them.

It was downright eerie, because she did look like a bug. I believe that child could mimic a crocodile if she set her mind to it. I said soothingly, “You won’t look like a bug.” And I’m sure she won’t. Somehow Mimi will manage to look fetching in eyeglasses. Now that I think of it, I ought to have said that, because it might have mollified her.

“How do you know I won’t?” demanded Mimi. “I was so looking forward to growing up, and having boys fight over who gets to carry my books, and wearing a beautiful dress at the Harmony Debutante Ball. I had everything planned. Now it’s spoiled, because I’ll look a fright, and none of the boys will dance with me, and the girls will tease me — and Ethel Marx will be the worst of all, the mean thing, because I was the one who started calling her Grasshopper.”

I was reminded of Lucy Watkins and Hazel Fry calling me Greasy Joan. The memory smarted. “Then it serves you right,” I said. I was on the side of Ethel Marx.

I think those words hurt Mimi’s feelings, because she leaped off the bed like a little Fury. She dashed to my dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and dumped the contents onto the floor — then the second drawer — and then the bottom one. All my things flopped out: my nightdresses and my aprons and my petticoats and my stockings — and Belinda, who lay facedown on the floor.

“There!” hissed Mimi. “I learned that from one of your horrid books! And that’s just the beginning of how I’m going to get back at you — you false friend, you snake in the grass —”

I didn’t care what she called me. I rushed forward and caught up Belinda, because Belinda was the one thing that couldn’t be replaced. I didn’t want Mimi to spoil my beautiful clothes, but if worse came to worse, I could buy new ones. But Belinda, my darling Belinda —!

Mimi’s lip curled. “You’ve got a doll,” she said scathingly. “I knew you weren’t eighteen. You say you’re eighteen, but you’re a baby!”

“My mother made this doll for me,” I said. “It’s all I have left of her. You touch this doll, and I’ll slap your face — and I’m bigger than you are!”

It was childish of me to say that. And I guess I looked more threatening than I realized, because Mimi burst into fresh tears and ran out of the room.

I stood there, hugging Belinda. Then I set her on the bed and put the drawers back in the bureau. My clothes weren’t hurt a bit; I’d swept that morning, and the floor was as clean as could be. I wrapped Belinda in my old nightgown and hid her at the very back of the bottom drawer. You can’t see her unless you open the drawer all the way. I would have liked to lock the drawer, but though there’s a keyhole, there’s no key. Hired girls don’t get much privacy.

I’ve written this by candlelight, which goes against what I promised Mr. Rosenbach, but I don’t want to leave the room, in case Mimi comes back. I hate it that I’ve lost a friend. Of course Mimi’s younger than me, but she was funny and fun and clever. She wasn’t a bit of a snob. She seemed to forget I was the hired girl, and I liked how bold she was. I admired the way she always looked so pretty, even if she isn’t really, and I liked talking to her about clothes.