The Hired Girl (26 page)

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.

But then he softened and asked me if I was worried about a sin I might have committed. I told him I’d become very worldly lately, and how I’d bought a parasol I didn’t really need for ninety-five cents. He turned this over in his mind. At last he said that he hoped those words in the prayer book wouldn’t be a stumbling block to me. He confided to me that sometimes when he prays to God, he seems to feel the mind and heart of God. (I have felt that myself, but I didn’t say so, because it seemed like boasting.) Anyway, he said he was convinced that God was not
petty.
He (Father Horst, not God) said he didn’t believe God took offense every time a young girl decided to buy something pretty, though it
would
be nice if I put a little money in the poor box every week. He said God is our Father, and a good father (not like mine) likes to see his children made happy.

He added that it would be different if I’d been uncharitable. God always minds that, because God loves all His children alike, and if you are uncharitable, even in a small way, God feels sorry for the person you are uncharitable
to.

So I tried to think about whether I’ve been uncharitable lately. I have harbored uncharitable thoughts about Mrs. Rosenbach and Mrs. Mueller. And then there’s Father, whom I still haven’t forgiven.

But then I cheered up because I remembered that this morning, I was charitable to Malka. She was mending her black skirt and her mouth was all pursed up and sour, because sewing black on black is hard on the eyes. I knew she would be offended if I offered to help her in the ordinary way, so I was cunning. I said coaxingly that I wished she’d show me one more time how to fry fish the way she does. If she would, I’d finish stitching her dress.

She snorted and said learning to fry fish was a matter of trial and error, even if I had the right knack for it, which she didn’t think I had. But she would try to show me. Then she forked over that dress as if she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.

I wanted to laugh. But now I see that I was charitable to Malka. I didn’t do it to please God; I did it for kindness, which I think must be good. Only now I’m feeling conceited about it, which is probably bad.

But I’m not going to worry too much. Father Horst says that if I’m in any doubt about what to do, I should ask God for mercy and forgiveness, because He loves to grant us mercy and forgiveness. It makes Him happy when we ask for it. So I do ask for it. And I’ve decided I’ll give one-tenth of my salary to the church — thirty cents for the collection, and thirty for the poor box, which is a lot for the poor. When I was poor, I’d have been thrilled with twenty-five.

After I left Father Horst, I walked in Druid Hill Park and enjoyed my rose-colored parasol. I passed the building that’s going to be Mr. Rosenbach’s school, the one he’s planning with his friends. It’s a handsome building, and the children will be able to play in the park at recess, the lucky things. I wished I was a child and could go to that school.

But it’s also nice to be grown up and earn your own money. I bought a bag of peanuts and ate them in the shade. Then I took out a pencil and paper, and Mr. Solomon’s half-finished sonnet, which I had hidden in my bosom. I’ve been thinking about that sonnet all week, ever since I learned Nora Himmelrich was coming to the house.

I’ve never worked on a sonnet before. Sometimes Miss Chandler had us write poetry, but we only had to rhyme every other line. Even with Mr. Solomon having made most of the verses, it took me a long time to get the lines to scan, but when I finished, I was pleased with myself.

Wednesday, August the twenty-third, 1911

I have given the sonnet to Nora! When she came today, she said, “Hello, Janet,” very heartily, which was nice of her — she might have snubbed me in front of the others, but she didn’t. I tried to give her a meaningful glance, but there was no time to slip her the sonnet. I had to wait until after the bridge game broke up. Then I seized my chance. When old Miss Himmelrich was talking to Mrs. R., I drew close to Nora and said in a low voice, “Excuse me, miss, you dropped this.
I found it.
” And I put the sonnet in her hand, wrapped up small and folded in a handkerchief.

Nora looked startled and my heart pounded because I thought she might say the handkerchief wasn’t hers, which would have given everything away. But I put one finger to my lips — just for a moment. Her eyes widened.

I must say it was very thrilling. I think I have a gift for intrigue.

While I was washing the dishes tonight, I imagined that Nora accepted Mr. Solomon and they asked me to be their bridesmaid. It isn’t likely they will, because I’m only a hired girl. But I had a good time imagining it — first a winter wedding, with a velvet bridesmaid dress, and then a spring one, with organdy and lace.

Thursday, August the twenty-fourth, 1911

I’m in disgrace and it’s all my fault. I’m weeping as I write this, but what good are my tears? I can’t take back what I’ve done. Oh, I am nothing
but
tears, tears and stupidity and regret and mortification. I
ought
to feel mortified. I am to blame. How can I ever look him in the face again?

This afternoon the doorbell rang. When I ran to open the door, I saw Nora Himmelrich. She looked so pale and apprehensive I scarcely knew her. She asked to see Mrs. Rosenbach, but Mrs. Rosenbach — thank the dear God!— was at the Friedhoffs’, because baby Irma has a rash.

I told Nora that Mrs. Rosenbach wasn’t in and asked if anything was wrong. She wouldn’t look me in the eye because she was almost in tears and didn’t want me to know. Then she steeled herself and said she’d see Solly, if he was at home. I thought maybe there had been a lovers’ quarrel, but of course I couldn’t ask.

I showed her into the parlor. I found Mr. Solomon and told him Nora was downstairs. I thought he would fly to her with the ardor of a true lover, but he didn’t. He said he would come, but he looked taken aback.

I was tempted to linger and try to hear what they said, but I was not quite so base as that, thank God. At least I haven’t
that
on my conscience. I went downstairs, but my mind was awhirl. I was so hoping they’d settle their quarrel and get engaged. Oh, what folly! When I think of how happy and curious I felt, I
burn
with mortification!

After a half hour or so, I heard the front door shut. I was in the kitchen, ironing one of Mimi’s dresses — they’re so frilly they take forever, and in this heat it’s awful, ironing. Then Mr. Solomon came down, his feet striking each step quick and hard. Malka woke from her nap and cried, “What is it?” and the Thomashefsky cat leaped off her lap and took shelter under the table.

Mr. Solomon didn’t answer. He never even looked at Malka. He looked at me, and I wouldn’t have known him; his eyes were hard and despising and his mouth was compressed. He said curtly, “Come upstairs. I want to talk to you.” Of course Malka wanted to know what I’d done. But Mr. Solomon said, “I need to speak to Janet alone,” and he headed up the stairs.

I had to follow him, but I was scared. I knew right away that something had gone wrong. My heart was in my throat when I entered the library. Mr. Solomon pointed to a chair, but I was too agitated to sit. I saw he had the sonnet in his hand — not folded up small and tidy, the way it was when I gave it to Nora, but spread out and creased, as if he’d crushed it in his hand.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Who do you think you are, sneaking into my private papers? How dare you show this to Miss Himmelrich? She thought you were my messenger! You’ve upset her and made a fool out of me! Is that what you intended?”

I was so shaken by his accusations that I couldn’t find the right words. I stammered out that I’d found the sonnet by accident — I hadn’t sneaked. He paid no attention. He said I had no right to interfere; that I had been presumptuous and deceitful. He said he had no use for a servant who couldn’t be trusted, and he would see to it that I never worked another day in that house. Then — this was the worst part — he asked how I could repay the kindness his family had shown me with malice and ingratitude.

At those words I cried out. “It wasn’t malice,” I said. “It was because I was grateful — I wanted you to be happy! Oh, Solly, can she have refused you?”

I knew the minute his name passed my lips that I shouldn’t have called him Solly. I don’t know how I came to slip like that — I’ve been so careful to call him Mr. Solomon, even in this book. He was red with anger and his color darkened. “Yes, she’s refused me,” he said furiously, “thank God! Not that you have any right to ask. What business is it of yours, after all?” Then he repeated, “Just who do you think you are?” I don’t know why that was so wounding, but it was, and I wept.

“I wanted her to marry you,” I sobbed. “I didn’t mean any harm; I wanted you to marry her, because you love her, and it was such a beautiful poem, and I thought you should send it.” I reached for my handkerchief but it was downstairs, in the pile of things to be ironed. There wasn’t anything to cry into and my nose was running. I had to cover it with my hand, which made me feel
low.
“Don’t you want to marry her?”

He stepped forward, glaring, and his hands were clenched. There was a flash of a moment when I thought he might hit me, and I scuttled away from him. He must have seen the fear in my eyes because his face changed, and he said, “No, no,” gently, as if he were soothing me. Then his rage burst forth afresh. “What business is it of yours who I marry?” he shouted. “What has any of this to do with
you
?”

It was so hurtful, the way he said
you,
as if I were altogether insignificant. I said lamely, “I took a vow.”

“A vow? What on earth are you talking about?”

I tried to defend myself. “Because you were kind to me. Because you saved me from the streets. Mimi told me you were in love with Nora, and I vowed I would do anything I could to make you happy —”

“You thought I would be
happy
”— oh, his sarcasm made me flinch! —“if you read my private papers, and passed on a half-finished, badly written sonnet?”

“Yes, because faint heart never won —”

“I don’t have a faint heart!” he shouted. “If I wanted to marry Nora Himmelrich — who has been in agonies since you gave her that sonnet, because she doesn’t want to
hurt my
feelings
— I would go and tell her so! But I haven’t, because I don’t. I wrote that idiotic scrap of verse a year ago — a whole year! Since then, I’ve fallen head over heels in love with another girl!” I gasped. “And Nora, who is a ninny if there ever was one, was so upset by my proposal of marriage, my
unwelcome
proposal of marriage, that she went to another girl for advice, and it so happens
that
girl is the girl I love!
And Nora
showed her that poem!
” He paused so that I could take this in. “
Now
the girl I planned to make my wife has read the sonnet I wrote to Nora Himmelrich! God knows what she must think of me!” He smacked the crumpled sonnet against the back of the chair. It was just paper against wood, but it made a louder noise than I would have believed possible. I jumped.

“
Now
do you see what you’ve done? At the very least, I’ve been made to look like a fool; at the worst, I will lose the girl I love — all because of your meddling! Who knows how many other girls Nora may have confided in? She swore it was only Ruth, but I don’t know if I believe her — and what in
hell
am I going to say to Ruth?”

I wept very copiously. He had every right to be angry with me, even to swear at me, but oh, I felt so awful! I recalled with shame how excited I’d felt, being part of a love affair. I’d thought I’d done it for him, but now that he was shouting at me I realized that I’d done it partly for myself, because I wanted some romance in my life. But I never meant any harm — I wanted to
help.
And if I lost my job, I had nowhere to go, and I knew Mrs. Rosenbach would never write me a good reference, not after she heard what I’d done. I was sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” when the door opened and Mr. Rosenbach came in.

I reckon it was a shock to us both, him coming in like that. Mr. Solomon and I were so het up that it hadn’t occurred to us that anyone
could
come in. Mr. Rosenbach seemed out of place; he was so cool and collected. Well, not cool, exactly, because he never takes the streetcar and always walks home, so his shirt was wilted. He’d taken off his hat, and also his necktie, which he’d wrapped around his hand like a bandage. But even though he was hot and damp, the room seemed cooler after he came in. He glanced from me to Mr. Solomon and said, “Solly? What on earth are you saying to her?”