The Hired Girl

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  Then I felt dreadfully sorry for Mr. Solomon. Here he is, head over heels in love with Nora but cruelly separated from her because he wants to study Talmud instead of run his father’s department store.

  I can’t help thinking it’s a pity that Mr. Solomon never finished his poem. He should have stuck with it and had the courage to send it. If Nora Himmelrich read his poetry, she might come to appreciate him. I bet she’d like being called a fragile nymph and a blushing rose. Why, even the Blessed Mother must like being called Morning Star and Mystical Rose, or it wouldn’t be in the prayer book.

  Faint heart never won fair lady, after all.

  Tuesday, August the first, 1911

  I am writing this in Druid Hill Park. The sky is clear and last night’s rain refreshed the grass. I’m always surprised by how tawny and brittle it can be, and then how it can come back in a night.

  How far I’ve come in this diary! How I’ve traveled since last I sought to capture the beauties of nature in these pages! Nature in Druid Hill Park is vastly superior to nature in the country. At Steeple Farm, there are splintery fences mended with wire, and ugly sheds and manure piles. But here there are great sheets of ornamental water, and majestic oaks, and fountains and promenades.

  I meant to begin instruction with Father Horst today, but he left a note at the rectory saying he had been called out by a sick parishioner. So I walked back to Eutaw Place and fetched my journal.

  I feel very elegant, sitting in the shade like a lady of leisure. Before I sat down to write, I went for a stroll and admired the splendid panoramas. You’d think I’d be contented, having nothing to do but enjoy myself, but I found myself wishing I had a parasol to carry. I don’t need one, because my Cheyenne hat has a wide brim, but the other ladies in the park look so elegant with their parasols. I saw nice parasols in Rosenbach’s for ninety-five cents. Oh, dear, oh, dear, how worldly and covetous I’ve become! I remember Ma telling me always to put money by, and I vow that I will, but I really need new stockings. If I’m going to take the streetcar to Rosenbach’s again, I might as well look at the parasols, because —

  Later that night

  I hate Mrs. Rosenbach! She has no heart! I see now that I was deceived by her stylish clothes and refined manners. I thought she was a real lady, but she is only a simulacrum. Mimi — slangy, vain little Mimi — is worth a dozen of her. Mimi must get her good qualities from her father.

  I’m mad at Malka, too. Who would have thought she could be so unfeeling? Unreasonable, yes; I would expect Malka to be unreasonable, because she generally is. But I never dreamed she could be so callous, especially when I consider how much she loves Thomashefsky.

  Here’s what happened: while I was writing, who should come along but Mimi? Her white sailor suit was all grass stained and mussed, and she was swinging her hat by the ribbons. When she caught sight of me, her little monkey face broke out in a smile, and she scampered over to join me. How can that child look so pretty when she really is not? It’s partly the way she moves, I guess. She’s so light on her feet; she’s like a bit of bright paper being blown over the grass. I wish I were like that.

  She sat down next to me and asked what I was writing. I told her it was my diary, and she asked — just like that! — if she could read it! I said, “Of course not!” Then she tried to nab the book, but I was too quick for her and sat on it.

  After she saw I wasn’t going to let her read my diary, she asked why I hadn’t talked to her much since the day we visited the department store. I told her I didn’t think Mrs. Rosenbach wanted us to be friends.

  “Did she fuss at you?” Mimi asked sympathetically. “She fussed at me. She said going out together would make you forget your station. It was my fault more than yours, she said. So she shouldn’t have fussed at you.”

  “She didn’t fuss, exactly,” I said, “but she criticized my deportment.”

  “Oh, deportment,” said Mimi, rolling her eyes. “She doesn’t like my deportment either. Anyway”— with a wave of her dainty, dirty little paw she dismissed the subject of deportment — “Mama’s not here, so we can talk. What do you write in your diary?”

  “Diaries are private,” I said. “Besides, you don’t like reading.”

  “I sure don’t,” agreed Mimi, and sighed. “Papa’s making me read aloud a chapter of Little Women every night. I can’t stand those March girls. They’re always trying to be good, the stuck-up prigs. I don’t think Louisa May Alcott understood Jews very well, because there’s a bit in it about meek Jews. As if all Jews were the same.” She flashed her dimple at me. “Do I look like a meek Jew to you?”

  “Not much,” I said, and she looked smug.

  “I’m almost a tomboy,” she confided. “I say almost, because I love frilly clothes and I’m not very good at boys’ games. But I’m very high-spirited. Just now I was trying to play baseball, only when the ball comes at me, I shut my eyes. Did you ever play baseball?”

  “Never,” I said. The truth is, I think ball games are unfeminine. I believe ladies should vote and be doctors and maybe even be President, but they should stay tidy and not perspire. Most of my life I’ve had to get dirty and perspire, but I haven’t liked it. If you ask me, it’s silly to run after a ball, and that kind of silliness ought to be left to the men.

  Mimi said, “Nora Himmelrich plays.”

  “Does she?” I was shocked. Fragile nymphs shouldn’t play ball.

  “The girls have got up a team, and she’s captain,” Mimi explained. “Mama says I shouldn’t try to be friends with girls who are older than me, but my two best friends are away. Lotty’s in Paris, and Maisie’s at the seashore. Nora was nice; she tried to teach me how to hit the ball. But then the other girls came by and —” She stopped. “What’s that?”

  We’d both heard it: a shrill sound, not the cry of a bird. We listened but it didn’t come again.

  I returned to the subject of Mr. Solomon’s beloved. “Do you think Nora likes Mr. Solomon?”

  “Oh, she likes him,” Mimi assured me. “Everyone likes Solly. But she’s not romantic about him.” She cocked her head, listening. “It’s a kitten! I bet it’s caught in a tree.”

  It didn’t take us long to find the tree. Through the broad leaves of a sycamore, we caught a glimpse of a little creature the color of apricot jam. It mewed most pitifully.

  “It’s stuck,” Mimi said. “We’ll have to get it down.”

  I objected. “If it climbed up, it ought to be able to get down.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mimi argued. She curled her fingers like claws and spoke in her know-it-all voice. “The way the claws hook, they climb up easily, but coming down, they slip.” She threw her hat on the ground. “I’m good at climbing trees. Boost me up, and I’ll see if I can catch it.”

  I looked up. The lowest branch was high above my head. “Maybe it’ll jump down and land on its feet.”

  “It won’t. It’s afraid to jump.” Mimi’s eyes were sparkling; she was enjoying every minute of this. She nipped forward and attempted to shinny up the tree.

  I saw I would have to help. The trunk was too wide for her to get much purchase. I set my diary on the grass and laid my hat on top of it. Then I tried to boost her up into the tree.

  She was heavier than she looked. I heaved and lifted as best I could, but it was no use.

  “Hold on,” grunted Mimi. “If I can get up on your shoulders —” She twisted in my arms and scrambled up. “I still can’t reach!” she complained. “Can’t you jump?”

  “With you on my back?” I snapped. “No, I can’t! Get down!”

  I let my knees buckle, and we collapsed onto the grass and disentangled. The kitten mewed. “It’ll starve to death up there!” Mimi said despairingly. “Can’t you think of something?”

  I looked around for inspiration. My eyes fell on the bench where we’d been sitting. Mimi gasped, “You can’t lift that!” and she was right, because the bench was cast iron and heavy. I couldn’t lift it — but I could drag it.
There are some advantages to being a big ox.

  Hauling that bench was hard work. I was bent double and afraid of stepping on my skirt. I made Mimi hold up my dress and petticoats, and after that we got on better. By the time I got the bench under the tree, the muscles in my arms burned like fire.

  “You’re so strong,” Mimi said, her eyes glowing, “and so smart.”

  I knew she was buttering me up. I liked it, but I wasn’t going to lose my head. “Take off your boots,” I commanded. “I don’t want any more scuff marks on my dress.”

  “All right,” said Mimi. She took off her stockings, too, and unbuttoned the front of her sailor suit. “Once I catch the kitty, I can put him inside my vest. Then I’ll have my hands free to climb down.”

  “Good,” I said. All this time, the kitten had gone on crying. I swear the little thing knew we were his best hope, and he wasn’t going to let us forget about him.

  I made sure the bench was steady, and then I stood on it. Mimi hopped up on the bench, climbed up piggyback, and from thence wiggled onto my shoulders. She squirmed, braced herself, and leaped for the branch. “Quick, get down!” she directed me. I hopped off the bench and watched her swing back and forth. With a swirl of petticoats and lace-trimmed drawers, she swung herself into the tree.

  I saw the sycamore leaves flutter as the kitten fled. “Kittykittykitty,” sang Mimi in a sugary voice.

  “Can you catch it?” I asked.

  “Shhh. I’ll wait a little. You can’t chase after a cat too much. Cats have to come to you.”

  Nobody ever told me that before. I wonder if that’s why Thomashefsky always ducks away from me. Maybe it has nothing to do with me being a Gentile. I heard a faint rustle, and Mimi crooned, “Kittykittykitty?”

  She coaxed and crooned for the next five minutes, creeping farther and farther out on the branch. I wouldn’t have thought she could be so patient. I waited below, saying Hail Marys inside my head. I hope it wasn’t sacrilegious. It seems to me the Blessed Mother must love all creatures, including pussycats.

  I heard a shriek of protest from the kitten. Mimi crowed, “Got him! Look out, I’m coming down!”

  In an instant she was dangling from the branch. I rushed forward to catch her, but I didn’t time it right, or she didn’t; she dropped down before I expected. The best I could do was break her fall, and I guess I did. Both of us tumbled to the grass.

  Once again we untangled. Mimi reached inside her dress and took out the kitten. He was trembling all over, poor little thing. “Here. You take him while I put my shoes back on.” She scooped him into my hands.

  I clasped him to my breast. He was so frightened, and so small. At that moment . . . well, there’s a lot in books about love at first sight, but I’ve never known if I believed in it or not. But I never felt anything so like it as when I cradled that kitten in my hands. He was so tiny and fragile and scared that my heart ached. It felt soft and swollen with tenderness.

  He’s such a pretty little thing. He has stripes. His background fur is the color of ginger, but his stripes are darker, like dark brown sugar. There’s a milky-white patch under his pointy chin, and his paws have sweet little pink pads and sharp, sharp claws. “His eyes are blue!”

  “All kittens have blue eyes,” said Mimi, tugging at her stocking. “Just like babies. They change later on. Didn’t you know that?”

  I didn’t. Father hates cats. Every now and then, a stray cat will take shelter in the barn, but Father always shoots it. I explained this to Mimi. Her eyes grew wide and solemn. “I think your father must be the meanest man who ever lived,” she said. “Thank goodness you ran away.”

  We brushed off our dresses and put our hats back on, and I picked up my diary. We headed out of the park, taking turns carrying the kitten. I felt jealous when he was in Mimi’s hands, but I knew she had the right to hold him. She was the one who climbed the tree.

  “I couldn’t have rescued him without you,” Mimi assured me. I swear that child can read my mind. “He’ll be both our cat. What’ll we call him? I think Harry’s a nice name.”

  The perfect name came to me at once. “Moonstone. I’m reading a book about a yellow diamond that shines like the harvest moon. We’ll call him Moonstone.”

  “Moonstone,” repeated Mimi, tasting it. She flashed her bewitching smile at me. “That’s even better than Harry.”

  We walked home in perfect accord. I was so happy. I was happy because I was in love with Moonstone, but I was also happy because I felt close to Mimi. We really are friends, Mimi and I. I don’t believe she cares one bit that I’m only the hired girl.

  But when we got back to Eutaw Place, everything went wrong. Mimi and I took the kitten to show Mrs. Rosenbach, and she said it was out of the question that we should keep him. She said they already had the Thomashefsky cat, and one animal was enough. Mimi argued that Thomashefsky really belongs to Malka, and she (Mimi) is tired of Thomashefsky and would rather have the kitten. Mrs. Rosenbach said that was a pity, but Malka had enough to do with feeding Thomashefsky and letting him out of the house a dozen times a day. I assured her I would feed Moonstone and look after him; I offered to pay for his food out of my wages.

  But Mrs. Rosenbach was adamant. She said she didn’t allow her servants to keep pets. Mimi pointed out that Malka had Thomashefsky, but Mrs. Rosenbach said that Malka wasn’t a servant; she was a member of the family. She said we should take the kitten back to the park where we found it, so it would have a chance to find its way home. She said that it probably lived in the park and hadn’t been lost at all. Now it was lost, because we’d brought it to Eutaw Place.

  I couldn’t believe the cruelty of that. I was close to tears. Mrs. Rosenbach told me, in the most patronizing way, to use my handkerchief, which wasn’t fair because I wasn’t crying. Mimi lost her temper and said her mother was mean, mean, mean. Mrs. Rosenbach sent Mimi to her room and ordered me to take the kitten back to the park. She said that cats are good at finding their way home.

  My last hope was that Malka might let me keep the kitten in the kitchen. But Malka said the Thomashefsky cat wouldn’t like it, and as if to prove her right, the wretched cat hissed and growled at that poor little kitten. Malka told me to put the kitten out. She said it would find its way back to its mother.

  I didn’t believe that for a minute. I’m sure that kitten has no mother. Somehow I know that Moonstone is like me, all alone in the world. It was wrong to put him back outside, where there are big dogs and automobiles and nasty little boys who throw stones. I really could not bear it, and I cried. At last Malka relented and said I could give Moonstone a little milk before I turned him out.

  So I poured out a saucer of milk — I forgot to say that by that time Moonstone was tired of being held and was mewing and scratching. I took one of the cold fish balls we made for supper and broke it up for him. Malka said it was a crime to waste her good fish balls like that, but I told her I wouldn’t have any; Moonstone was only eating mine. I put the food on the floor, but the Thomashefsky cat came slinking over, the greedy thing. So I had to feed Moonstone outside, in Malka’s miserable little plot of a garden.

  I was afraid he would run away but he didn’t. At first he hid behind the garbage bins, but I was able to coax him out again. When he tried to lap the milk, he sneezed. I squatted down and dipped my hand in the milk and let him lick it off my finger. I know he’s too young to face the world by himself. It hurts my heart, what a baby he is.

  I could have stayed with him forever, but Malka called me in and made me shuck corn. All evening she scolded me because I kept looking outside to see if he was still there. The last time I looked — just before nine — he wasn’t, and I can’t bear thinking of that little, little darling thing out in the dark.

  I can’t bear it. It’s past midnight, but I’m going to go search for him. No one will hear me creep downstairs and go out the cellar door. And if I find Moonstone, I shall bring him upstairs to my room, where he’ll be safe — and if I lose my job fo
r saving his life, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

  Thursday, August the third, 1911

  I am so bereft. I miss Moonstone, though my time with him was so fleeting. I wouldn’t have thought I could love anything so much in such a short while. Miss Chandler once told me about a great Italian poet named Dante Alighieri, who fell in love with a girl he saw on a bridge. He never got to know her; he just saw her crossing the bridge and fell in love. I thought it strange and wonderful that a poet could fall in love so quickly and stay in love his whole life long. The girl — her name was Beatrice — was little more than a child. But maybe he loved her just because she was so young. Maybe her youth made him feel tenderhearted, the way Moonstone made me feel.

  When I went to search for Moonstone, I found him behind the garbage bins. I coaxed him out and smuggled him upstairs. I’m sure he was glad to see me, because he purred when I picked him up. And oh, he was so cunning in my bedroom, so bright-eyed and graceful that I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Even though it was past midnight, he wanted to play. After an hour or so, I was sleepy. I put him in bed with me and blew out the candle, but he didn’t sleep. He thought I was a mountain range, and he wanted to explore. I tried to keep still so he’d go to sleep, but I have a way of twitching my toes back and forth when I’m drowsy, and that made him think there was a mouse under the sheet. He pounced on my toes again and again.

  But by and by I slept, and he did, too. When I woke the next morning, there was a little circle of golden fur by my side. How can cats make themselves into such perfect rounds? I looked at him and he was so soft and stripy and golden and young; I kissed him again and again.

  Only, when I got up, I found he’d been a bad cat in the night. He’d tried to cover it up, but he’d been bad on my stockings. I couldn’t blame him because he was a prisoner in my room, but the smell was nasty. I began to see how difficult it was going to be to hide him, with the messes and the meows and having to steal food from the kitchen.