The Hired Girl

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  Mrs. Rosenbach’s voice was harsh. “An innocent girl doesn’t go to a man’s bedroom.”

  I wanted to defend myself, but my mouth was too dry. A sound from the hall distracted Mrs. Rosenbach. “Mirele! I told you to go to your room!”

  Mimi peered around her mother. “I guess I won’t. Seems to me I’m the only one who knows what’s going on here.” She pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and jerked her head at David. “He’s been kissing her, so she fell in love with him —”

  Mr. Rosenbach confronted his son. “Is that true? Have you been making advances to this girl?”

  David reddened. “No! I mean, yes! I mean, they weren’t advances, but I did kiss her. It was an accident. Afterward I told her it didn’t mean anything —”

  “That’s not true!” Indignation restored my power of speech. “You said you were sorry, but you never said it didn’t mean anything!”

  David winced. “I don’t mean it meant nothing. What I meant was —” All at once his face softened with a dreadful pity. I braced myself. “You’re a peach of a girl, Janet. I like you an awful lot. But I wasn’t serious when I kissed you. I kissed you because I like kissing girls. I always want to kiss a pretty girl. Some more than others. . . .” He appealed to his father. “The cat scratched her. I was putting peroxide on her face, and I lost my head. It was stupid, I admit it, but I kissed her. Then for some reason she thought —”

  He stopped. I felt my cheeks get red, because I knew he was going to say, She thought I was in love with her. I waited for this final humiliation, but he didn’t say the words. He looked anguished, but I didn’t pity him. His agony was nothing compared to mine. “Janet,” he said wretchedly, “I’ve done you an injury. I beg your pardon.”

  I didn’t want him begging my pardon. I stared down at the carpet. There was a loose thread that the electric carpet sweeper had left behind. I bent down and picked it up.

  Mrs. Rosenbach cleared her throat. “You will leave this house tomorrow, Janet.”

  “Mama —” protested David.

  “Freyda —” Mr. Rosenbach began.

  “It’s impossible that she should stay here,” said Mrs. Rosenbach. “I won’t have this kind of thing going on under my roof.” She silenced her son’s objection with a sharp movement of her hand. “Enough. I’m sorry, Janet. You’ve been a good worker, and I don’t doubt David is to blame, but you’re old enough to know you shouldn’t kiss young men, or go to their rooms at night.”

  The words stung. I did know. Ma always told me that it was the girl’s job to guard her virtue. And Father Horst always said the same: he called it purity, but he meant the same thing.

  “She’s not as old as you think,” Mimi interjected. “She’s fourteen.”

  It was as if the whole room caught its breath. Mr. Rosenbach’s mouth dropped open, and Mrs. Rosenbach’s hand flew to her throat. Malka’s eyes widened to such an extent her face looked like a skull. I gasped. “You read my diary!”

  “Yes,” said Mimi, “and it’s a good thing I did, because you need someone to take up for you.” She raised her hands as if to ward off a blow, which was smart of her, because at that moment she was very close to being slapped. “I started reading it because you told Papa I needed glasses. I wanted to get back at you. But then I got interested, because you wrote about me. You said some mean things about me, but you said nice things, too, so I got more interested, and I read the whole thing. It’s the only book I ever liked, because it’s about real people, and I think,” she added, backing up hastily, “that you ought to be an authoress.” She glowered at David. “Then you kissed her and gave her presents and things —”

  “You gave her presents?” echoed Mrs. Rosenbach, and Mr. Rosenbach yelled, “David!”

  David looked baffled, as if he honestly couldn’t remember. Then he threw out his hands. “She wanted to draw! I gave her a stick of charcoal and a pad of paper! For the love of Mike, it wasn’t a diamond necklace!”

  “Yes, but you flirted.” With a flourish, Mimi removed her glasses and pointed one earpiece at him. I was wild with mortification and grief, but I knew she’d perfected the flick of her wrist before a mirror. “You always flirt, and you don’t see that girls have feelings. You treated Janet to the opera, and you bought her a red umbrella”— there was a restless movement from Mrs. Rosenbach —“and you said things to her. Of course she liked it. And of course she fell for it, because Janet — only her real name’s Joan — is very romantic. It all comes of reading books. She used to have three books, and she read them over and over, but her father wouldn’t let her have any education and he burned them. So then poor Janet had to run away from home, and she never meant to lie about her age, but the lie slipped out, because she was afraid of sleeping in the streets. And David believed she was eighteen and started flirting and kissing her, and Janet thought she was as good as engaged. Maybe she ought to have known better — I’d have known better — but she’s only fourteen, and if you ask me, if anybody ought to be sent away, it’s David.”

  Mr. Rosenbach lunged forward. I thought he was going to seize David by the shoulders and shake him. “Fourteen!” he bellowed. “First the Gratz girl, and now this poor little shiksa of fourteen! Why should I send you to Paris when I can’t trust you for one minute in Baltimore! Give me one good reason! You don’t think, you make a mess wherever you go, you are a disgrace to me in New York, in Baltimore, why should I send you —”

  “No, no,” I cried, “he has to go to Paris!” I flew to Mr. Rosenbach and caught the sleeve of his dressing gown. “He has to! He’s an artist, maybe a genius! And you promised, Mr. Rosenbach. It wasn’t all his fault what happened, and it was good and kind of him to take me to the opera: I loved the opera, just because I’m a hired girl doesn’t mean I shouldn’t see the opera! And it was my idea to come here tonight, he didn’t know I was coming, and he did say that if he ever married, he wanted to marry a Jewess.” I ransacked my mind for some other plea and found it: the Jewish prayer that I first heard from Mr. Solomon’s lips. “Let no one be punished on my behalf!”

  My voice rang in the silence. That moment, when I was taking up for David, was one of the moments when I was strong. When I look back on that terrible night, there is much that shames me, but it was true love that impelled me to plead for David, and I’m not ashamed of that. It’s a strange and piteous thing, because when I dreamed of true love, I dreamed of David loving me. But I was the one who loved truly. Knowing that, I can hold up my head, even though I made a fool of myself and my heart is broken.

  Mr. Rosenbach opened his hands and said, “Freyda.” That was all he said: just his wife’s name, but he said it urgently, and I knew he was pleading for me.

  David came forward and took my hands. As soon as he touched me, I went still. It was always like that between us. The lightest touch of his hand bewitched me, exciting every nerve in my body. “Janet, I’m sorry. I never once suspected you were so young.”

  “I suspected.” It was Mrs. Rosenbach who spoke, breaking the spell. “I sensed she was a child; I felt her wanting a mother.” She raked her hands through her hair. I recognized the gesture; David had inherited it from her. “I ought to have —” Her voice hardened. “No. Why should I blame myself ? The girl looks eighteen and she lied. I wanted to believe her. I wanted a hired girl, not another child to raise.”

  She reached behind her neck and gathered up her loose hair, twisting it pointlessly into a knot. The knot wasn’t becoming to her; it made her look respectable, but haggard and ruthless. “David must go to Paris. It’s all arranged, and he needs something to do. As for you, Janet — what’s your real name?”

  “Joan,” I said. She went on waiting until I finished it. “Skraggs.”

  Mimi breathed, “No wonder!”

  Mrs. Rosenbach ignored her. “Miss Skraggs, if my son has been kissing you, and buying you gifts, you had every reason to believe you were engaged. But there will be no engagement. If there is any tie between you
and my son, it must be broken off. Do you understand me, David? Your father will not send you to Paris if you consider yourself attached to this girl.”

  David released my hands. He mumbled, “I understand.” His cheeks were red with embarrassment.

  “Miss Skraggs, you will catch cold, standing in that wet dress. Go upstairs and take a hot bath. You may sleep here tonight. After Yom Kippur, we’ll decide what must be done with you. If you’re fourteen years old, you ought to be with your family. I can’t believe your father isn’t worried about you.”

  Your family. There was a second when I couldn’t think what she meant. Then Father’s face swam before my eyes, and I remembered the life I left: the isolation of the farm, the drudgery, the empty future. “No! I won’t go back!”

  Mimi added her voice to mine. “She can’t go back to the farm, Mama! It’s too cruel! Her father’s mean to her. He burned her books and he shoots cats!”

  “We’ll discuss this after Yom Kippur.” Mr. Rosenbach came and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Janet. We’ll find a new place for you, a good home; never fear.”

  That’s when I began to cry in earnest. I realized I’d lost everything: David, my heart, my pride, even my job. I covered my face with my hands and wept. Malka took me by the elbow and led me from the room.

  I did what Malka told me. When she ran me a hot bath, I got into it. She brought me one of her nightgowns and a pair of heavy wool socks. The socks were too big and the nightgown pulled across my chest. But the things were warm and dry, so I put them on and crawled into bed. I dragged the bedclothes over my wet head. I wanted to sleep, to be out of pain.

  But I lay awake a long time, sobbing. I hated myself and I hated David. I thought of how I’d offered myself to him, and I writhed with shame. How shocked Miss Chandler would be! And Father Horst; he would think me the most wretched and depraved of sinners. And Ma, oh, poor Ma! She tried to warn me about men, but I didn’t pay attention. She saved all that Belinda money, so I could escape from the farm, but here I was, about to be sent back, all because of my own folly.

  Then I cried because I wanted Ma. I cried until my nose was stuffed up and I couldn’t breathe. But I guess I cried myself out, because unconsciousness claimed me, and at last I slept.

  It was still dark when I woke up. The skin on my face felt raw, and my mouth was dry. I was chilled with that queasy kind of cold that you only get very early in the morning, when you’re not supposed to be awake. I thought it might be four, maybe four thirty.

  I tried to think what to do. I remembered Mrs. Rosenbach saying that they would send me back to the farm, and Mr. Rosenbach saying patronizingly that they’d find me a good home. A good home, as if I were a stray cat! I wasn’t fit to marry his son, but he’d find me a good place — somewhere else where I could keel the pots and dust the books I’d rather read. All at once my temper rose.

  I slid out of bed and put on my dress. It was nasty-sodden, but I’d made up my mind what to do. I’d go to Corpus Christi and wait until Father Horst came to unlock the church for early Mass. Father Horst would help me escape from the Rosenbachs. With luck, I’d get away before they had a chance to send me back to the farm.

  My mind was clear and hard, ticking off what I had to do. I’d go down to the kitchen to get my boots and stockings. Then I’d slip out the back door. The biggest snag in my plan was that all my things were back at the Marlborough apartment building. I’d left Anna’s easily enough, but it wouldn’t be so easy to get back in. I checked the pockets of my dress, but I didn’t have a cent.

  While my mind was working out the best way to escape, my heart was telling me another story. The story was that somehow David would know I meant to leave and stop me. It was crazy, I know that now, but I wanted it so much that I believed it. It seemed impossible that David didn’t love me.

  I descended the stairs slowly, pausing to listen every few steps. I imagined David coming out of his room. His eyes would look wild and tormented, because he wouldn’t have slept, either. He would grasp my hand and lead me back to his room, where we could shut the door and talk in whispers. He would confess to me that he did love me, but that he’d been afraid to say so before his family, because I was a shiksa. I would forgive him; he would kiss me, and we would run away to Paris.

  I imagined it all. I strained to hear his footfalls on the stairs. I’d reached the first floor. My hand was on the newel post — and I heard the stairs creak.

  “Janet!”

  My heart leaped. And then it plummeted, because the voice wasn’t David’s. It was Malka’s voice, and Malka was hobbling down the stairs; Malka in her flannel wrapper and embroidered shawl. “I knew it,” she croaked. “I said to myself: She’ll run away. She’s a headstrong girl; she’ll run out during the night, and we’ll never set eyes on her again. I kept watch,” she added gruffly and proudly. “I’ve been sitting up in bed, listening. There’s a crick in my neck that won’t go away in a hurry.”

  I started to say, “I’m leaving —” but she clamped her bony arm around me.

  “No, you’re not. You’re going to come downstairs and let me make you a cup of coffee. And then you’re going to listen to me, because you’re a good girl.”

  I’d cried all night. I’d thought I had no more tears to shed. But there was something about her calling me a good girl that started me howling again. She dragged me down to the kitchen, and I couldn’t shake her off, because she was clinging to me, smelling of camphor and onions and old age. My eyes were blind with tears, and I was afraid of treading on her bunion.

  She sat me down at the kitchen table. She lifted Thomashefsky and plunked him down on my lap. Of course he wouldn’t stay. She made coffee — I watched dully — and she put in cream and sugar with a lavish hand: too much cream and sugar, which is what I like. I didn’t know she’d noticed how I take my coffee. She made me toast, sopping with butter and gritty with cinnamon and sugar: cinnamon toast, the Rosenbachs’ cure-all. “Now, you eat that,” she commanded.

  I didn’t think I could. Heroines in books don’t eat when their hearts are broken. They pine away. But my stomach gave an agonized rumble, and I realized I was ravenous. I ate, and it was good. I drank two cups of coffee, one after another. Crying always makes me thirsty.

  “Now what?” Malka said, after I’d finished a third slice of toast. “Have you given up on running away?”

  That nettled me, because I hadn’t. “I won’t be sent back home, and I can’t stay here. Mrs. Rosenbach doesn’t like me. And David —”

  “That good-for-nothing!” spat Malka, and she said a Yiddish word I’ve never heard before. I don’t know what it was, but you could tell from the sound that it was really bad. My anger leaped up. “Don’t you dare say that about David!”

  Malka leaned across the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. “He’s a young fool, that’s what he is. And you’re another. Even if you weren’t a shiksa, it wouldn’t be right. He won’t be ready for marriage for another ten years, not that one. Fifteen, even. What do you want with him?”

  “I love him.”

  Malka rolled her eyes. “Love! You think it lasts, but it doesn’t. You forget about him, you hear me? You’ve got to think of the future.”

  “I am thinking of the future. I tell you, I won’t be sent home —”

  Malka made an impatient gesture with her hands. “Nobody’s going to send you home. There was talk about it, yes, but my little Moritz has another idea.” She leaned across the table, her witchlike eyes gleaming. “I talked to him while you were having your bath. He wants to send you to that fancy school he’s opening next year. He says if you’re only fourteen, you’re even smarter than he thought you were. You’re smart enough to do well, and they need Gentiles. The school’s meant to be half and half, but they’re short of Gentiles.”

  She tapped her spoon against the table, punctuating her speech. “You’ll work for Anna another year. You’re good with Oskar. Once David’s out of the country, you’ll come back
here every week; you’ll be our Shabbos goy. When the school opens, Moritz will see that you receive a scholarship. You’ll get your education, just as your mother wanted. You can grow up to be anything you want — not that there’s any shame in being a hired girl.” She glanced around the kitchen as if reviewing all the things we’ve cleaned together. “You’ve done a good job here. You talk back, and you oversleep, and you shouldn’t kiss the master’s son. But still. You’re a fine girl, and you’ve earned your way.”

  I stared down at my empty plate. I couldn’t think. I’d offered myself to David and he didn’t love me; I’d been mortified before the entire family; Mimi had read my diary. I was fourteen again, and in danger of being sent home. Now there was something new: I was to go to school. I ought to have been glad, but I felt numb. I wanted to climb the stairs and go back to bed.

  “You’ll go to school and get an education,” persisted Malka, “and then we’ll see. Who knows what you’ll become? The world’s changing — not for the better, if you ask me — but in these crazy modern times, a girl can be anything. A doctor, even.”

  “I don’t want to be a doctor.” I knew I sounded sullen and ungrateful, but I didn’t care. “I hate sick people. And I can’t take a scholarship from Mr. Rosenbach. He patronized me. I won’t accept charity.”

  “Yes, you will,” Malka said threateningly. She got up and came around the table and locked her arms around me. “You take that education,” she said against the top of my head. “When life offers you something good, you take it, you hear me? You go to a good school, learn everything you can, and grow up to be a woman. That’s what you’ll do,” she finished, and she held me so close I felt her old heart beating.

  So I gave in. I even took a crumb of comfort, because she loves me. It wasn’t what I would have chosen. I wanted David to love me, not Malka. But I guess I’m a beggar and can’t be a chooser. Being proud belongs in novels. In real life, you eat the cinnamon toast, even if your heart is burning.