today 2

Janet is ashamed of what she wrote about Jews. She is going to be paid $6 a week as a parlor maid for Mrs. Rosenbach. Mrs. Rosenbach praises Janet's work and talks about her plans for her. Janet will be answering the front door and helping with cooking. Mrs. Rosenbach gives Janet two beautiful uniforms and a book to read, Daniel Deronda. Janet is excited and promises to take good care of the book. Monday, July the 10th, 1911. I am so ashamed. I am just boiling with shame, because of what I wrote about the Jews having a great love of gain. I am to be paid, and handsomely. I am to earn $6 a week. My days off will be Sunday mornings and Tuesday afternoons, unless Miss Rosenbach is entertaining. Mrs. Rosenbach sent for me this morning. I felt rather nervous. I wanted to broach the subject of my wages, but I hadn't figured out how. Everything I thought to say seemed so crude. Mrs. Rosenbach began by saying that I had done very well. She had feared that Molke would be prejudiced against the genteel, but it seems that Molke, oh dear kind Molke, I wish I hadn't insulted her kugel, says that I am hardworking and honest and willing. Mrs. Rosenbach said she was surprised by how Molke took to me. I was tempted to tell her that Molke isn't so bad, she just wants someone to make her laugh and listen to her stories, and of course do every single thing, she says, exactly the way she says it, which I do. Then it occurred to me that it might be better if Mrs. Rosenbach went on thinking that Molke was almost impossible to work with, so I smiled mysteriously, as if I had some power over Molke that no other hired girl could ever possess. After that, Mrs. Rosenbach talked about her plans for me. I am to be a parlor maid. She asked if I had any objection to wearing a cap. She explained that a lot of girls won't wear a cap because it makes them look like a servant. I said, well ma'am, I am a servant. Now that I think it over, it strikes me that I must have seemed right humble and innocent when I said that. Mostly I don't seem either of those things because I'm too tall. Then Mrs. Rosenbach mentioned the six dollars a week, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Rosenbach told me that from now on she wants me to answer the front door. That's to spare Molke's legs. Mrs. Rosenbach says the steps that go from the kitchen to the first floor are awfully steep, and last winter Molke was rushing to answer the doorbell and sell. Luckily she fell up the stairs, not down them, but Mrs. Rosenbach worries. That's why she comes downstairs to discuss meals. It just goes to show how fine Mrs. Rosenbach is, because in the normal course of things a servant should come upstairs when her mistress summons her, but Mrs. Rosenbach puts her respect for age and infirmity above her status. She suggested that I should take on some of the cooking on Saturdays. I will be a shabbos goy, which is a Christian who does the work that Jews aren't supposed to do on shabbos. Then Mrs. Rosenbach indicated a cardboard box on the sofa. It had an emblem on it, two wavy lines like a stream and a prancing horse, and the words Rosenbach's Department Store in beautiful copperplate. She said that it was customary for servants to pay for their own uniforms, but that seemed unduly harsh in view of the fact that I had to leave home precipitously. For a moment I didn't understand, but then I saw she meant that I had to run away from home because Father was beating me, except that he wasn't. She went on to say that, as I would be greeting her guests, she wanted me to be more formally attired. Now that shows how refined she is, because look at the things she didn't say. She didn't mention the fact that I've been wearing the same ugly dress for more than a week, or hint that I'm not presentable enough for her friends, and she didn't insinuate that I was too poor to buy my own uniforms. Now that I think it over, I feel a little guilty because I'm not as penniless as she thinks. I have my Belinda money. But while she was talking to me, so gravely and politely, I honestly forgot about the Belinda money. I felt penniless. All the time I was aching to see what my new uniform would look like. At last Mrs Rosenbach waved her hand in a way that gave me permission to open the box, and she added that she had taken the liberty of putting in a packet of long hairpins, because long hairpins are more effective with thick hair. I guess she's noticed that my hair keeps tumbling down. I thanked her, and opened the box. Tissue paper, thinners, rose petals, and two uniforms. Well really, they are house dresses, but they are so pretty. They're cotton, but they feel satin, smooth and fresh and crisp, and they're better quality cotton than any I've ever worn. And they smell so new, that clean cotton smell, which is almost like milk. Both dresses are blue, because blue is economical and doesn't fade quickly. One dress is cool morning sky blue with a pattern of white ferns on it. The other is closer to a robin's egg blue with tiny sprays of buttercups and pink rosebuds. Both uniforms have white dutch collars and cuffs that unbutton so the sleeves roll up. Then there were two darling white aprons with ruffles over the shoulders, so starchy and pure looking, and two funny frilly little caps. Mrs Rosenbach gambled on the fact that I wouldn't be too proud to wear them. Underneath the dress aprons was a big canvas apron, dark grey, which would be good for scrubbing, and the little packet of hairpins, none of them rusted. I could scarcely contain my excitement seeing those dresses. I kept holding them up and exclaiming and pointing out each detail to Mrs Rosenbach. I guess it was too much, because her mouth turned down at the corners, the way Mars did when something was a little thing, and carried on about it for something or another. It was a tenderhearted look, but more superior in Mrs Rosenbach's case. She said I need a black uniform for formal wear, but she'd provide that too. She added that she was sure I'd want to shop for other things, and she hoped I would consider buying them at Rosenbach's department store. That reminded her to tell me that her husband is coming home on Thursday, which I already knew because Molka told me. Molka worships the ground Mr Rosenbach walks on. His first name is Moritz, and Molka likes to call him her little Moritz. I hope he won't be a domestic tyrant like father. I don't think anybody ever called father Little Josiah. Perhaps that's what's wrong with him. When Mrs Rosenbach was explaining how to get to Rosenbach's department store, I haven't taken a streetcar yet, and I can't wait. My tongue got the better of me, and I blurted out a question. I asked her if there were books in Mr Rosenbach's department store. Mrs Rosenbach said curtly, you must not interrupt me, Janet. I felt ever so sorry, interrupting when she'd been so kind, and I said so all in a rush. I explained that I was just starving for something to read. Then I realised I'd interrupted her twice in a row. I clapped my hands over my mouth. She said, I'm sure you don't mean to be rude, Janet, but I'm afraid you're rather impetuous. I nodded agreement and tried to look pitiant. Though I like the idea of being impetuous. It sounds like a heroine. I'd rather be impetuous than pleasant any day. After a moment she relented. My husband's store has an excellent selection of books, she said. Then her brows came together. Though you may find them costly, they're hardcover books, not dime novels. I saw in a flash what she meant. She thought because I was a servant, I'd want to read trash. It made me hot under the collar. I guess I am impetuous. I'm not in the market for dime novels, I said haughtily. I don't think I would find them edifying or ennobling. I think maybe I shouldn't have said the ennobling part. Miss Rosenbach's mouth twitched as if she wanted to laugh. Only for a minute, though. Then she said, I beg your pardon, Janet. I had forgotten your fondness for Ivanhoe. If you're interested in reading the classics, you might borrow from our library. Might I? I exclaimed. I think Mrs. Rosenbach might have regretted her kindness then because she went on to say that reading mustn't interfere with my duties and that the books mustn't be taken down to the kitchen where they might get soiled and that I should only borrow one at a time. I assured her that I would treat the books with the greatest possible care. I promised that I'd make sure my hands were extra clean, that I would never, never stretch the bindings or doggie the pages. And she rose and went into the library. When she came back, she had a book in her hand. It was bound in black leather with the title in gold. Daniel Deronda. It was the kind of book that has a silk ribbon inside to serve as a bookmark. I love those silk ribbons. Perhaps this will edify you, she said, and she handed it to me with a smile that was both sphinx-like and motherly kind.