“They died last winter. Of the plague.” Johanna’s legs were shaking. She clenched her fists and willed herself to stand still.
“I see.” Frau Taubman stared at Johanna. At her threadbare woollen dress, her frayed collar, and worn shoes. Johanna blushed under the woman’s scrutiny. She was glad she’d washed her hands and face that morning. She hoped she didn’t smell too badly.
“You seem to be a quiet one. You do not chatter on and on like some of the others.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johanna said.
“Now, girl, you need to understand something before you take this position.”
“Ma’am?” Johanna’s heart began to beat rapidly. Does this mean she will offer me the job?
“You will be responsible for the care of orphan babies.”
“I know I —”
Frau Taubman pursed her lips and held up her hand. “We have a strict rule. An unbreakable rule. The caregivers will not be permitted to speak to the babies. And you may not hold a baby beyond what is absolutely necessary for its physical care.”
“I don’t understand,” said Johanna. “Why not?”
“That is not your business,” said Frau Taubman. “You must follow this rule.” She narrowed her eyes. “Can you do so? And will you?”
Johanna nodded slowly. It was a strange rule, an unnatural rule, but she desperately wanted the job. “Yes, Frau Taubman. I can.” She swallowed hard. “And I will.”
“Very well, then. You shall be paid one thaler per month. Adequate room and board will be provided.” Frau Taubman stared at Johanna as if she wanted to ask her another question but changed her mind. “Report to the duke’s old summer house on the 27th of September. You will live there full-time, with one day off every three weeks.” Frau Taubman paused. “Do you agree to these terms?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Johanna said. Frau Taubman didn’t seem like the sort of person anyone should disagree with.
“Make your mark on this paper,” said Herr Vogel, sliding the paper towards Johanna. He handed her the quill, which she dipped into the ink. She signed her name — her false name — trying not to smudge the ink with her cuff.
“You know how to write?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. His spectacles slid down his nose.
“Yes, sir,” Johanna answered. In a quieter voice, she added, “My grandfather taught me.”
She was so grateful that Grandfather had taught her how to read and write. It was almost unheard of for a girl to have these skills. Grandfather always said that every person, man or woman, should know how to read. He said it was like a passport to another country. He once said something even more shocking — that everyone had the right to learn his letters. Grandmother had shushed him up at once for saying such an outrageous thing.
If Johanna had been a boy, she would have gone to cheder to learn. But girls were expected to stay home, and help with the housework and the children. If she were wealthy, she would have had a private governess. She wished she could study subjects like mathematics, geography, history, and other languages. But she was just a poor girl, with dreams beyond her station. Johanna bit her lower lip.
“An added bonus,” Herr Vogel murmured. He handed Johanna a piece of paper. “Here are your instructions.” He took his spectacles off and laid them on the table.
“You may go now,” Frau Taubman said. She waved Johanna away, as if she were a pesky fly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johanna said as she curtsied. Her legs were shaking so much she found it difficult to move.
“I wish you good fortune in your new job,” said Herr Vogel.
“Thank you, sir,” said Johanna, as she curtsied again.
“Perhaps you will need more than good fortune,” he added.
His words puzzled Johanna, but she didn’t dare ask him what he meant. She adjusted her cloak and tied her hat ribbons under her chin. She left the town hall and hurried outside.
“Fresh baked bread and rolls!”
“Get your chickens! Killed right before your eyes!”
“Fish! Fresh fish caught this morning!”
Farmers and craftsmen had set up wagons or carts on both sides of the street. As people walked from one stall to another, they tried to avoid stepping in dirty puddles or bumping into beggars. Those poor wretches sat on every street corner — their clothes in tatters, eyes hollow, and thin cheekbones jutting out from their faces. Papa had told her that people streamed into the city from the country. They were looking for work, but found only misery.
Children ran in and out between people’s feet. Cats meowed, dogs barked, and large rats with gleaming eyes darted furtively along the narrow streets. Smells of old food and stale body odours, of rotten garbage and the contents of chamber pots thrown into open sewers blended together in a nauseating stench that permeated the air for miles.
But Johanna scarcely noticed the foul smells and loud din. She had a job! She lifted her long skirts out of the mud and walked as quickly as she could along the rutted road.
She had one problem. How was she going to tell Mama?
— Chapter Two —
Johanna Makes a Decision
Johanna stood outside the door to the room where she and Mama lived. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she pushed open the door.
Mama was kneading dough and didn’t look up as she came in. “How is Marianne?”
Johanna turned her back to Mama and hung up her cloak.
“Why are you so quiet?”
“Mama, I have something to tell you,” Johanna said as she untied the ribbons of her hat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “Mama,” Johanna said as she walked closer to her. “I … I got a job.”
Mama stopped kneading and looked sideways at Johanna. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I got a job.” Johanna swallowed hard. “At the new orphanage.”
“A job? At an orphanage?” Mama wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her hand.
“The duke has given funds for a new orphanage and I saw a sign that they wanted girls to work there. I had an interview with Frau Taubman and I got the job,” Johanna blurted out.
Mama put her hands on her hips. “You applied for a job and did not tell me?”
“Mama, I wanted to. I truly did,” Johanna said. “But I didn’t think you would understand.”
“You are right. I do not.” Mama began to knead the dough again. Blue veins like roads going nowhere criss-crossed on the back of her hands. “Where is this orphanage?”
Johanna sat down on the chair opposite Mama. She avoided looking at her and drew circles in the flour with her finger instead.
“In the new part of the city. In the duke’s former summer house.”
Mama sighed. “It is well and good that the high and mighty duke will sponsor an orphanage.” Mama sighed again. “But it is not for you.” With every word, Mama pushed down on the dough.
“You should stay home like other girls your age. You should help me.” She looked at Johanna sharply. “Besides, you know very well they would never hire a Jewish girl to take care of their babies.” She frowned. “Unless … Unless …” She stopped kneading and lifted Johanna’s chin with a floured hand. “Did you lie about being Jewish?”