Johanna could feel her face getting red. “I gave them a false name.”
Mama shook her head. “So, you lied.”
“But Mama,” said Johanna. “If I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have given me the job!”
Mama sat down hard on a chair and crossed her arms. “You know how dangerous that is! If you get caught …”
“Mama, I won’t. I’ll be careful!”
“But why did you do it?”
“I want to earn some money. I see how hard it is for you since … since Papa died.” She paused. “Besides, I want to be out in the world. I want to see new places, meet new people, learn new things.” Johanna stood up and gazed out the window.
“The world?” Mama shook her head. “The world is not a kind place for Jews.”
“I know, Mama,” said Johanna.
“I wonder if you do.” Mama took a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and blew her nose. “We are still being blamed for poisoning the wells, for spreading the plague, for …” She sighed and blew her nose again. “They can’t decide why they hate us. All I want is peace and security.”
Johanna walked over to Mama and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Please don’t be angry.”
Mama pulled away, stood up, and began kneading the dough again. “A respectable girl should stay home until she is married.”
“But Mama!”
“Not one more word,” said Mama, raising her hand. “You will contact this Frau …”
“Taubman.”
“This Frau Taubman and tell her it was a mistake; that you have changed your mind.”
“I can’t,” Johanna said.
“You must.”
“I’m sorry, Mama, but I intend to take this job — with or without your permission.”
Mama wagged her finger at Johanna. “You are stubborn,” she said. “Since you were a little girl, you have always been stubborn.”
“Not stubborn, Mama. Determined. There is a difference.”
Shaking her head, Mama muttered, “Stubborn. Like a mule.” She pounded the dough again and again, her knuckles pushing through to the wooden table top, her lips pressed tightly together. Finally, she shoved the dough into a pan, brushed melted butter on top, and threw a cloth over the pan. Johanna wondered if the poor dough would recover from its ordeal.
The following Saturday afternoon, Johanna and Mama were walking home from the house where some Jewish families gathered for prayers. What would it be like to go to a real synagogue, built only for study and prayer? Johanna wondered. Would it be easier to talk to God in such a place? Would He listen to our prayers then?
For many years, the Hamburg Senate had prohibited the Jews from building a synagogue. And now rumours were spreading that soon the Jews of Hamburg would no longer be allowed to practise their religion at all. Many of the wealthier Jews had already moved away — to Altona, Ottensen, and even as far as Amsterdam.
Lately, Johanna had been feeling as though a blanket of fear was suffocating her. She was afraid of being poor, and of being Jewish. For almost a hundred years, the leaders of the church had been demanding that the Senate expel the Jews. And for the past six years, the Jews had been forced to pay exorbitant fees for the privilege of staying in the city. Will a day come when we will be thrown out of Hamburg? Johanna wondered. Where will we go? What will we do? The thoughts buzzed in her head, like pesky flies she couldn’t shoo away. Questions without answers.
“Johanna,” Mama said. “I have been thinking. Are you still determined to take that job?”
“I am, Mama.”
“It is not safe to live away from our community.” She shook her head and blew her nose into her handkerchief. “Our only safety is to stay together; to follow our laws.”
Johanna remembered when other children had often taunted her younger brother, Isaac, on his way home from cheder; had thrown dirt or stones at him; had pushed the little boy into the filthy gutter.
“Mama, don’t worry. I’ll be careful. And I’ll send you money every month to help out at home.”
Mama put her arm around Johanna’s shoulders. “I am trying to understand why you are so set on taking this job.” She walked for several moments in silence. “You probably don’t know, but when I was young, I wanted to see a bit of the world, too.” She sighed. “It is hard for me, but I … I will let you go.”
“You will?”
“I see that you are set on this path.” She shook her head. “Besides, no matter how hard I try, we are getting poorer and poorer. There is not enough money to buy food or clothes, or pay the rent. But Johanna —”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I will worry. Every minute you are away, I will worry.”
“I’ll write and visit as often as I can.”
“I will still worry.”
“But Mama, you always worry. About everything.”
“That is true. But I cannot help my nature.”
“And I can’t help mine.”
Most Jews lived in the section of Hamburg called “Neustadt,” or New City, after they had been ordered to move from “Altstadt,” the old city. Hamburg was a city intersected by two rivers — the Elbe and the Alster. It wasn’t an easy city to walk, either, because of its many canals and bridges.
The duke’s summer house was on the outskirts of the city, in a section Johanna had never been to before. Several times, she lost her way and had to ask for directions.
Dusk was falling as Johanna approached the brick mansion. Its wooden shutters were already closed against the coming night. Grey clouds scudded in a leaden sky. A cold wind was blowing the leaves off the beech and chestnut trees. Johanna shivered at the thought of the coming winter. And because of what lay ahead.
She remembered what Frau Taubman had said at the interview about not speaking to the babies. She’d pushed the thought away in her excitement about the job, but now the reality of what she had promised struck her like a blow. She sighed. I must go forward, she thought. I’ve gone too far to back out now.
A narrow, four-wheeled wagon stood in front of the cast-iron gate set in the fence surrounding the building. The driver leaned out of the wagon and tugged on the bell. Johanna imagined the sound echoing in all the rooms and corridors of the house.
“Hello there, girl.” The driver peered at Johanna from under his battered cap. “What’s going on here?” He eyed the building. “They told me to make a delivery. Couldn’t wait ’till morning, they said. Said if I did this job, it’d be regular like.”
“This is a new orphanage,” Johanna said.
“An orphanage, you say?” The man rolled his eyes. “Still don’t know what the hurry was.” He scratched his head. White flakes of dandruff landed on his coat. “Why’d the duke go into the baby business?”
Johanna shrugged. “Perhaps he has a kind heart.”
“Maybe.” The man lowered his voice. “But they say his pocketbook comes before his heart.” The man paused. “You work here?”
Johanna nodded.
“I’ll