IT WILL BE Easter Sunday in a couple of days. I must plan an Easter dinner. At home we would have fresh fish that Daddy caught, turkey, and even wild duck. Oh, I mustn't think of home!
The police came back yesterday afternoon and told us that the housekeeper's death has been determined by the coroner to be caused by heart failure. Her husband came around to see us last evening and told Rene her funeral would be at the local Catholic church tomorrow. I told Rene we ought to go. He said he scarce knew the woman and didn't have the time.
I made breakfast for Rene this morning. I stumbled around the kitchen trying to find things while he was still asleep. But I managed to set the round table. I made eggs and bacon and coffee and toast. I burned my fingers on the black-top stove.
Reading the morning paper, Rene told me about the Baltimore and Ohio train line testing a train called the "Wind Splitter." It reaches speeds of more than 102 miles an hour. I wish I could take a train like that and go and see my family. But I didn't tell Rene that.
When I went to take his empty plate he put his arm around my waist and said my breakfast was excellent but that he didn't like the idea of my cooking. I told him I cooked at home a lot when the fancy seized me. He sat me on his lap then and said he'd hire us a cook soon. Then he kissed me and said how sorry he was that everything was so confused. We had a few moments like that, then he said he had to go. He was going to his office to settle some things this day. He said he'd take a hansom cab. Would I be all right here alone? I said I would. I'd keep busy. He kissed me and left.
Some people came around in answer to Rene's ads in the paper. But Rene directed me just to take names and addresses. So I did.
It was lonely without Rene. I miss the hustle and bustle of life at home, with always someone around. At noontime I made my lunch and took it out to the backyard.
It was then that I saw the girl.
She was just inside the wrought-iron fence at the side of the stable. And she was hoeing the garden. She seemed to be my age and was dressed in the plain, everyday clothes of the working class.
"Hello," I said.
She was startled and stopped hoeing to look at me. "Good mornin'," she answered, and I heard the Irish in her voice. She was a fine-looking girl, with a natural, healthy prettiness. Her reddish brown hair was tied back in a bun, but tendrils had broken loose and were hanging becomingly around her face.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Bridget. Bridget Moore."
"Did my husband hire you to do the gardening?" I knew this was not so, but after all, I am the mistress of this place, am I not? And I must be strong.
She shook her head no. "I was just after hoein' the weeds." Her face is full of freckles. I thought how we must sound, she with her Irish accent and me with my Southern drawl.
She said nobody had hired her.
Then what was she doing here? I asked. She blushed. Oh, she'd seen the ground, she told me, the beautiful earth begging for seed. And it looked almost as good as the earth used to look in Ireland. Before she came here. "'Tis a shame to let it go to waste and not grow vegetables, ma'am," she said. "Good land is a gift from God."
I took exception to her telling me that. Like I didn't know. "I come from a plantation in South Carolina," I said. "My father grows cotton and peanuts and corn and everything. I know about land."
She did a little knee bob of a curtsy. "Meant no disrespect."
"What are you going to do with the vegetables?"
"Bring them home to my family. Himself went and got injured on the job. That's my pa. Ma is lookin'for work. We've got little ones to care for and my grandfather lives with us. He was in the war and ain't much good for anythin' now."
"I'll tell my husband and ask if you can keep the vegetables," I said. "I'll let you know. What kind of work does your mother do? And what about you? What do you do?"
"Ma's a good cook," she said. "I'll do anythin'."
That evening when Rene came home, I did ask him about her. We were getting ready to go out to dinner, at the house of some of his friends. It seems I had to be properly introduced as his wife.
I could see he didn't like any of it. "Why can't we hire her mother as cook?" I asked. "She's looking for work."
He shook his head no. "You can't just hire people we know nothing about," he said sternly. "They must be investigated, have references. They'll be in our home."
It was a reproach. Tears came to my eyes. Rene has a tower of steel inside him that you can't get around when he doesn't want you to. I have learned that. Now I must learn how to get around it.
Then he put his arm around me, softening. "If you see her tomorrow, tell her to come around. And bring her mother. I'll let her know about the job, and the vegetables."
THE WEATHER has been chilly and rainy. Not at all like spring at home. But Rene says that when the rain stops it will be lovely. Still, I'm disappointed. The only flowers that are out are crocuses and daffodils.
Yesterday we even had some snow. The paper said three inches. I felt sorry for the daffodils, who have their heads sticking out of it. Rene says they will survive.
I know Rene has his mind on a new shipment of silk that just came in. He told me how they have so many orders from Buffalo, where, he says, there are so many millionaires you can't count them on your fingers, and where they are all dressing their daughters to send to England to marry into nobility.
"What do they do with themselves, these millionaires?" I asked.
"Work," he said, "harder each day. Just like Adrian and I do."
We were having breakfast in the kitchen. He had the folded-up morning newspaper in one hand and was reading it while we talked. I was stunned. "Are you a millionaire?" I asked.
He took his eyes off the paper and smiled at me. "Yes, we are," he answered. "Though it is never to be spoken of."
"You and Adrian?" I asked.
"No," he said. "You and I. Adrian has his own resources."
I fell silent. Discussion of money only made me think of Mama and Daddy and home. Was part of his million our plantation?
"What do you do with your money?" I asked.
And he answered. "Invest. Tie it up in assets. But I hope to have a family and a good life, too. What is it, Rose? What's troubling you?"
"I don't like to talk about money."
"You shouldn't like it. Just depend on me and enjoy what we have."
Just then came a knock on the back door. It was Bridget, with her mother and what she called a Brooklyn cheesecake, which she'd made herself. Rene thanked her and gallantly offered them some breakfast, which they declined. He asked Bridget if she wanted to work for us as a helper and personal servant to me. Her eyes lit up. "Mama can cook," she said.
"I have no doubt that she can," Rene said, "but I must interview you both first and get some recommendations."
He brought them right into the parlor to interview them. I stayed in the kitchen, hoping they'd get the jobs. All Rene needed, he said, were some personal recommendations. Where did they live? As it turns out, they take the trolley line to get here. It's an Irish community where they live. Bridget told us the Irish have lived here in Brooklyn since the middle of the last century.
Rene said he'd have some of his people investigate them. It sounded so formal, even frightening. I wouldn't want anybody investigating me. Would they go into their neighborhood? He said yes, but not to worry about it. Just worry about what I was going to wear tonight, because we were invited out for supper.
WE HAD Easter dinner cooked by Mrs. Moore, Bridget's mother. It was a delicious ham with all the trimmings. Rene has decided to hire both of them. I am so glad.