“You need something else to occupy you,” Albert observed in reply. “Why not see a performance and write up a review?”
She exhaled loudly. “I’ve told you. My column has been discontinued for the summer. I can’t keep current at this distance.”
“Then you’re consigned to a summer of rest and sociable activities. Sounds enviable to me.”
She scoffed. “Overseeing our servants is hardly leisure. You’re the one with true leisure when at home, since you do none of the management.”
It is odd that Albert takes no responsibilities within the property. And neither of them pays much heed to Henry, except on a whim. But it’s Clementina who makes our work bitter. She seems convinced that her distance from necessary labor makes her more important than we are.
Yet keeping still only feeds her irritability and unhappiness! I suppose that’s justice.
Through all this, Margaret retains an admirable cheer. Her cough—a remnant of the cotton mill—has been activated by the dust. But she moves with purpose and gleams with vitality.
“Aren’t thy muscles sore?” I asked as we beat yet another rug outside. Mine were aching.
“Nah. I’ve always worked this hard.” She released the rug to the ground, pushed her sleeve to her shoulder, and flexed her substantial muscles, then laughed, surrendering her whole body to the sensation. “I love coming here.” She breathed in the vital air and gestured toward the gardens that began at the edge of the work yard. “You’ll love it, too, once we’re done with the spring cleaning.”
“Indeed,” I told her. Because I do love Germantown.
Yet how strange to know that while Clementina was growing up amid this splendor, I lived close by in a far simpler house and found especial satisfaction in Friend John Woolman’s writings on the importance of living modestly. Doing so has many benefits, especially these two: it spares us all from needless work, and it gives us time to advance the human lot more meaningfully.
I do find meaning in my work here, though—especially in Henry’s gabled nursery. It’s cheery, with striped paper on the walls and large windows that offer views of leafy trees. When I lift him from his crib, feel his feather-soft skin and solid weight upon me, and relax into the steady squeezing of his suck, he brings me to a place beyond worry, beyond the passage of time. Then I place him on his back and wave my fingers above, smiling as he tries to reach. He grunts, churning his thighs and feet in the air. I lower a finger; he grabs hold and pinches tight and crows over his great accomplishment.
Where does it come from, this urge to master the skills of one’s species?
Some force moves all living things to excel. Surely this proves we are endowed with bits of our Creator.
On the floors, while cleaning, I found a total of twelve pennies and tucked them in my apron pocket. This is all the money I have till the First of Sixth Month, over a week away, when at last I will be paid.
Fifth Month 25
I’m pleased to report that even Margaret’s patience has its limit.
The Burnhams still have no cook. After I fixed Clementina’s tea this afternoon and Margaret served it, Clementina walked into the kitchen and stood watching us at our cleaning. Her hands were on her hips; her face was dour.
“You must work faster,” she said. “The kitchen is not fully outfitted. Our spare bedrooms haven’t been touched. My parents are on a boat from the Continent, and the entire house must bear no sign of neglect by the time they arrive. Margaret, remember to change to a clean uniform before our mealtimes. It’s bad enough we have to be served by a maid. Lilli, I’ll expect your clothing to be free of milk or infant”—here she waved her hands, seeking the word—“spit-up. Everything must be perfect during their entire fortnight’s visit, or your pay will be docked.” She exhaled audibly. “Do you understand me, girls?”
Margaret bowed in reply. I nodded. Clementina stormed out, and Margaret pressed her lips into a prune and narrowed her eyes. “Do you understand me, girls?” she whispered. “Your pay will be docked, docked, docked, if you don’t work faster! Everything must be perfect! Perfect, perfect!”
She grabbed the hearth-broom and ran back and forth across the wood floor, wielding the broom crazily in the air. Then we began to work at double speed, racing to wipe dishes into a bucket, scrubbing them with haphazard motions that sprayed water about, whispering “Faster! Faster!” to each other, and generally behaving in such a ridiculous manner that our aprons came untied, and soap bits hung from our garments, and we were laughing too hard to continue doing anything but hold our cramping stomachs. Tears trickled down our faces as we gasped for breath. I half wished Clementina would come in and find us in this state, though her rage might have scared the feathers off a chicken.
Then Margaret and I stepped out back to satisfy our thirst and splash one another at the pump, which spurts water of the most heavenly freshness.
Our clothes were wrinkled and damp and darkened by dust, our hair flew free of our buns and stuck to our necks and foreheads, and any pretense our boots once had of decency had long been abandoned to the swish of mop water and the showers of dirt from the rugs. As if we had nothing to lose, we laughed uproariously and doused each other with cold water, renewing our bodies and our spirits.
Fifth Month 27
It’s First Day morning. The Burnhams have gone to St. Luke’s Episcopal on Main Street—a cathedral in the European style, lavish with arches and marble and stained glass. At breakfast, Clementina spoke animatedly of the friends she’d see there and the outings they’d plan, while Albert hoped to arrange a game of cricket. They went upstairs to dress, the lady with Margaret’s help, then donned their hats in the foyer. Clementina called to me, so I ran down the back stairs and came forward. Though she had on a most fanciful hat, bestowed with several birds’ worth of feathers, and a pink dress that made her look mild, she addressed me with her usual disdain.
“Eat nothing you shouldn’t. This is a workday for you, so don’t shirk. There’s a chore list on the kitchen table, and I expect everything done by our return at midday.”
I gave a curtsy, hoping fruitlessly to enter her better graces. She stepped out to their carriage, and her husband turned from the doorway, looking summery and cool in a beige linen suit and straw hat. He gave me a wink and a cheerful nod that lifted my mood, then alighted into the carriage. At the driver’s crop, the horses pulled them away.
Then Margaret left on foot to attend a Catholic church, Our Lady of Solace, where she favors the priest. As she has the whole day for her own, she’ll be staying through the social afterward.