“Well, we can’t have that. She isn’t old enough to understand.”
“She is a very smart little girl, though,” Willow replied.
“Yes, but at six you can wager she does not know when to be quiet. She could tell the whole village about what I am doing. Or worse, try some of it herself.”
“So when are you going to teach her?” Willow asked.
“When she is old enough.”
“And when will that be?”
“When she can be trusted not to talk outside the family about the craft.”
“Have you ever known Margarethe to tell anyone anything? All she ever does is ask questions. With her it’s always ‘How? or ‘Why?’ or ‘Who said so?’ ”
“You have a point, Willow. But she’s still too young.”
“But . . .”
“No but’s, no and’s, and no if’s, it’s final.”
* * *
“Tomorrow is my wedding day, Cynthia,” Margarethe scolded, “I have so much to do.”
“But Margi, I want to hear about the city,” Cynthia wailed.
“All right, Cynthie, but I am going to only list the main points. I have work to do. My dress needs another fitting, and the food needs to be checked and . . . oh, there is simply too much to do!”
The six-year-old buried her face in the pillow and wailed, “Please, Margi, please tell me about the city.”
“Oh, all right. But you must help me with the rest of the preparations.”
“I will. I promise,” Cynthia replied.
* * *
A little more than three years ago, Father took me into Cambridge to find a job where I could get more learning. We stayed at a rooming house while we searched for a position that would let me be near Harvard while earning my keep. Father heard about a Dr. MacLean of the Arts Department, specializing in mathematics. The Professor had lost his wife in childbirth and was looking for a nanny. So Father went around to Harvard and was able to get an appointment to see the Professor. Father talked to Professor MacLean and what they said, I will never know. Father refused to tell me any of the details. The only thing he said was that I was not to let Professor MacLean know that I could read or write.
Now, I was proud of my ability to read and write, and I had thought that Father was, too. I was very angry that he wanted me to keep it a secret from a prospective employer. Two days later Father took me to meet the Professor. I was immediately introduced to the children, and then told to await the Professor’s convenience in the parlor. It was then that I realized that I had already been hired. Father had made all of the arrangements for the job, and I would have no say in the matter at all. Father tipped his hat and left, with a kiss on my hand as his only parting comment. As Father left, I noticed a smile on his face unlike any I had ever seen before. I still do not understand why he smiled like that.
The Professor summoned me to his study, and proceeded to let me know what my job was to be.
“You have met Sean and Katherine,” he began pompously.
“It will be your job to look after them. You are responsible for dressing them properly and teaching them manners. You are not to let anyone read to Katherine, nor are you to let anyone teach her her letters,” he continued without pause.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“By Cromwell, you will not let that child learn to read or write or argue with a man! She will learn to be a proper woman, unlike her mother. She will cook and sew and have children.
“You are not to take tea with the other servants or the faculty wives,” he continued without acknowledging me. “You will assist the housekeeper during the children’s naps. You will have them dressed and ready to greet guests on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. You will bring them on my command and display them for the guests.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will keep the children out of the parlor, my office, and the library. Their clothes and toys will be kept in their rooms, and those rooms are to be kept tidy. The children will take exercise on the green only under your supervision. I hold you responsible for their effect on my reputation. Do you understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You will keep them out of the sight of my students, and any other adult that enters this house, except when I call for them. When I do call for them I want them brought immediately.
“Starting Monday week, you are responsible for seeing that Sean is in his seat at the dame’s school each morning, and you are to accompany him home each afternoon.”
He droned on. “Sean is a trifle headstrong, and has not been watched over for the past three months. You may stay at the school for short periods of time when you take him to school. But you must not have Katherine in the school building during class time. I dismissed the last nanny for arguing with me about Katherine’s future. Women have only one proper future, marriage.”
His lecture continued.
“Your room is at the top of the stairs to the left, third door. Dismissed.” He turned away and started to fill his pipe.
“Yes, sir,” I muttered, dropping a curtsey. But he had already forgotten that I existed.
Throughout that entire, amazing speech, I had grown angrier and angrier. How could anyone leave two children with a man like this? Sean was almost five. He looked innocent as a cherub and had run totally wild for the three months since the last nanny had been dismissed. Kate was a two-year-old with flaming red hair and a temper to match. She simply did not know the meaning of “no.” How could Father have thrown me into such a situation with no warning? I stormed out of the room the instant the Professor dismissed me. I was so angry that I took a wrong turning at the top of the stairs and ran right into a strange room.
But what a room! All the walls were lined with books.
There were more than a hundred. I stopped and counted, and as I counted, I calmed down. Father had promised me an opportunity for learning. There were three hundred and seventeen books in that room. Most seemed to be in English. Some were in Latin and some were in languages that I didn’t recognize. I was exalted and furious at the same time. Stunned at the learning contained in a single chamber, I found my way to my room, to think. I sat for a long time. Finally, I opened my bag, and there was a letter written in Father’s hand.
My Dearest Margarethe,
I know you are angry with me right now. This is the best I could do. You will get a pound a month and your room and board. Willow and I had a long talk about this and decided you would learn to love it. The good doctor demanded a girl who was ignorant. His wife had too much education to suit him and an Irish temper as well. Your days should be mostly your own, as the children are too young for school and the Professor stays in his office at the College all day long. He hates his children, but knows he needs to appear to be a good father to keep his standing in the community. The Professor holds lectures in his library three nights each week. The library adjoins your room, and I know you are good at listening through walls. Please be good to him and enjoy the library. Take care of the children, and the Professor will take care of you.
Your Loving Father,
Amer
Cold fury ran through my veins. I didn’t know what to think, what to do. How could Father leave me to deal with a man who hated his children, listening to lectures on mathematics all night? And a spoiled two-year-old to deal with. I remembered what you were like at two, Cynthie. How could he? Then I took another look at the letter. In spidery silver letters, I saw:
Margarethe,
Your father loves you and this is truly the best he could do. You will learn more than you think possible from living in this house. It will work out for the best.
Trust us.
I have no idea how it got there. I would swear the second note wasn’t there when I had first read the letter. In fact, I could swear the letter had not been in my bag when I closed it to leave the rooming house.
>
Cynthie, I can’t tell you what I felt then. I sat in a daze for a while until I heard Kate crying. She wailed as you used to do when you were little. It seemed to go on forever. Finally I knew I had to do something. I went down the hall to her room, only to find her sitting on the floor with a cut finger. All that noise for a little cut on her finger! I wanted to grab her and shake her, but I didn’t. Instead, I picked her up and held her. She cried more softly for a couple of minutes, then fell asleep in my arms. Her finger was no longer bleeding, so I took her to her bed and laid her down. That poor child needed me.
I felt so trapped. Children who needed me, a father who seemed to have abandoned me, and an employer who did not want his own children, except insofar as they would enhance his status. The lectures would be primarily a nuisance. The library, if I could find a way to use it without betraying myself, would be my only salvation. By the time I fell asleep I was terribly confused.
Morning came early. Kate woke crying. Little did I know that crying was the only way she knew to communicate with the rest of the world. The Professor shouted at her to be quiet. I rose and pulled on my robe. I went down the hall and lifted Kate from the bed to my shoulder. Poor child, no one had loved her since she was born. It was then I knew that I had to stay, if only for Kate.
I carried her down the back stairs to the kitchen and started to find her some bread and butter to keep her quiet while I got her dressed. Just then, Mistress Brown, the housekeeper, came in from her own house down the street.
“And just who do you think you are, missy, prancing in here with that brat and messing up my clean kitchen? Do you think I have nothing better to do than clean up after the children and you as well? There will be porridge for the brats once I’ve attended to the Professor’s breakfast. Now get out, before I take the broom to you.”
Astonished, I stood there open-mouthed, staring at her. Was I to have this same disastrous effect on everyone I met in Cambridge? After a few seconds, Kate’s sniffles reminded me of what I had come for.
“I’ve come for a piece of bread for Miss Kate. She’s hungry now, and too little to understand that she has to wait for her porridge. There will be nothing to clean up after, if you will excuse me.” I seized the heel of the loaf, and retreated with Kate back up the stairs. Once she had gulped a few mouthfuls of bread, she quieted enough that I could dress her for the day. Then, I went to call Sean. As he was being very quiet, I had hoped he was still sleeping.
He was not. And every piece of clothing he possessed was on the floor. I told him to dress, and he gave me a blank stare. I started picking up clothes and proceeded to stuff him into them. I didn’t do a very good job that first day. I had him in proper trousers and a shirt, but the socks were mismatched, and he had a house slipper on the left foot and a shoe on the right. It took me more than twenty minutes to dress him and get back to Kate. By that time, Kate, too, had managed to strew her nightclothes and quilts all over the room. I soon learned that I had to keep both children under my watchful eye every moment they were awake.
Two very frustrating hours later, both rooms were in some sort of order, and I took the children down to the kitchen for breakfast. They were both terribly hungry and a bit unruly after the unaccustomed discipline of “make your bed before breakfast.” Kate was snuffling continually. Sean just kicked at everything, including my leg. I was black and blue for weeks.
Breakfast was another exercise in patience. More oatmeal ended up on the floor than inside the children. It seems that Sean ate his oatmeal with molasses. Kate, on the other hand, would not touch molasses. She had to have butter on hers. But no bowls were broken, and we all eventually had something to eat.
It was a sunny day, so I took the children into the yard to play. I kept them there until lunch time, then took them back to the yard. I told stories to Kate, and Sean ran around picking up sticks and throwing them at things, dogs, and people. He hit a woman as she walked by, and I knew I was going to have to punish him. 1 hoped I would handle this correctly. The Professor would be furious if I was either too strict or too lax.
“You must not throw sticks or stones at people!” I scolded, as I gave him three good swats on the bottom with my hand. He sank to the ground and wept. He cried and cried. It seemed, as the moments wore on that he was crying harder and harder. I began to be afraid that I had hurt him, though I certainly didn’t think I had spanked him that hard. When I knelt down beside him and touched his shoulder, he flung himself against me and held on as if for dear life. He kept crying and whispering, “Mama, Mama come home.”
I hugged him hard, and smoothed his hair. He cried some more, eventually seeming to grow calmer, although the tears still ran down his face. I settled back on my heels, rocking and soothing Sean as best I knew. After a few moments, Kate, also crying, crawled over to us and into my lap.
The Professor came home for supper, and found us that way. Sean was asleep against my arm and Kate in my lap. The Professor let out an oath.
“What in the name of Cromwell the Protector are you doing?”
In my concern to comfort the children, I had somehow failed to notice that the patch of ground we rested on was more mud than grass. We were a mess. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t make matters worse, so I bit back my explanations. I woke Sean, lifted Kate, and proceeded to the house with all the dignity I could muster. I knew that supper with the Professor would be awkward because of the state he had found us in. I hoped that neither child had a cold. The housekeeper snickered nastily as we went past her and up the back stairs. Within the hour, I had the children fed, clean, and in bed and, myself in a state more suitable for meeting my doom.
The Professor was chewing on his fingernail when I knocked on the door to his study. He bade me enter. On his slate was a number problem, such as Father does. I knew how to work the problem, and could see that the Professor had made a mistake early on. I did not have a chance to construct a discreet way of telling him about the minor error before he launched into a tirade.
“How could you be so stupid, girl, as to take the children out rolling in the mud at your very first opportunity? What did you think you were doing? Heaven knows, practically everyone in town must have seen you out there, wallowing like pigs! But of course, you didn’t think, did you? You’re a woman, and women can’t think.”
He went on and on in a similar vein, calling me names and asking questions which he gave me no opportunity to answer. I fear it could have been much worse. Awakened by her father’s shouting, Kate started to cry. I knew exactly how she felt, but was determined not to break down in front of this cold, cruel man.
“Excuse me, sir. Your daughter is crying.” I turned and vanished up the stairs before he could deny my permission to leave. Kate soon quieted, and I crept silently into my room.
That night, I was an uninvited guest at my first lecture on modern mathematics. The Professor put long and strange names on things that Father had already taught me. It would take some time to learn the vocabulary, since I couldn’t see the figures the Professor drew to illustrate his lecture. Kate interfered with the lecture a total of three times, and Sean once. At this rate, it would take me years to learn about mathematics, let alone the rest of the arts. Obviously, I would have to find a few books on the subject and study, or I would never catch up with the students.
Later that night, I sneaked into the Professor’s library and borrowed my first book. It was a text by that Sir Isaac Newton whom 1 had heard Father mention. 1 also fixed the error in the Professor’s problem so that he would be able to finish it. Since it was a mistake in sign, I didn’t think he would catch me at it. I vowed to learn to imitate his writing, so that I could make changes in future problems. It wouldn’t be so bad, playing dumb, if I could correct the Professor’s mistakes without his ever noticing he had made them!
The remainder of the week went by in much quieter, but equally frustrating, fashion. The children
and I developed a routine, the housekeeper and I negotiated an uneasy truce, and we all tried to stay out of the Professor’s way. I would read for at least three hours every night once 1 was sure the Professor was asleep.
Saturday came, and 1 was again invited into the Professor’s study. He asked if I had seen one of his students depart with a book while he was at his office. I replied that I had not. He then wanted to know if 1 had seen the housekeeper with one of his books. I again replied that I had not and held my breath. I expected him to ask next if I had taken a book. To my intense relief and frustration, he then commented, “I know you couldn’t have taken that book. You’re too stupid to even understand what it’s for.” Oh, I was so angry! Next time I would introduce sign errors in his problems, rather than fix them!
The incident taught me something about Professor MacLean’s routine. It seems that he counted all the books most Friday evenings, after the lecture was over. He would then select a book to keep at his bedside during the coming week. It was his custom to read for an hour or two each evening before falling asleep. In the future, I learned to return whatever book I was reading to its place on the shelf on Friday during the Professor’s absence, and borrow it again on Saturday when I helped the housekeeper dust the library. One Saturday, when I reached for the volume I had been reading, it wasn’t there. I suffered agonies for several hours until I was able to sneak into the Professor’s bedroom and found it on his table.
The first day that Sean went to the dame’s school was hilarious. That morning he first refused to rise, so I dragged him out of the bed by his feet. He started to cry and flail at me. I dropped him the several inches to the cold floor and reminded him that it was his first day of school. He jumped up, forgetting his indignation, and proceeded to dig clothes from his trunk and scatter them around the room faster than crows scatter from a gunshot, He found his favorite shirt, one that I had darned for him the week before, and hurriedly pulled it on.
The Crafters Book One Page 12