Dear Readers,
Here we go again. You might’ve been waiting for the next chapter so without further ado, let’s get started:
June 7th, 1891
It was a beautiful house. Three steps that led up to a green door. I rang the bell. The door opened and a pair of kind, deep eyes stared at me. “Hello. You must be Henriette. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Rachel. My husband and I are very happy to welcome you to our home. Still, there are rules to follow. Rules that you have to obey in order for this to work. But first I’ll show you to your room. You must be tired.” Those were her first words to me. Rachel was a tall woman with a strong sense of order and justice. She was a woman of determination and you could see that from the way she moved and talked. People who didn’t know her might’ve described her as severe and maybe even mean. But she was always kind to me. And I knew to appreciate that. Her brown, wavy hair was always tied to a knot which made the impression that she would not tolerate chaos. “That is true. It’s a pleasure to meet you too. Thank you for the job offer in the first place. It is very kind of you to give me a chance. And I will do my best.” She nodded and said some words I didn’t understand. I followed her. She led me up a set of stairways and opened a door which led to a small room. It gave me a feeling of home. It had a small window with a breathtakingly beautiful view on the ocean. I laid down my suitcases and went into the kitchen. It was a big house and I felt like I would get lost on my way downstairs. So many new sensations.
By the time I got to the living room, dinner was ready. Which was where I met Rachel’s husband David and the kids, Amy and Nancy. They were four and eight years old. Amy hid behind her father’s legs. But Nancy came straight up to me and said: “Hey, I’m Nancy. It’s very nice to meet you. I hear you’re going to be my new Nanny. Better be good”. David tried to hold back a smile. “She can be very straightforward sometimes so, don’t take it too seriously.” For dinner, there were fries and Campbell’s beans. What an unusual dinner. It was a new culture, that was for sure. We ate quietly. After dinner, Rachel put the children to bed and David poured himself a glass of whiskey. Its colour was golden, just like one of our sunsets back at home. But then I remembered that this was my home now. I went to bed without any further conversations and let all those new experiences sink in.
The first three weeks went by in a haze. I had a lot of work to do with the cooking and the kids. Every day at 7:30 I had to wake them, make them breakfast and bring Amy to kindergarten and Nancy to school. When that was done I was washing, cleaning up, fixing broken things and running errands around the house. At lunchtime, I started preparing for when the kids would get home. Homework with Nancy, who usually never did them if you didn’t ask for it, board games with Amy. Storytime. Stories about boys having adventures. Dragons. Maidens that had to get rescued by the Prince. In the late afternoons, I prepared dinner. Short, I was the maid for everything. The work was hard, and some days I wished for a change of things. But they were good people and made my life there as good as possible. Sundays I had my break day. I would go out and take walks to the beach. Explore nature and watch the waves. It reminded me of home. At the beginning that used to make me sad. I missed them. I wrote letters, it took a long time for them to arrive, but I would write them anyway. I’d tell them everything. How life was like here, how much I missed them, and what the people were like. I’d describe landscapes and tell them how different it all looked. I’d ask them questions, on how they were doing, what the news was back in our hometown and how my siblings were developing. And I’d send them money.
Then I got sick. I felt it in the morning. My body gave me signs that it wasn’t doing good. Maybe I had eaten something bad. No, it couldn’t be that. Otherwise, the kids and Madam would’ve been sick too. I ignored it at first. I’d had a stomach ache and my skin was itching. Something was wrong. But there was work to be done. Kids to be looked after. Food to be prepared. Errands to be run. I wanted to do it all. Work felt more important than some sickness I was carrying inside me. So, I continued as if nothing was wrong. After three hours of work, I fell unconscious.
I didn’t know how long I had been lying there or even where I was when I opened my eyes. A pair of two hazel, worried eyes were looking at me: “Good morning Henriette, I’m doctor Julian. Do you know where you are and how you got here?” I felt slightly dizzy and gave a simple “No, I do not” as an answer. “That’s completely normal for your condition. Do not worry. You’re at the hospital and we can help you. You passed out. Your landlord found you on the floor and they brought you here. You had been unconscious for quite a while.” Looking around, I realized, that the room I was in was an examination cabin. I looked at the doctor and asked: “What is my condition, if I might ask. And how long will it take to be healthy again?” He looked at me with an apologetic look on his face and said: “We have not yet found out for sure what your condition is, but as an educated guess I would say you were infected by Typhus. But to be completely sure I would like to run a few tests and ask a few questions. Is that good with you?”
Being in that hospital bed, not really being able to move, for my feeling of weakness had overcome my muscles, I didn’t really have a choice to say no. “Now, how long have you had this skin rash, and tell me what other symptoms you’ve been experiencing.” I had to think hard, maybe it had been there already and I hadn’t noticed. “To be honest with you, I did not notice the rash till yesterday evening. The past few days I have been feeling sick and feverish, but I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t feel it to be important.” That was all I knew before it started. And then I started seeing things. Fever flooded my brain. There was a fire burning in my body and nothing seemed to soothe it. The good moments were those when I was unconscious. Because then I didn’t have to feel anything other than the black nothingness that controlled my body. When I was awake, the fire felt worse than anything I had ever experienced. I stared at the ceiling and started hallucinating. I saw things that weren’t there, people dancing with me. Talking to me. Telling me to let go. They gave me medication, but the diagnosis was not very promising. Many people had died due to its affecting the body and organs.
When I was getting a little better they sent me home. Rachel and David cared for me with all they had. I still had fevers and nightmares. But they did all that stood in their power to keep me alive.
After weeks of sickness, I was finally doing better. From that point, I worked harder than ever before, because I felt there was a lot to make up for. And there was, because not everyone would’ve done this. Months passed, living for one purpose only: Work. Because with it, I could concentrate on things that mattered. I could run away from the homesickness for a while. Sometimes it was extremely hard though. Family feasts like Hanukkah were moments when I felt loneliest. It would remind me of home and give me a bittersweet ache in my heart. But as time went on, I started to love the people, to love this place. Life in America seemed to normalize itself.
I learned what it felt like to have two places to call home. After a year of being there, I felt like I had really arrived. I realized that I still missed home but now it was more of a memory that I could look back to and smile at. Letters became less frequent due to storms and problems at the post office. But that was something I could live with. Summer, autumn, winter and spring. Another year went by without me really noticing it. Holidays on Fire Island. Swimming and staring at the wonders of nature. I saw Amy grow from a shy, scared little toddler to an adventurous, brave young girl. And Nancy to a bright, trusting young woman.
As to my free time, I preferred going to an Irish pub or the local library where I met Jane. She would grow to be my best friend and very helpful in situations when I couldn’t bear it anymore. Jane was a very honest and straightforward person. If she was angry at you, she’d let you know. And if she thought you had made a mistake she made sure you would be reminded of it. But other than that, she was the kindest person I knew. And one of the most important ones too. She was there for me all the time and supported me when needed. Late-night talks about dreams and desires. Watching the stars. Short, she was really important to me. May 15th, 1894
In my third Spring on Long Island, I had made enough money to finance a college course, where I learned how to write like a journalist. It was one afternoon in a week. I learned to observe, to anticipate, to see the things no one else sees. It was hard, but it also broadened my mind.
One day of those afternoons a handsome, 23-year-old man with a strong built body, smiled and sat down next to me and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Jason. I am the new guy. What’s your name, if I might ask?” He smiled at me and gave me a very firm handshake. “I’m Henriette, the not new girl. Very nice to meet you, Jason”. He laughed a little and said: “Where are you from, not new girl? You sound a little different. I’m from Manhattan, by the way.” That was a very nice way to ask where someone lived, so I answered. “Originally, I’m from Germany, but I’m currently living in Baywood. I moved here three years ago. Do you live around here somewhere?”, I said. “Oh Germany, what’s it like there? And yes, I do. I’m living in Hempstead. It’s not very far from here.” We were interrupted by the beginning of the class. After we were done he said: “Would you like to get a coffee sometime? Because you seem like a very interesting, smart, beautiful young woman who has so many stories to tell. And I would like to listen to them.” I started blushing a little. But he seemed like a gentleman and I wanted to get to know him, so I agreed. “You might take me to the next forking in the road. And we could set up a meeting time and place.” We did that and agreed on a coffee after class the week after.
That night I couldn’t sleep. My mind was somewhere else, somewhere very far away with the tall, wavy, dark-haired boy I had just met. And I felt something that I hadn’t felt before. A feeling I couldn’t quite grasp. I felt an indescribable happiness and a smile that I couldn’t stop.
One week later we went to a small café and talked. There was a lot of things to talk about. I learned that he had grown up in Manhattan and that his dream had always been to work for the paper. But things hadn’t turned out as he had first thought and he had taken an apprenticeship as a construction worker, at the age of sixteen. He had always hated his job as a construction worker, but he had to earn money in order to fulfil his dream and go to a journalism course. And now he had tried to get a diploma, hoping that papers would take him. The reason for his passion with words and journalism had always been the truths about certain events and honesty. To bring truth into the world. To find out the reasons of actions from other people. I told him that journalism had been something that had just gotten my attention a few months back. I couldn’t quite say why. Some things just happened. After we had finished drinking our coffees, we decided to meet again. He walked me home and gave me a hug. “Thank you for the coffee, it was really nice. You were really nice. I suppose I see you next week? Goodbye.” I said.
When I got home I took my Jacket and went on a walk with Jane. “He’s so smart, so nice and he always makes me laugh. And he most definitely is a very interesting person.” I couldn’t believe it. “That sounds to me like you’re falling in love with him.” I gave her a look that said everything. “But maybe I’m wrong and you talk that way about all the boys,” she said. “I don’t know, I might. But what if he is not who I believe him to be? I’m scared of the pain.” And I was. Really badly. “Fear is part of life, but only because you’re scared, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Fear shouldn’t stop you from living your life.” I thought about what she was saying, and it made sense, to some extent. But there was a part of me that still didn’t quite believe it. “I will try, I can’t promise anything, but I will at least try.”
And with those words I went back inside and made dinner. Rachel had seen him. “Who was this young gentleman earlier who got you home safely and hugged you?” One part of me wanted to go hiding in the living room. But I knew better. “Good evening Rachel. His name is Jason and he is new in my journalism course. We had a coffee and it was getting dark, so he made sure I got home safely.” Rachel smiled but said: “That is good, as long as you don’t involve Jason into your work life. You must not get distracted by love. I will not tolerate such behaviour. I am sorry, but I will have to let you go if you get careless.” She seemed really serious. “I understand, Rachel. And I am well aware of the importance of concentration in the job. I will not let you down.” I meant it as I was saying it. These coffee meetings went on for the next few weeks. And as the months went by, I started to fall in love with him. Afternoon coffees turned into late-night talks at the beach, hugs into kisses and affection into love. I enjoyed every minute of it. But we didn’t have much time. I had my job, taking care of Amy and Nancy, cooking and taking care of the house. He had his job, working construction. Sometimes it was hard to see each other at all, apart from the course. I missed him, but I felt work was more important, so I decided to slow down what had turned into a relationship.
But had I known then how things would turn out I would’ve valued those moments with him far more deeply than I did then.
This is it. The 4th chapter. You’ll see what happens next week. Goodnight, Good Morning or whatever time it is wherever you’re reading this from.
Sincerely,
Gioia