People didn’t give such work to Jews. To be sure, a few wealthy Jews lived in the city. But most Jews made their living in small trades — tailors, shoemakers, bookbinders. The Christians didn’t trust Jews; they still believed all the old lies.
The man riffled through some papers on his desk and reached into his pockets, searching for something. Then he touched the spectacles resting on his nose, shook his head, and smiled. He dipped his quill into the inkpot, licked his lips, and wrote Johanna’s name onto the paper. The scratching of pen on paper put Johanna’s nerves more on edge.
“My name is Frau Taubman,” said the woman. She pointed a fat finger at the man next to her. “This is Herr Vogel, the duke’s secretary.” The man nodded and pushed his spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose. “What is your age?”
“Fourteen.”
“Do you have experience taking care of babies?” Frau Taubman asked.
Johanna swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as sand. “I had a younger brother and sister. I took care of them since they were babies. That is —”
“What?” Frau Taubman interrupted.
“They died last winter. Of the plague.” Johanna’s legs were shaking. She clenched her fists and willed herself to stand still.
“I see.” Frau Taubman stared at Johanna. At her threadbare woollen dress, her frayed collar, and worn shoes. Johanna blushed under the woman’s scrutiny. She was glad she’d washed her hands and face that morning. She hoped she didn’t smell too badly.
“You seem to be a quiet one. You do not chatter on and on like some of the others.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johanna said.
“Now, girl, you need to understand something before you take this position.”
“Ma’am?” Johanna’s heart began to beat rapidly. Does this mean she will offer me the job?
“You will be responsible for the care of orphan babies.”
“I know I —”
Frau Taubman pursed her lips and held up her hand. “We have a strict rule. An unbreakable rule. The caregivers will not be permitted to speak to the babies. And you may not hold a baby beyond what is absolutely necessary for its physical care.”
“I don’t understand,” said Johanna. “Why not?”
“That is not your business,” said Frau Taubman. “You must follow this rule.” She narrowed her eyes. “Can you do so? And will you?”
Johanna nodded slowly. It was a strange rule, an unnatural rule, but she desperately wanted the job. “Yes, Frau Taubman. I can.” She swallowed hard. “And I will.”
“Very well, then. You shall be paid one thaler per month. Adequate room and board will be provided.” Frau Taubman stared at Johanna as if she wanted to ask her another question but changed her mind. “Report to the duke’s old summer house on the 27th of September. You will live there full-time, with one day off every three weeks.” Frau Taubman paused. “Do you agree to these terms?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Johanna said. Frau Taubman didn’t seem like the sort of person anyone should disagree with.
“Make your mark on this paper,” said Herr Vogel, sliding the paper towards Johanna. He handed her the quill, which she dipped into the ink. She signed her name — her false name — trying not to smudge the ink with her cuff.
“You know how to write?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. His spectacles slid down his nose.
“Yes, sir,” Johanna answered. In a quieter voice, she added, “My grandfather taught me.”
She was so grateful that Grandfather had taught her how to read and write. It was almost unheard of for a girl to have these skills. Grandfather always said that every person, man or woman, should know how to read. He said it was like a passport to another country. He once said something even more shocking — that everyone had the right to learn his letters. Grandmother had shushed him up at once for saying such an outrageous thing.
If Johanna had been a boy, she would have gone to cheder to learn. But girls were expected to stay home, and help with the housework and the children. If she were wealthy, she would have had a private governess. She wished she could study subjects like mathematics, geography, history, and other languages. But she was just a poor girl, with dreams beyond her station. Johanna bit her lower lip.
“An added bonus,” Herr Vogel murmured. He handed Johanna a piece of paper. “Here are your instructions.” He took his spectacles off and laid them on the table.
“You may go now,” Frau Taubman said. She waved Johanna away, as if she were a pesky fly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johanna said as she curtsied. Her legs were shaking so much she found it difficult to move.
“I wish you good fortune in your new job,” said Herr Vogel.
“Thank you, sir,” said Johanna, as she curtsied again.
“Perhaps you will need more than good fortune,” he added.
His words puzzled Johanna, but she didn’t dare ask him what he meant. She adjusted her cloak and tied her hat ribbons under her chin. She left the town hall and hurried outside.
“Fresh baked bread and rolls!”
“Get your chickens! Killed right before your eyes!”
“Fish! Fresh fish caught this morning!”
Farmers and craftsmen had set up wagons or carts on both sides of the street. As people walked from one stall to another, they tried to avoid stepping in dirty puddles or bumping into beggars. Those poor wretches sat on every street corner — their clothes in tatters, eyes hollow, and thin cheekbones jutting out from their faces. Papa had told her that people streamed into the city from the country. They were looking for work, but found only misery.
Children ran in and out between people’s feet. Cats meowed, dogs barked, and large rats with gleaming eyes darted furtively along the narrow streets. Smells of old food and stale body odours, of rotten garbage and the contents of chamber pots thrown into open sewers blended together in a nauseating stench that permeated the air for miles.
But Johanna scarcely noticed the foul smells and loud din. She had a job! She lifted her long skirts out of the mud and walked as quickly as she could along the rutted road.
She had one problem. How was she going to tell Mama?
— Chapter Two —
Johanna Makes a Decision
Johanna stood outside the door to the room where she and Mama lived. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she pushed open the door.
Mama was kneading dough and didn’t look up as she came in. “How is Marianne?”
Johanna turned her back to Mama and hung up her cloak.
“Why
