Part 10 (2/2)

I let out on her my whole bitter heart. I told her my head was on wheels from worrying. When I get up in the morning, I don't know on what to turn first: should I nurse the baby, or make Sam's breakfast, or attend on the older children. I only got two hands.

”My dear woman,” she says, ”you are about to have a nervous breakdown. You need to get away to the country for a rest and vacation.”

”Gott im Himmel!” says I. ”Don't I know I need a rest? But how? On what money can I go to the country?”

”I know of a nice country place for mothers and children that will not cost you anything. It is free.”

”Free! I never heard from it.”

”Some kind people have made arrangements so no one need pay,” she explains.

Later, in a few days, I just finished up with Masha and Mendel and Frieda and Sonya to send them to school, and I was getting Aby ready for kindergarten, when I hear a knock on the door, and a lady comes in. She had a white starched dress like a nurse and carried a black satchel in her hand.

”I am from the Social Betterment Society,” she tells me. ”You want to go to the country?”

Before I could say something, she goes over to the baby and pulls out the rubber nipple from her mouth, and to me, she says, ”You must not get the child used to sucking this; it is very unsanitary.”

”Gott im Himmel!” I beg the lady. ”Please don't begin with that child, or she'll holler my head off. She must have the nipple. I'm too nervous to hear her scream like that.”

When I put the nipple back again in the baby's mouth, the lady takes herself a seat, and then takes out a big black book from her satchel. Then she begins to question me. What is my first name? How old I am? From where come I? How long I'm already in this country? Do I keep any boarders? What is my husband's first name? How old he is? How long he is in this country? By what trade he works? How much wages he gets for a week? How much money do I spend out for rent? How old are the children, and everything about them.

”My goodness!” I cry out. ”For why is it necessary all this to know? For why must I tell you all my business? What difference does it make already if I keep boarders, or I don't keep boarders? If Masha had the whooping-cough or Sonya had the measles? Or whether I spend out for my rent ten dollars or twenty? Or whether I come from Schnipishock or Kovner Gubernie?”

”We must make a record of all the applicants, and investigate each case,” she tells me. ”There are so many who apply to the charities, we can help only those who are most worthy.”

”Charities!” I scream out. ”Ain't the charities those who help the beggars out? I ain't no beggar. I'm not asking for no charity. My husband, he works.”

”Miss Holcomb, the visiting teacher, said that you wanted to go to the country, and I had to make out this report before investigating your case.”

”Oh! Oh!” I choke and bit my lips. ”Is the free country from which Miss Holcomb told me, is it from the charities? She was telling me some kind people made arrangements for any mother what needs to go there.”

”If your application is approved, you will be notified,” she says to me, and out she goes.

When she is gone I think to myself, I'd better knock out from my head this idea about the country. For so long I lived, I didn't know nothing about the charities. For why should I come down among the beggars now?

Then I looked around me in the kitchen. On one side was the big wash-tub with clothes, waiting for me to wash. On the table was a pile of breakfast dishes yet. In the sink was the potatoes, waiting to be peeled. The baby was beginning to cry for the bottle. Aby was hollering and pulling me to take him to kindergarten. I felt if I didn't get away from here for a little while, I would land in a crazy house, or from the window jump down. Which was worser, to land in a crazy house, jump from the window down, or go to the country from the charities?

In about two weeks later around comes the same lady with the satchel again in my house.

”You can go to the country to-morrow,” she tells me. ”And you must come to the charity building to-morrow at nine o'clock sharp. Here is a card with the address. Don't lose it, because you must hand it to the lady in the office.”

I look on the card, and there I see my name wrote; and by it, in big printed letters, that word ”CHARITY.”

”Must I go to the charity office?” I ask, feeling my heart to sink. ”For why must I come there?”

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