Meta had been our housekeeper long before I was born. It seemed as though she had always been there, like the picture of my grandmother which had hung for decades in the hall. She came over from Germany in the 1920s and stayed on for 34 years.
Meta was difficult to please. At Christmas and on her birthdays, we used to give her scarves, gloves, clothes, but she would hardly open the gift box, and just put them away. After a while we discovered that money was the only present she really wanted.
As a matter of fact, Meta was sothriftythat my mother had to keep watching in case she might buy cheap food. Left to herself, she would buy only the cheaper meat.
And every year, she told us to move back to Germany. This went on from the time I was four until I passed my 26th birthday. She always found reason to stay on—"April is too cold", "July is too hot and October is too crowded", "In January, there is too much snow. "
One summer she finally took a trip back to Germany. While there, she became very ill and died. When the news came, my brother and I couldn't believe. The seasons might change, we might grow up and get married and have children, but Meta went on forever.
When my mother and I finally could gather the courage to accept the news, we went down to Meta's room. Somewhere down in her own room, Meta kept a big case which was doublelocked. At the bottom of the case, there was a note saying "To Eddie and Karol, I have left all my money. Meta. " Inside was over $6, 000 which she had saved, coin by coin, over the past 40 years. Every quarter, every dollar, including the gifts of money which we had given her at Christmas and birthdays.
There was a long silence. I looked at my mother and couldn't help crying, without feeling ashamed.
