October 1, 1914. My dearest Friend: I received your letter with which I was very happy. I am glad to hear that you have a nice place. Dear friend, I apologize not to answer you right away. I have lots of work. I have two people and little baby girl. I have so much work; I haven’t got even time to wash my face.... In the morning I get up at 5 o’clock and I wash porch, then I make breakfast. I had eight to the table and I was the 9th one, so you can immagine what work I had. So then I had to wash dishes, then wash diapers for the baby. I got to clean two ducks and I got to make eight beds as whole first floor and I had to set the table and cooking all alone. No one helps me and everything got to be ready 1 o’clock, so you can imagine how I was dancing in the kitchen. That’s the way it goes, every night I go upstairs half past ten or eleven. When I come up I’m like dead; soon as I lay down I sleep. So imagine how I look worse every day. I have $14 month and she promises me more next month—that what she says. I like to know if I see them [money]. She is very snike [snake?]—every evening when she goes to bed she take me around the neck and kiss me but who knows for what she do that. I work very hard, Dear sweetheart, you ask me to come to see you but how can I do that; I haven’t got no shoes and no money, I am very poor. If you can you come over on Saturday evening and sleep with me. I got big bed. On Sunday we can look for [an Italian friend, not a bad character] and we go in a place where we can have a good time and lots of kissing. We going to look for some nice man but something better, not only working man; we shouldn’t have to go to work. I am angry with my aunt, she don’t want to take my lawyer, so they may go on my back [“take the air”] I take him myself when I have that money, don’t you think. She told on me that I have different name and that I am Catholic not a Jew, so now Miss R. will be angry with me that I told her lies but she and Miss T. and all the rest may go on my back. I don’t worry now they know. How we fool, them. Innocent. Friend, aint they fools, aint they fools! She [probation officer] is a good girl. Sunday School. [Term applied derisively by the girls of the officials, the institution and of themselves.] My dearest Friend, I wrote to T. and the letter come back. He isn’t there any more and may be he is in Phila. Wouldn’t be that nice if he knows we are paroled; he be happy, don’t you think so? Dear Friend, all the time I couldn’t come to see you before I have new shoes; and then we go to dance together; they would not know where we were going. If you can, come over. This is such a little country—one house half an hour from the next. Every night when I go to bed I am thinking how I used to have and how I have it now, but when my relatives wouldn’t help me out, God knows what he got to do. Your lady ask you how I like my place, so say I couldn’t have any better place. My nose is always bleeding; I dont know what to do. My lady told me she send for doctor but I don’t want any. So, dear Friend, dont be mad at me I didn’t answer right away. For that I wrote you such a letter that is worth something. And write, Esther. And sleep sweet. And sweet dreams. Love to you from your dear friend.
My dearest Friend: ... I see that you didn’t forget me. True friend. When you want me to answer you always right away, every letter, just the same I expect from you that you should answer my letter like a true friend. Don’t you think I have a right? Friend, dear, what I’m going anyway to do if I have to suffer always so much with my sickness? I suffer so much, you know. Dear girlie, nobody wouldn’t lend you any money. I was asking people and they promised me and later they say again that they havn’t got money themselves. So you see how it is, how the people are false.
Doctor told me that if I let go that further that I wouldn’t have never any children, and you know when we get married we would like to have children, but where I should take $100 when I haven’t got them and for the trial too they ask $100, so answer me if I haven’t got [am not] right. I like to help us out but what can I do without any money. I wrote to the lawyer if he can make trial for you and he answer me that he like to talk to me about—he couldn’t make any answer—he said that he wrote letter to Bedford, that they should let us free, that we was working hard enough, that we are long enough in places, and so Miss T. wrote me that I should wait and Miss R. wrote me a letter too, that’s going to be everything all right, and my lady she received a letter from Miss R. that she come to see me next month and I think that I be free. The lawyer wrote letter to him and they are afraid from him, ha, ha. [frightened into this, course]. The lawyer spoke to Judge and Judge he said that we never be free, so lawyer he wrote to me that soon as possible I should come to N. Y., and I should tell him why we want the trial and I tell him that we’re not guilty, that we does that from foolishness [thoughtlessness] and we was nervous, and going to tell that we were invited to the wedding and so that happened; that we was like out of mind, that we didn’t realize what we were doing. Don’t say that we are guilty, otherwise we wouldn’t come out and that would be a shame. We be put in a newspaper when our trial come on and we shouldn’t say “guilty”, but if you wouldn’t listen to me, say anything you like. Still I beg on you don’t say on me. If they ask you, say that you don’t know. Do you understand me? Listen Friend, make yourself stuck up [act proud]. Don’t act like a baby—that way you never come out. What should I do next week; I am supposed to come to N. Y. and I havn’t got fare for train; that cost $8. I come there and like to see you but I wouldn’t have much time. The lawyer he going to keep me about one hour and about 4 o’clock I’m through with my work and then till I get to the station and then take two hours till I get to N. Y. and that be about 7; and I want to be back about ten if be possible. I don’t want my lady she should catch on for she never would let me go there. Don’t say anything to your lady that I come to N. Y. because you’re be such a one you never can keep quiet, do you understand me? I’m sometimes so angry at you that I would tear you to pieces cause you never keep your mouth shut. You got too big mouth. I think when you got a sweetheart that your big enough to have more sense. Once in a while you have not got your sense.... Sometimes I have a right to tell you that, so don’t be angry on me and write me right away, and tell you head you should have a good time, but not yet. Wouldn’t you be glad to see me. Its six months since we didn’t see one the other. Maybe we wouldn’t know one the other. I let you know when I come.
November, 1914. Dear Friend: I received your letter and I was very glad to hear from you. I am glad that you don’t forget me. I will forgive you this time, but don’t do that again. I going to lose my patience. You know what that means. I don’t have to wait very long for a letter. Dear friend, I am going to moving pictures every Wednesday and every time when I going out I see the nice young mens. How they love them, the girls, and we can’t help that. I met one nice man and he want to go with me for a good time but I realize maybe he some kind of detective, so I told him. “What do you want, I can’t understand you.” “Oh, you know what I mean,” [he said]. I told him, “You big slob, you leave me alone,” and he left me. He was very nice, and he was a blond. That was a joke. Dear friend, if you could come with me to moving pictures, there we would meet nice mens. Wouldn’t that be nice? I have my hands so hard like a man from hard work, so you can immagine how hard I am working. So the rest of it I am going to write to you next time. I am writing for a call for a lawyer and he get one too. My uncle he pay the lawyer so that going to be for sure.
With such a Italians [as T.] we wouldn’t go any more. The lawyer want us to have a witness and I told him we had [the Italian] and now I must tell him we havn’t got any. That’s going to be hard again. I wrote to the Frenchmans and the letter comes back. What can I do and I got to give an answer to the lawyer right away. Good-by. Lots of kisses. Your friend.
Dear Friend: Forgive me that I didn’t answer your right away. Dear Friend I have such a cranky lady. If I stay here another two months with her I think I go crazy. I was very sick the other Sunday. We had 8 people and so you can immagine what work I had. Only if you would see me you would get frightened how I look; I am only bone and skin and pale in face. You would say that I go by and by in grave. Everybody ask me what’s matter with me but you know I can’t tell everybody I come from Bedford. You know when I had these 8 people to table and I have to wait on table and after they was through I get such a cramp like I had in the Tombs. My lady she was so mad at me that I leave the dishes and I went to lay down. Friend you wouldn’t know what it is when we have our home again. When anything hurts you we can get help—but this way we are like dogs—don’t you think I’m right? If you can only see this and how I worry about both of us how we should come free. Friend, I didn’t understand your letter. You want I should write to Miss R. or you do it?
Friend, dear, I am sending you a letter. Be so kind—send it from Brooklyn or New York. You know he [doctor] ask me where I live, so I told him I am a dressmaker from Newark but when the letter going to be sent from Brooklyn or New York, but don’t let you lady see that because that doctor is only for bad sickness [venereal], only for women which are sick from men; otherwise you bring me in a trouble more than I am. He’s known all over. So soon as you get the letter, mail it right away. Don’t let the letter lay no place they shouldnt see it. If my lady should know this, so I know its only your fault. My lady told me that you show every letter you get from me to your people and they write one another, so if you be true to me you do what I ask you. He’s the doctor what going to cure me. Dear Friend forgive me that I write such a short letter. I’m very tired. Answer right away will you and then I write to you one long letter and I come to see you soon as possible. With happiness and kisses from your true friend. Esther.
[Note by parole officer: When Esther was asked to translate the original of the foregoing letter ... she omitted the sentence with the word “doctor” in it.... When she had finished the letter I asked her if she had not omitted a sentence, pointing out. She read it again and said: “Oh, yes, he is the doctor what’s going to make me well, that is, my head well.” I reminded her that she had previously said he was the doctor she was keeping company with and also a doctor for women’s sickness. She was evidently quite confused but insisted that she meant all women’s sickness, and that he treated women only, not men.]
Dearest Friend: I am letting you know I received your letter. I was very happy with it. Dear Friend I write to T. where is the lawyer. He went there and told him that he met us on the street, so see how T. is false; so lawyer ask my uncle where did we pick up the two boys, so uncle ask me how is it with the boys—where we met them, so I have trouble yet again.... When T. come to you so you tell him that he meets us on the street but we are not street girls; give him good but tell him we are innocent. Ha, ha, Dear M., Miss R. was here yesterday and ask me about trial, I didn’t know what to say, she had so much to say [knew so much that Esther was surprised]. Friend why did you tell your lady that we going to have trial. I didn’t tell mine nothing. You’ve got to say everything out before there’s any start. You know she going to let it out to Bedford. Miss R. told me your lady wrote to Bedford—that she write there every month, so realize how stupid you are. Excuse me that I scold you like that but I can’t help. I am very excited and angry that you must tell everything you know. I asked Miss R. if I can go and see you and she told me “no.” So I ask her if you can come see me and she told me she ask your lady if she let you go. I told Miss R. that I am willing to give you money for train if you havn’t got it. You should come to see me soon as possible and then we going to talk over....
December 1914. Dear Friend: I must say that I like it here, because Miss R. asked me if I like it here. If not she will give me another place, but I would lose my good references and that would make it very bad, as they might say I do not know how to work—or then I could perhaps not come out in the trial.