Maggie Now

by Betty Smith

what he snide "

  "No.''

  "He said, 'You never asked me.'" She smiled a tender

  smile of memory and said fondly: "That Timmy!"

  "But would you have married him if he wasn't a Catholic?"

  "But I told you he was."

  "But for the sake of argument . . ."

  "No argument. He was."

  "But your mother was w illing to let you marry a

  Protestant."

  "Oh, she was just talking ',

  Maggie-Now sighed. She doesn't even know what I'm

  talking about, thought Maggie-Now.

  But Lottie knew. "That's too bad that you had to fall in

  love with him," she said.

  "I know," said Maggie-Now.

  "How long did you know him, Maggie-Now?"

  "Just a week, Aunt Lottie."

  "Only a week? You'll forget him."

  "If I only could!"

  "Don't worry. You will in time."

  "Do you really think so, Aunt Lottie?"

  "No, I don't. That's just something to say because there's

  nothing else to say."

  1 241 ]

 

  A. CHA P T FIR THI R T Y- THRE E ~

  APRIL went into llav and the lilac bush in, Father

  Flynn's yard came into bloom and it was Decoration Day

  again. Then it divas June. And all the da's of that spring,

  Maggie-Novv sat by the window each evening after

  supper, and waited. But he never came by. She stood at

  the w indow watching for the letter carrier, but there was

  never a letter from Claude.

  She lived on hope; pi rsuaded herself that he w as in the

  army and overseas in a trench and unable to get a letter

  out. As the weeks passed, she assured herself that there

  had been no differences betvv-een them; that the

  discussion of religion had been merely a friendly debate

  and she had been Prong to get so serious about the whole

  thing.

  I shouldn't have said that about the woman, the convert

  and about her hair washing. Maybe he was thinking of

  becoming a convert and he thought I made fun of converts.

  And that silly talk about asl ing a baby whether he wanted

  beer or milk. Men don't like women to be too serious but

  they don't like them to be silly either.

  She lived on nope and became a little thin and

  drawn-looking on this diet. She took little pleasure in

  shopping for and preparing food and less in eating it. She

  had to work very hard (for instance, painting and papering

  the upstairs apartment after the Heah]ys moved out) so

  she'd be tired enough to sleep at night.

  She stopped in at the church every other day or so and

  lit a candle at the altar of the Blessed Mother, beseeching

  her to intercede with her Son to keep Claude safe

  wherever he was.

  She no longer enjoyed conversations with the

  storekeepers. It wasn't enough for one to sell a bag of

  salt. He had to explain how necessary salt was. (Or.`e had

  said: "If you have nothing but salt,

  l 712 ]

 

  bread and water, still you can live.") In a dim, inarticulate

  way, she had realized that the selling of stuff was the all

  of most storekeepers' lives and they had to round out their

  lives by giving background and interest to everything they

  sold. Before Claude left, she had enjoyed their

  home-made philosophy, but now it irritated her.

  7'alk, talk, talk, she thought. ~11 about nothing. What do

  I care? I don't want to know how it is with them and l don't

  want anybody to kno w how it is with me.

  But they knew; more than she thought they did. Van

  Clees knew. He had seen her pass his store arm in arm

  with Claude and had noticed the way they looked at each

  other when they spoke. When she came into the store, he

  sometimes adroitly inserted Claude's name into the

  conversation to see her expression.

  "And your friend Mr. Bassett, how does he do?"

  Her face fell into sad lines as she said: "I never hear

  from him. He's in the war, I guess."

  "Ah, so?" he said. He waited, hoping she would confide

  in him. But she didn't.

  AInd so he left her, he thought. And she's in love with

  him and he's a no-good with a fancy name what smokes

  cigarettes. She is a good girl and she should find some good

  man to take care of her. Bzzt she would not know how to let

  anybody take care of her because she is so that she must take

  care of others and she wants that man because she wants to

  take care of him like he was a baby.

  "Gott damn!" he said aloud. Interested in analysing

  MaggieNov, he had ruined a cigar in the making.

  Her father knew how it was with her; that is, he knew

  according to his way. So she lost the man what she thinks

  she loves. I lost the girl what I knew I loved. I got over it. I

  didn't die. She'll get over it and she won't die. She'll meet

  another man someday and f orget that first one.

  Did you forget? he asked himself.

  What has that got to do with it? he answered himself. I'm

  stzlbborn and she ain't.

  Father Flynn knew how it was with Maggie-Now. In the

  dark confessional, she had told her sins to him; the sin of

  carnal pleasure she'd known when a man pressed her arm

  against his side; the sin of almost hating her father;

  defying him and Iying to him be

  ~ 241 1

 

  cause he was against her happiness; the sin of thinking for

  a second of giving up her faith. She had confessed and

  had done penance.

  Theoretically, a sinner kneeling in the dark confessional

  Noms anonymous, only a soul seeking expiation of sin.

  But Father Flynn knew the timbre of her voice; the clean

  smell of soap and water and starched clothes that he

  associated with her. He knew she suffered. He knew she

  needed comfort.

  He felt, however, that he could not approach her and

  say in effect: "Considering the confessions you've made to

  me in recent weeks . . ." No. But he waited for her to

  come to him for guidance.

  Weeks passed. Finally Father Flynn requested

  Maggie-Now to come to the parish house. Father Flynn

  was in his garden when Maggie-Now called, and Mrs.

  Harrigan, his aged and bitter houseI;eeper, took her

  through the house into the yard.

  Maggie-Now admired the lilac bush. The only other

  groping thing in the "garden" was a piece of ivy climbing

  the board fence.

  "That's from a roved slip your mother gave me many

  years ago," he told Maggie-Now. "I had hoped it would

  cover the whole fence in time but it grows slowly."

  "You'd get more ivy and quicker if you made slips."

  She explained. He went into the house for a paring

  knife and they cut off a dozen shoots and lIaggie-Now

  said she'd take them home and keel, them hi water and

  when they formed roots she'd plant them back in his yard.

  He seemed pleased. Mrs. Harrigan c ame out with two

  glasse
s of iced tea on a tray.

  "Because it's a warm day," explained the priest.

  They sat on a castoff park bench half under the lilac

  inrush. breather Flynn had salvaged it from the junk pile,

  repaired it and given it a fresh coat of green paint each

  spring. Ilaggie-Now said it was a very nice bench. Father

  Flvnn agreed but added that it was rather uncomfortable.

  They sipped the tea.

  "Tell me, Margaret," he said, chow are things with you?"

  "Fhle," she said.

  'Wllat about your future?"

  She looked startled. "I'd like to get a job but I have to

  wait until fall, when Denny goes back to school."

  "Life goes on, Margaret. Perhaps you think there is little

  of interest in life for you now. That is wrong. You are

  needed by

  ~ 244 1

 

  more than one person in the world, you know."

  He waited, giving her an opportunity to speak of her

  unhappiness. She said, "That's all right, Father," meaning:

  Do not trouble yourself about me.

  "I asked you here, Margaret, because I need your help."

  "Yes, Father."

  "I've fixed up the basement of the church as a sort of

  recreation room. Someone was kind enough to donate a

  pianola, and Mr. Rummel, the undertaker, donated a

  dozen folding chairs. I thought we could have

  Thursday-night socials. So many of our boys are going into

  the services, and a little send-off party . . . Young people

  getting together to sing talk. Some modest refreshment.

  I want you tc, take charge of this for me," he said.

  "I will be pleased to," she answered.

  When they had finished the tea, he took the two wedges

  of squeezed lemon and buried them at the base of the lilac

  bush. He knelt in the dirt and gestured with his trowel.

  "That's to make the soil acid. I heard lilacs like an acid

  soil. But I bury my breakfast eggshells here, too. Just in

  case they like a calcium soil." He got up and brushed the

  soil from his knees. "Ah, Margaret," he said, "1 had hoped

  you'd talk to me."

  She knew he meant talk about Claude and her

  unhappiness. '~1 know," she said. "But there s nothing to

  talk about . . . now."

  Maggie now canvassed the neighborhood and found

  three Uilmarried Catholic girls who said they'd be tickled

  to death to do their bit for their country by entertaining

  young men about to he drafted. By agreement, the girls

  were at the place first in order to welcome the young men.

  The church basement was warm, tidy and softly lighted.

  Church supplies were stored on shelves: tins of French

  incense, grosses of beeswax votive candles; pads of

  marriage certificates and birth certificates. There was a

  brand-new iron for baking communion wafers.

  (Nuns frc,m a nearby convent baked the communion

  wafers and delivered them each Saturday. But at the time

  of the great blizzard the nuns hadn't been able to get

  through the drifts and Father Flynn had had to use stale

  wafers for the few commun;cants who fought their way t()

  Mass. He had, after that, obtained

  1 ~) 1

 

  the iron and the recipe so that in case of another blizzard

  he could bake the wafers himself.)

  There -were many garden implements: spade, hoe,

  shovel and rake too many for one lilac bush, thought

  Maggie-Now critically--and, looking lost and out of place,

  a pair of skis standing in the corner.

  The four young men came together to give each other

  nerve, one of them explained. The girls tittered. They

  introduced themselves. One of the young men was the son

  of Pheid, the plumber. He was introduced as Son Pheid.

  "Call me And Son for short," he said.

  This called for some merriment which the young people

  prolonged as long as possible because they didn't know

  v`7hat to do next. Father Flynn heard the laughter in his

  house next to the church, and was pleased. It keeps them

  off the street, thought the kindly priest. (Although they

  were all too old to hang out on the streets now.)

  Father Flynn was in :~ quandary. If he wells over to

  the basement to greet them, he might cast a pall over the

  evening. If he didn't go, they might think he wasn't

  interested, or worse, might feel they were without

  supervision and free to carouse.

  He went over, said good evening, announced that coffee

  and doughnuts would be served at nine o'clock, gravely

  instructed everyone to have a good time, and left.

  The donor of the pianola had donated but one roll with

  it: "The Oceana Roll." They played it four times because

  each feller wanted a turn at pumping the piano. They

  were sick of that song and were at a loss about what to do

  next when one of the boys, named Charlie, which they

  pronounced Cholly, said he could play by ear.

  "Give us a tune, Cholly. Give us a tune," they urged.

  He was willing. "They laughed at me when I sat down to

  play,' he said. Everybody thought that was a very comical

  remark.

  Ele threw the lever that changed the plano]a into a

  piano. Ele sounded a few mellow chords and played the

  chorus of "When You Were Sweet Sixteen." When he

  played the chords preliminary to going into the verse, the

  other three fellers put their heads together and sang in

  fairly close harmony.

  [ '46 1

 

  And even though we're drifting down life's stream apart,

  Your face I still can see in dream's domain.

  The tender little song put everybody in a misty mood.

  After it had been repeated several times, the boys urged

  the girls to sing. They sang "I Wonder Who's Kissing Her

  Now." They refused to be coaxed into an encore and the

  party started to die away.

  Cholly, the piano player, who had evolved into the social

  leader of the evening, said: "What's the idear standing

  around like a bunch of deadheads? Let's get some life in

  the party." He struclc up the ragtime rhythm tune of the

  day: "F.verybodNT's l~oing It!"

  "Sh-h-h!" hissed the girls in horror.

  "Listen, Cholly," said Son Pheid, "don't you think that

  tune's a little out of place here with the church right

  upstairs?"

  "Just as you say," said Cholly agreeably. "How about a

  little reminiscing, then?" All agreed that that would be

  grand.

  He played a medley of sentimental songs, old and new,

  and the girls stood in a loose semicircle with their arms

  about each other's waists and swayed in time to the music

  and hummed or sang the tunes, and the boys stood with

  their heads touching and sounded "bum, bum," from time

  to time for accent, and finally Cholly went into "There s

  Egypt in Your Dreamy Eves," and Maggie-Now sang the

  song in her heart:

  And you stole my llearr, with your cunning err . . .

  She
closed her eyes and swayed and hummed and

  thought of Claude. She was filled with a delicious sadness

  and the sadness pleased her and she thought it was almost

  better than being happy. When she opened her eyes, she

  saNv that Son Pheid was staring at her.

  Why, that's the girl, he vvas remembering. Ho c,r~ne

  over to the shop that night with that feller....

  Maggie-Now pretended he was Claude and gave Son

  Pheid a big smile. Eve smiled baclc and one girl whispered

  to another: "Oh-oh! "

  After a while, Cholly rail out of reminiscing and they

  pumped out "The C)ceana Roll" again. At nine, there was

  a tactful tap at the door. Father Flynn gave Maggie-Nov

  a tray Oll which

  ~ ,1~ 1

 

  were mugs of coffee and a plate of doughnuts. He handed

  it over as though it Nvere contraband and backed away

  into the night.

  They stood around nibbling daintily on the doughnuts

  and sipping the coffee until Cholly said: "Look, folks, I'm

  just an ordinary, everyday slob with no manners so I'm

  going to dunk my sinker."

  That broke the ice. Everybody laughed and dunked and

  agreed that that was the only NNTay to eat a doughnut.

  One of the girls, bolder than the others, said: "Cholly,

  you're a regular card."

  "My mother thanks you," said Cholly. "My father thanks

  ,,

  you . . .

  "He's a whole deck," said Son Pheid in an aside to

  Maggie-Now. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

  They washed the mugs and the plate in the washtub.

  There Noms no towel to dry the dishes so Son Pheid gave

  up his clean handkerchief, which was carefully planted in

  his breast pocket and folded into a miniature three-picket

  fence, to do the job. Maggie-NoN said, "Who wants to

  take the tray back to the priest's house?" and Son Pheid

  said he would. But, he said, he didn't know the way and

  Miss Moore would have to go with him. The other fellers

  winked at each other and the girls giggled.

  The two hurried across the yard, talking in whispers.

  Since the house was dark, they decided to leave tray and

  dishes on the back stoop. Maggie-Now whispered that

  they ought to say thanks, at least. Son Pheid took one of

  his printed cards from his pocket: Pheid ~ Son. Plumbers.

  Day ~ Night, and wrote "Thanks" on the back of it while

  lIaggie-Now held a lighted match. He put the card on the

  tray.

  When they got back. the other fellers leered and said:

  "Ahhah!" in a certain way and Cholly said: "We thought

  you two went to China."

  "Go fly a Icite," said lion Pheid in an exaggerated, bored

  tone of voice.

  They folded the undertaker's chairs and stacked them

  against the wall. Ilaggie-Now took the key from her

  pocketbook to loci; the door. As a matter of course, Son

  Pheid took the key from her. locked the door, and, as he

  returned the key, he asked could he walk her home. She

  said he could.

  ~ ~8'1

  They grouped on the sidewalk to make their farewells.

  All agreed they had had a wonderful time and all the girls

  thanked Cholly for his wonderful piano playing.

  "Any time," said Cholly graciously. "And listen," he went

  on, "being's that us fellers just been drafted . . ."

  "Maybe you were drafted," said Son Pheid, "but I was

  selected."

  "Greetings!" said one of the other fellers and the girls

  laughed.

  "Anyways," continued Cholly, "being's we might get

  killed or something, it's only right that we get kissed

  good-by."

  Well, what could good, patriotic girls do in a situation

  like that? They did it. Each boy received a kiss on the

  cheek from each girl. Now it happened that Father Flynn

  was sitting at the window in his dark living room and

  telling his beads. He had heard the talk and seen the boys

  getting kissed. He worried.

  Was I too liberal, he asked himself, leaving them alone in

  the cellar for two hours?

  Walking home, Son Pheid said: "I expect to get sent to