Maggie Now

by Betty Smith

in that little church; his beloved's name and his: Margaret

  Rose Moore. He half expected that a burly man some

  pews ahead would turn around and it would be Timmy.

  He sat with his head bowed, wringing his hands in

  anguish between his knees. Oh, if only I was a boy again,

  back in Ireland he mourned. I'd marry me Maggie Rose and

  gladly. And I wouldn't care what Henny the Hermit, sang

  about me. I'd work from morning to night cutting peat, and

  when they'd call me a bog trotter, I'd only laugh. 'Twould be

  heaven to live in a oneroom sod shanty and sleep on a bit of

  straw on the poor and eat the small, hard potatoes that I

  planted meself and, yes, take a licking every day of me life

  from Tim7ny and never complain. Anything . . . anything! If

  I was only young again! Anything, if only I was young again!

  ~ C HAPTER FORTY ~

  MAGGIE-NOW was married in the new green challis

  dress she'd made; new hat, new shoes, new white gloves

  and a winter coat that had been new five years ago. She

  carried a bunch of baby bronze chrysanthemums. She

  came out of the priest's house on Claude's arm and two

  lines of people had made a path for them from the house

  to the curb. They were friends, neighbors, acquaintances,

  curious people and children. The bride shared interest

  with a tall woman at the end of one of the lines.

  The woman wore a large black hat with a long black

  crepe veil that swirled around her head in the winter wind.

  She wore a long black coat of bearskin. It reached from

  her neck to her

  ~ 253 ]

 

  ankles. Maggie-Now thought briefly of Mrs. Schondle the

  ship that had passed in the night.

  Bride and groom walked down the path. She nodded to

  the strangers, shook hands with acquaintances and put her

  hand, in a gesture of affection, on the arm of each friend

  and kissed all the children. Claude bowed from side to

  side like a visiting dignitary. When they reached the end

  of the lane, Maggie-Now put her arms around the woman

  in the bearskin coat, buried her face in the prickly fur and

  sighed happily as though she had come home from far

  away.

  "My Aunt Lottie came to my wedding," she said.

  "Did you think for one minute that I wouldn't come to

  your wedding?" said Lottie. "Why, that would be terrible!"

  "But you said . . ."

  "You know I just talk. I don't do."

  Lottie congratulated Claude and said sternly, but with a

  smile: "Take good care of her or you'll hear from me."

  "If I ever mistreat her in any way," said Claude, "I hope

  you will take an aunt's privilege and spank me."

  Lottie frowned. She thought his little speech was

  affected. puts on too much, was the way she described it to

  herself. Claude may have felt her aversion for he put his

  arms about her and pressed his cheek to Lottie's.

  "I hope you will like me in time," he murmured. "You're

  such a grand, sweet lady."

  Something stirred in Lottie. I don't like him for a nickel,

  she thought. And I never evilly But l can see now what she

  sees in him.

  She gave Maggie-Now a wrapped gift, said, no, she

  couldn't come to the house for a cup of coffee, because

  she had stopped going out socially ever since Timmy

  passed away. Maggie-Now watched her go down the street.

  Bride and groom walked home arm-in-arm. Children

  playing on the street ran up to her, looked up at her, said,

  "Hello, Maggie," walked a bit with them and dropped out.

  Other children took their place. Maggie-Now gave each

  one a flower. A woman with her arms hugging her sides

  against the cold came out on a stoop and called: "Luck,

  Maggie." A woman in an upstairs flat tapped on the w

  indow and, when she got Maggie-Now's attention, blew

  her a kiss. Maggie-Now blew one back.

  [2841

 

  At home, a little party had been arranged. Guests stood

  in a line behind the parlor table, on which were a bottle

  of port wine, glasses and a wedding cake. There were a

  miniature bride and groom on top. The groom looked like

  Charlie Chaplin. Pat stood at the head of the line. Next to

  him was a tiny, trim woman with a chenille-dotted veil

  stretched taut across her face, taut kid gloves and coat

  buttoned tautly all-out her waist. At her side stood a little

  grinning gnome of a man with two rows of perfect white

  teeth. Then there were Mr. Van Clees and a stout woman

  with three children clustered about her. Maggie-Now was

  ecstatic about the cake.

  "Who got it?" she asked.

  "He did," said the taut lady, indicating Pat.

  "She made him," said the little gnome, indicating the taut

  lady.

  Pat made the introductions. "This here," he said, "is me

  friend, Mrs. O'Crawley, the lady what I eat with, Sundays."

  The lady bowed graciously and the newlyweds bowed back.

  "And this is Mick Mack," said Pat indifferently.

  The little man grinned up at Maggie-Now and said: "He

  is my friend from night-school days."

  "Where are your manners?" said ilaggie-Now sharply.

  The beam left his face. By God, he thought, she's just

  like her old man!

  "Don't you know," continued Maggie-Now, "that you're

  supposed to kiss the bride? Shame on you! "

  The beam came bacl<. Mick Mack put his arms about

  her waist. He stood on tiptoe but was only able to reach

  her neck. He put a smacking kiss on it.

  Maggie-Now greeted Van Clees. He lifted her hand and

  kissed it. "Just so you should be happy, is all," he said. She

  thanked him. He said: "And look!?' He smiled at the stout

  lady with the three children. "Annie comes by your

  wedding."

  "Annie?" asked Maggie-Now, puzzled.

  "Annie Vernacht. You know. Gus' Annie?"

  Maggie-Now embraced her. "Ah, Annie," she said. "It's

  been so long since the first and only time I saw you to talk

  to. But you don't know how many times I thought of you.

  How nice you were . . . Gus' Annie."

  "And you, I would not know no more if somebody don't

  tell

  [285]

 

  me. So big you got! And so pretty you are now." She

  addressed Claude. "You have luck, Mister, getting such a

  wife like her."

  "I know," said Claude sincerely.

  Annie presented her children. Jamesie was now a tall,

  manlylooking boy, an inch taller than his mother.

  Tessiewas a head shorter than Denny. She was a

  conventionally pretty child with curls the color of coffee

  with a lot of cream in it, and large, blue eyes. Only she

  was frail and wispy looking. Albie was a sturdy, fat-legged

  boy of five.

  There was the ceremony of cutting the cake which

  everyone tried to make hilarious by all talking at once in

  a notched-up tone of voice. They drank to the bride and
<
br />   groom in port wine. They drank to the future; they drank

  to each other. A boy rushed in from the corner candy

  store with a phone message from the manager of the

  movie house: that, as a wedding gift, he would not dock

  Maggie-Now for the night off for her honeymoon. Maggie-

  Now gave the boy a piece of cake.

  "Give the boy a nickel, Papa," she said.

  "Give the boy a nickel, Claude," said Pat. Claude

  complied.

  There was the presenting of and the ritual of opening

  the wedding presents. Mrs. O'Crawley led off with what

  she called: "Just a little something. Not much." It was a

  fine linen handkerchief with tatted edges. The bride

  proclaimed it "Lovely!" Mick Mack gave her a small

  pottery bowl filled with hardened cement into which were

  stuck six pink paper roses. Maggie-Now claimed it was

  exactly what she had always wanted. Annie's present was

  a brown linen cushion top which she said she had

  "stitched" herself. It was an American flag blowing in the

  breeze worked in silk floss. Deeper shadings of red in the

  stripes made it look as though it were actually blowing.

  Maggie-Now said it was too good to sit on; that she'd

  frame it and hang it in her room. Annie blushed with

  pleasure.

  Father Flynn dropped in and accepted a glass of wine.

  He declined the cake but asked for a piece to take to his

  housekeeper. She was in one of her dish-banging moods,

  he said, and the cake might get her out of it. He didn't

  stay long. He blessed the bridal couple before he left.

  Mrs. O'Crawley, who was "up" on wedding procedure,

  suggested that it was time that the bride change into her

  going-away [286]

  outfit. Magg de-Now looked surprised. She had no

  going-away outfit. Her wedding outfit was the whole thing.

  But she said, yes, it was time to get ready.

  She opened Lottie's present in the privacy of her room.

  She smiled tenderly at the china pug dog and the nursing

  puppies. She didn't like it for what it was, but she loved it

  for what it meant. Her father came into the room.

  "What's that you got?" he asked.

  "From Aunt Lottie." Impulsively, she thrust it into his

  hands. "Here, Papa. Hold it!"

  "What for?" He scowled at the thing.

  "Because I remember Timmy standing by the

  mantelpiece and holding it. And Aunt Lottie. Claude held

  it, too." And, she thought, so did Sonny. "Everyone I love

  has held it. I want you to hold it too."

  He held it for the count elf three and then put it on the

  dresser. "Trash!" he announced. "Giving away second-hand

  junk for a wedding present."

  "Now, Papa!"

  "I got a present for you," he said. "I didn't want to show

  off in front of the company and make them ashamed of

  the cheap presents what they gave you, so I give it to you

  in private." He gave her a twenty-dollar gold piece.

  "Oh. Papa! Papa!" She put her arms around him and

  squeezed him. He suffered the embrace.

  "Don't lose it," he said, "because them gold pieces is

  hard to get. And don't let him spend it either." After

  which gracious presentation speech, he left to rejoin the

  company.

  Maggie-Now checked the contents of the little red

  leather suitcase Claude had given her as a wedding

  present. It held a new white nightgown, a new white

  woolen robe, new white bedroom slippers, a change of

  lingerie and her toilet articles. She tucked the gold piece

  in the toe of her slipper and at the last second decided to

  take the pug dog with ller. She thought Claude might be

  pleased with Lottie's gift. She snapped the case shut, put

  on her hat and coat and went out to say good-by to her

  friends.

  She looked around for Denny. Only then did she recall

  that she hadn't seen him since the ceremony. She went to

  his room. He was sitting on the middle of his cot.

  ~ 287 1

 

  "Denny, why didn't you come out for a piece of cake?"

  "I don't like cake."

  "Why, you love cake."

  "Today, I don't. Where you going?"

  "Away with Claude for a little while."

  "I want to go with you."

  She knelt down and put her arms around him. "I'll be

  back tomorrow."

  "NO, you won't. You just say that so I won't cry."

  "I promise. And I'll bring you a nice present."

  "But I'd sooner go with you."

  "Not this time, Demly, dear. Now come out and see the

  company."

  "I don't want to."

  "Why? "

  "Because I don't like to."

  She got to her feet and spoke a bit sharply. "It makes no

  difference whether you like to or not. There are certain

  things that you have to do. You can't always run away and

  hide. Come on, now." He went into the living room with

  her.

  She kissed everyone good-by, her father last of all. "Say

  something nice to Claude, Papa," she whispered.

  "Not while he's above ground." Pat didn't bother to

  whisper, either.

  "Please?" she begged.

  Grudgingly, extended his hand to Claude. He tried for

  words. He wanted to say something to Claude that would

  please Maggie-Now and yet not be something nice.

  Eventually he came up with the words spoken to him

  more than twenty-five years ago by Mary's father.

  "Be good to this good girl," he said.

  "I promise," said Claude, "not to beat her more than

  once a day."

  The bastid, thought liar Why couldn't l a-thought of that

  remark twerlty-five years ago?

  They scrambled down the stoop in approved newlywed

  fashion, ducking their heads correctly to avoid being

  spattered with the conventional rice, which Mrs.

  O'Crawley had thought to bring with her. Hand in hand,

  they ran to the corner to get a trolley ~ 288 ~

  and, arriving there out of breath, had to wait fifteen

  minutes for a car to come along.

  Claude had two surprises for his bride: the wedding

  supper and the hotel where they'd spend their one-night

  honeymoon. He took her to Gage and Tollner for the

  supper and Maggie-Now couldn't get over how beautiful

  it was; the wonderful food and the exquisite service. When

  the headwaiter presented them with a split of champagne,

  compliments of the management, she was so delighted that

  she stuttered when she tried to speak. She took a sip of

  champagne.

  "I love it!" she said. "It's so good."

  "That's strange," he said. "Champagne is an acquired

  taste. Like olives."

  "I love olives, too." Then she cried out in exaggerated

  happiness; "I love everything in the whole world!"

  When the waiter appeared before them with the tray of

  French pastries, she was lost. "What will I do? What will

  I do?" she moaned. "They are all so beautiful. No matter

  which one I take, I'll be sorry that I didn't rake some

  other one."

&
nbsp; "I'll choose for you," he said. He had not one, but two

  pastries put on her plate.

  She was about to eat a pastry the way she ate her

  breakfast bun: out of hand. But she saw ( laude pick up a

  short fork to eat his with and she followed suit.

  "Do you mean to say," she asked, "that there are people

  in the world who eat like this every day?"

  "You ain't seen nothing, yet," he said in an inept Al

  Jolson imitation. "Wait until I take you over to the

  Chambord in Manhattan. Wait until I take you to

  Antoine's down in New Orleans for a New Year's Eve

  supper."

  "It couldn't possibly be better," she said flatly, "than this

  place right here in Brooklyn."

  He had reserved a room for them at the St. George

  Hotel. She had never been in a hotel before. She was so

  awed that she spoke in whispers.

  "Do you mean to say," she whispered, "that you take

  wages for working in this beautiful place?"

  He laughed. "Good Lord, I don't work here. I work in

  a mean, grubby . . ." He broke off to show her the register.

  "Look!" In

  ~ 289 ]

 

  a careful, beautiful hand, he wrote: Mr. and Mrs. Claude

  Bassett, Manhattan Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

  Tears of happiness came to her eyes. "It looks so real,"

  she said. "Like forever," she whispered.

  "It is, my Margaret. It is," he said.

  She babbled happily about the beauty and luxury of

  their room. She was awed by the huge, gleaming

  bathroom. She would have spent hours joyously examining

  each piece of furniture and each bathroom fixture, but he

  cut her short.

  "It's been a long day," he said, "and you must be tired.

  I know I am. So . . ."

  Faint pink colored her cheeks. "All right," she agreed.

  She took her little suitcase and w ent into the bathroom.

  She took a bath, using her geranium-scented soap, and

  dusted herself with Mennen's talcum powder. She got into

  her new white nightgown and robe and slippers. She took

  her hairbrush and went back into the other room. He was

  sprawled out in an armchair but he got up when she

  entered the room. She stood in front of the dresser mirror

  and brushed her hair.

  "You look like a bride," he said with a smile.

  "I am a bride," she said seriously. He took his hat from

  the closet shelf. "Going out?" she asked, surprised.

  "Margaret," he said, "you want children, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes," she said eagerly. "Lots of children. Why?"

  He turned his hat twice around in his hands before he

  answered. "Wouldn't you like to wait a year or so? Give

  us a chance to know each other better; get used to each

  other . . . have some fun? You're still so young."

  She turned to face him, her brush stilled and suspended

  over her head. "But, Claude! I want a child right away."

  He put his hat back on the shelf.

  He bathed and got into his new blue pajamas. He

  buttoned up the frogs and examined himself in the door

  mirror. He didn't like the way he looked. He put the

  pajama coat inside the pants and pulled the string tighter.

  He thought that looked worse. He pulled the coat out

  again. He took a pair of military brushes from a leather

  case: Maggie-Now's wedding gift to him. He wet his hair

  and started to brush it. He brushed and brushed and

  brushed. Finally, he had to admit to himself that he was

  stalling for time.

  [ 290 ]

 

  I must be very careful, he thought. She's never been with

  a man. I must be careful not to frighten her. Not to disgust

  her. She will remember this night all of her life. I must not let

  it be a bad night to remember. He made plans. I'll walk

  around the room and fix the shades and look out the window

  and say easy things like all the stars are out tonight. I'll hang

  up my clothes and maybe sit on the bed and get her to

  talking about, say, the church socials, and when she's relaxed

  and drowsy . . .

  When he felt he could put it off no longer, he entered