Maggie Now

by Betty Smith

a neighbor boy came and said Maggie had sent him

  because her father was dying and asking for the priest.

  Poor Father Francis took the paper out of his still-wet

  shoes and shrugged into his still-wet coat.

  It was beginning to snow as they left. Ah! thought

  Father Flynn. But he said nothing. A pale and quiet

  Maggie-Now met them at the door with a lighted candle.

  She genuflected and preceded them into the house in the

  proper way and took the two priests up to her father's

  room. The bedside table was prepared with crucifix and

  candles and the needed things.

  As in other years, there were clean sheets on the bed

  and dried blood on Pat's face from Maggie-Now's inept

  barber work.

  Pat started talking right away. "You will forgive me,

  Fathers," he said, "for getting you out in the weather."

  And one of youse would have been enough, he thought.

  "But I'm not long for this world and I want to make me

  peace with me God and me Church before I go."

  "You are prepared then, my son?" asked the young

  priest of the man almost old enough to be his grandfather.

  And there was no incongruity. The young priest was the

  older man's spiritual father.

  "I have enough insurance to bury me," said Pat. "And a

  bit of money in the bank to pay for Masses for the sake of

  getting me out of purgatory when I go," said Pat. No one

  but Father

  tow]

 

  Flynn noticed he emphasised the word when.

  "Be no longer concerned with things of the world," said

  good Father Francis. "Prepare yourself spiritually." Father

  Francis cot his stole out of his black leather bag.

  He believes me! thought Pat in a panic.

  Maggie-Now started to cry. Father Flynn touched her

  am' and said: "Come, my c hild." They started to leave the

  room.

  "Where are you going, Father?" asked Pat, really scared

  now.

  "Downstairs. I leave you in the good hands of Father

  Francis, my son." The door closed after his daughter and

  Father Flynn.

  Pat heard them in the hall. He heard a sob from

  Maggie-Now and the murmurous voice of Father Flynn

  saying, ". . . a speedy recovery or a happy death."

  They all believe note, thought Pat in despair-. Mild all I

  Canted 'as to tell me priest lee troubles.

  Father Flynn noticed that Maggie-Now's kitchen v-as

  freshlsscrubbed. There was a new white oilcloth cover on

  the kitchen table. The chintz skirts that masked the ugly

  built-in soapstone washtubs had been freshly washed,

  starched and ironed. There was the good smell of good

  cooking in the house, and, furnace or no, Maggie-Now

  had a wonderful fire burning in the kitchen range and a

  pot of coffee simmering on the back.

  As she poured a cup of coffee for her priest, Father

  Flynn noted a strand of grey in one of the braids of her

  brown hair. Yet she had an expectant air, subdued as was

  natural with a dying man in the house or one whorls she

  thought was dying. There was something radiant about

  her like a bride waiting for her bridegroom.

  "Have you had the doctor, AIargaret? "

  "Papa wouldn't let me send for the doctor."

  "When was he taken like this?"

  "After supper. And he ate such a good supper, too. He

  asked for a clean nightshirt and went to bed. He asked me

  to shave him. He said he was too weak. Then he said to

  send for you because he knew he was dying."

  "Like he did last year, ' said Father F lynx.

  "Like last year and all the other years when it starts to

  snow. I'm afraid not to take him seriously because every

  time I think it is real." She rubbed a tear from the corner

  of her eve.

  ~ Joy 1

 

  "When do you expect your husband back? "

  "Any night, now."

  They talked some more Maggie-Now told him little

  anecdotes about the children and made him smile. After

  a while, Father Francis came down from upstairs.

  "He rests quietly," reported Father Francis.

  "I'll go up and look at him," said Father Flynn.

  "IIargaret, why don't you show Father Francis your

  children?"

  She took the young priest into the bedroom where two

  of the children slept. Then she took him into Denny's old

  room, where the newest baby had his crib. The children

  smelled fresh and clean and wore freshly washed and

  ironed nightgowns. The rooms were bare but

  immaculately clean.

  Back in the kitchen, she called his attention to the shelf

  which ran the length of the room. On it was a row of

  heavy white china bowls three of them three spoons,

  three mugs and three bananas. There was a large pot of

  oatmeal simmering on the back of the stove. She

  explained that, in the morning, the bowls would be filled

  with the hot oatmeal, sugar and milk added and a banana

  sliced on top of each bowlful, and that and three mugs of

  warmed milk would be breakfast for three babies.

  "Is it all right, Father?" she asked anxiously. "The way I

  do for the boys from the home?"

  Father Francis had a flash of prescience. He knew that

  often in the years to come a picture would come to him

  unbidden: a picture of three mugs and spoons and bowls

  and bananas. And prescience told him that he would have

  that same impulse to weep as he had now. But he spoke

  in a detached and judicial way.

  "You do well with our orphaned children, Margaret.

  They are safe, warm, well-fed and well-loved."

  "Thank you, Father. I am pleased and rewarded."

  Pat lay very still, scarcely breathing, until he saw it was

  Father Flynn who came in not the other priest. Then Pat

  sat up and began to talk indignantly.

  "Ah, Father, the curse of ungrateful chiltllrcn!''

  What now? thought Father Flynn.

  "I speak of me only son, Dennis Patthrick. He was sent

  for. but do you think he comes to see his only father and

  he at death's door? "

  1 4~y 1

 

  "Dennis might think, possibly, that you're crying wolf

  again."

  "Wolf ? "

  "I told you the story often enough."

  "It slips me mind."

  The priest told him the fable again, concluding: "And

  someday, you'll really need help and no one will come."

  "Is it becoming," asked Pat, "for a holy father to frighten

  a poor soul who has no one in the world a-tall . . . but his

  priest and his chilthren?" He sighed piteously. "But 'tis

  true. No one cares for a man that is old."

  "True, you are old, my son. True."

  "I ain't so old, Father," said Pat indignantly.

  "Too old," continued Father Flynn, "to act the foolish

  way you do."

  Pat felt the sudden need to mend his fences. "I am no

  good atall. But I will do better from this day on."

  "You can," said the
priest patiently. "You can do better

  if you try."

  "And I All do better, Father. Yes, I will! Providing," he

  bargained, "our Lord lets me live a long, long time."

  "You will start doing better tomorrow morning."

  "Yes, yes," agreed Pat. "I'll get me a good night's sleep

  first and . . ."

  "You will be at the church at six tomorrow morning

  prepared to make a good confession."

  "But I did! I did! This very night!"

  "You will confess that, after receiving Extreme Unction,

  you started sinning all over again in word and in thought."

  "Could you not make it nine o'clock, Father?"

  "Six o'clock."

  Denny and Tessie didn't get over until eight that night.

  Tessie made hi m eat his supper first. They had to wrap

  up Mary Lorraine in a blanket and carry her with them

  because there was nobody to stay with the` baby.

  Denny was on edge from worrying about his father. He

  never believed his father was faking in spite of the fact

  that Pat always put on the dying act when he wanted

  attention. Yes, dike Shakespeare's coward, Pat died many

  times before his death.

  ~ 410 1

 

  "He's fooled you and Maggie-Now before," said Tessie.

  "What makes you think it's real this time?"

  Denny pushed his plate away. ''I'm not hungry," he said.

  What that man does to his children, thought Tessie in

  exasperation. Always feeding off their lives. And when I

  think of my mother! If she was really dying, she'd deny it so's

  eve wouldn't be vorried.

  Denny seemed to know what she was thinking. He said,

  "Now, Tess, you don't have to go if you don't want to. The

  drizzle's turning into snow and no one would blame you."

  "Oh, I'll go with you, Denn. Maybe he is real sick this

  time. And I couldn't live with myself if I was mean and

  didn't go and he really died."

  When they got to Maggie-Now's house, Tessie w as

  fussing because the baby's blanket was wet and she was

  worried about her taking cold. Maggie-~'ow hung the wet

  blanket on a chair in front of the stove and placed Mary

  Lorraine in the middle of her own bed.

  "How's Papa?" asked Denny.

  "Father Flynn and Father Francis just left."

  "Do you think I can see Papa?" asked Denny.

  "Now, Dennis," said Tessie. "What do you think he sent

  for you for?"

  Denny smoothed his hair and pulled his tie knot closer

  and examined his fingernails. He was very nervous. When

  he came into the room, Pat pretended to be asleep. He

  tried to throttle down his breathing. He almost laughed

  aloud when Denny cautiously placed a hand over his,

  Pat's, heart, to check on his father's breathing.

  Let him worry his head off about me, thought Pat. It will

  do him good.

  "Papa?" Denny sounded worried. "Can you hear me?"

  I've got him going, thought Pat.

  Denny tried his best to get through to Pat. Finally the

  boy gave up. He tiptoed out of the room and closed the

  door carefully.

  I hope he's good and Cared, thought Pat. That'll learn

  him to neglect his father.

  Back again downstairs, Denny said to his sister, "I'm

  sort of worried about Papa."

  17/11

 

  "He'll be all right," said Maggie-Now.

  "Why did you send for the priest then?" asked Tessie.

  "After all! "

  "Because I always gel: the priest when he asks. I

  wouldn't want the responsibility of not getting him. In case

  something happened."

  "That's all right, Maggie-Nov, as far as you're

  concerned. But what about us? Denn works hard all day

  and then he can't eat his supper he's so worried."

  "Now, Tess," said Denny soothingly.

  "And then we had to drag the baby out in the snow."

  "Tessie, I told you! You didn't have to come."

  "I'm sorry I did. I should have thought first of my baby,

  who has her whole life before her, than of some old man

  who has to die anyhow sometime."

  "Denny has some obligation to his father," said

  Maggie-Now evenly.

  "His first obligation is to me and the baby," said Tessie.

  "And," said Denny, finally losing his temper, "after that

  to your mother and your brother . . ."

  "Why, Denn!" said Tessie, immediately hurt.

  Denny loosened his tie, ran his fingers through his hair,

  started pacing and said: "The sooner Otto builds that

  place in Hempstead and the sooner I get OUt there away

  from all this, the better I'll like it!"

  Tessie was instantly ashamed of herself. "Aw,

  Maggie-Now, honey, I'm sorry for blowing up. But you're

  so swell that it makes me as mad as anything the way you

  give in to your father."

  "Oh, I don't mind humoring him, Tessie."

  "That's all right for you!" Tessie flared up again. "But it

  makes it hard for Dennis and me. You give in to your

  father, he expects Dennis to give in. You cater to him and

  everybody else has to."

  "Papa's dependent on me and I'm used to it, I guess."

  "Get unused to it," said Tessie. "Because it's going to be

  tough for you when you get old and nobody . . ."

  "I'll always treat you as though you were company,"

  quoted Lenny. "Remember, To ss? "

  "Yes. And," she quoted, "I'll always treat you like a girl

  I just met that I'm anxious to make a little time with.

  Remember when you said that to me?"

  1 4! 1

 

  "You said, I will always love your sister and . . ."

  "And I do! I do!" She put her arms around Maggie-Now

  and started to cry. "I didn't mean it, Maggie-Now. Honest!

  I'm so wrong. I shouldn't talk to you that way. But I'm so

  on edge all the time. The baby cries all night long and I

  get behind in my housework and I'm alone all day and .

  . ."

  "Listen," said Maggie-Now. "HONV long since you and

  Denny went out together?"

  "Why . . . why it must have been last February. Yes, I

  remember. I was showing so much by then I didn't want

  to go out and then the baby came and . . ."

  "Look! You and Denn,` go out tonight. You can catch

  the last part of the show at The Bushwick. Or have coffee

  and waffles someplace. Anything to get out together."

  "But the baby!"

  "Leave her with me ovcrnigllt.''

  "I couldn't!"

  "You can and you will," said Denny.

  "But the baby needs . . ."

  "Maggie-Now's been taking care of kids all her life."

  "But I mean the formula and the diapers."

  "Matty's about the same age as Mary Lorrainy," said

  MaggieNow. "I can use the same formula. And I've got

  hundreds of diapers. Nova you and Denny go out and

  have yourselves a time."

  Tessie held out until Dtnny said: "Let's go out and

  celebrate our first big fight."

  There was a thin covering of snow on the groun
d now.

  MaggieNow watched Denny and Tessie go down the

  street. Tessie took a running slide but her high heels

  threw her off balance and Denny caught her and washed

  her face with snow. She broke loose, scraped up a handful

  of snow to throw at Denny. He caught her arm and made

  her drop it and she squealed and he laughed and they ran

  off down the street, hand in hand.

  Maggie-Now watched them out of sight. Just kids, she

  thought tenderly. She took a moment to watch the snow

  dancing about the lighted orange globe on the corner. The

  globe meant there was a fire alarm box there. The white

  snowflakes flashed orange as they went past the light

  She went back to the kitchen and added half a cup of

  water to

  [ 4~3 ]

 

  the simn Bring oatmeal because it was getting a little

  thick. She checked the orphans, arranging the covers more

  securely on one and turning another, who was sleeping

  upsidedown, the right way. She felt of Mary Lorraine,

  whom everybody was beginning to call Rainy, to see if she

  needed changing. Lastly, she went Lp to her father's room.

  He vas on his knees on the floor, half under the bed.

  "Papa! What are you doing?"

  "Looking for me pipe."

  "Get right back in bed! Crawling on the floor and all. I

  wish you'd rest more, Papa." She got him back into bed.

  "Rest, she says! And how can I be resting with me room

  full of priests praying over me and me family downstairs

  hollering and fighting and me only son out on the streets

  with his German girl, jigging and hollering and doing I

  don't know what."

  "Oh, don't begrudge them a little fun."

  "I begrudge nobody nothing. All I ask is that me

  chilthren leave me body get cold, first. before they hold

  me wake." He jumped out of bed.

  "Get back ill bed! I've had enough out of you for one

  day. Get your sleep because you're moving to Mrs.

  O'Crawley's in the morning."

  "No you don't, me girl. No one is shoving me into the

  O'Crawley's arms. I'll find me own room. I'll find a room

  in some widder woman's house; a widder woman who'll be

  glad to marry the likes of me with me pension and all and

  carrying insurance."

  "Mrs. O'Crawley's a widow," she suggested.

  "Too old! She's fifty-five."

  "You're sixty-four yourself."

  "How did me age get in the conversation?"

  "Oh, Papa," she sighed, "if you only would marry again!"

  "What would you do without me insurance then? Answer

  'e that."

  "I don't want your insurance, Papa. I hope you live nany

  years to come."

  "That I will! T hat I chili! " he shouted.

  "You don't have to holler so."

  "I'll holler all I w ant," he shouted, "and I won t die,

  either. 1'1] live! I'll live just for spite!"

  1 }~! 1

 

  "Live, then!" she hollered back. "Who cares?"

  "I'll bury~youse all!" he roared. "I'll live to bury youse

  all!"

  His curse rang through the house. The little orphan boys

  downstairs trembled in their cribs. Mary Lorraine Moore

  whimpered, wet her diaper, woke up and cried.

  Maggie-Now changed the baby's diaper, pulled a rocking

  chair up close to the kitchen range and sat there rocking

  Mary Lorraine and talking to her.

  "I'm going to hold you all I want tonight and rock you

  and sing to you. Because you're my baby. My brother is

  your father and my father is your grandfather and your

  grandmother was my mother. You have the same blood

  and bones and flesh that I have. So you're my baby. At

  least, until tomorrow morning."

  ~ CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO ~

  PAT left the next day for Mrs. O'Crawley's. At last, he

  had decided to marry the widow. He would have to figure

  out the best way to tell her. It never occurred to him to

  ask her. He would have told her some time ago but for