“And aren’t the whole lot of you a feather in God’s cap? That is, if He’s inclined to wear one,” Peg said, helpfully removing a bit of lint from young Joe’s suit sleeve.
“It’s a kind word well taken Peg Hennessey. Sure and it’s no easy task getttin’ this bunch out the door.” Norah turned to her family. “And out the door we’re goin’, right this minute.”
John Joseph was waiting on the porch, but Norah still took the time to ask, “Did you want to walk to Mass with us then, Peg?” Please dear God, let her say, no, seein’ as she’s not fully dressed yet.
“Oh that’s nice of you, Norah. But Marie and Gerard are takin’ me to the ten o’clock in the car.”
All the King children had new Easter clothing, with the exception of something borrowed or handed down and only then if it looked absolutely pristine. However, Norah made sure every one of her children had brand new underwear. “What good is it to have the outside lookin’ new when the inside is old and tattered?”
John Joseph found it amusing to introduce his dark-haired oldest son as, “the black sheep of the family,” a name Joe would eventually grow into.
For the first time in his life, young Joe—sinewy, with dark, ink-blue eyes, and curly hair black as coal—had a brand new suit. Thanks to Mr. Karp.
Norah King had stood proudly when the tailor pinned up the hem of Joe’s new slacks. “You’re a young man now, Joseph. And this suit is intended to send you in the right direction.”
Mr. Karp was respectfully known in the neighborhood as “our Jew.” To Norah he was an answer to prayer. Morrie Karp linked those with little cash to suppliers and funded their purchases with enough interest to make it all worthwhile. When Norah said her son needed a suit, Mr. Karp shuffled his assortment of business cards until he found, Sam Ruben’s Superior Clothing for Gents. “Mrs. King, you and your son will show Sam his own card, say Morrie Karp sent you, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Morrie Karp was a shrewd businessman, but he granted his customers their dignity. “One missed payment is allowed. One. We all get into a pickle, but I can only afford one pickle. You’ll make the next payment on time, I’m sure of it.”
A sullen John Michael wore his older brother’s outgrown sports coat, formerly owned by the late Mr. Sweeney. “Ma, everyone will know its Joe’s hand-me-down.”
“Somehow, by hook or by crook, and mostly with the help of our Jew, my brothers and I always had new clothes for Easter Sunday. Everyone in Southie did, can you imagine? Nobody had any money to speak of. My mother paid him a dollar a week for as long as I can remember. As a matter of fact, we bought my wedding dress with his help. How would we have possibly gotten by without our Jew?”
Mrs. Jane McDonough Hayden
“First of all, John Michael, you’ll not be callin’ me Ma. Sure and it’s hooligans who call their mother such a thing. Have you got it then? And about the jacket, your brother hardly wore it. And haven’t you a brand new shirt, slacks, and shoes? Just like Mickey Rooney in one of those Andy Hardy movies. Only much better lookin’.”
“Thanks, Mum.” John Michael kissed his mother on the cheek.
Timmy and Tommy were dressed identically in gray knickers. All the boys proudly wore new shirts and ties. However, Patrick felt he should have a dress coat like his older brothers.
“Patrick, God put you in the middle, so it’s middle clothes you’ll be wearin’. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Norah had spoken.
Kay’s lavender Easter dress was borrowed from Patsy Sheehan, and Rosemary cleverly impersonated Kathryn Hepburn as she teased Kay about the “frilly buttahfly sleeves” and “adorahhble flounced skirt,”—an about-face from Kay’s standard tailored style. “That’s a Gingah Rogers dress if evah I saw one.”
Rosemary bought her own Easter outfit with money she earned as a typist at the Carney Hospital. She found a discounted suit in Blessed-Mother-blue at Mrs. Rosengard’s store on Broadway, put it on layaway, and made the last payment on Good Friday.
At her mother’s request, the netted veil on Rosemary’s small Juliet hat was pushed back. “It’s my opinion that only married women should be wearin’ the veil pulled over their eyes, and even then, I’m not sure I like the look of it. Too beguilin’, if you ask me.”
John Joseph wasn’t flashy, but he was hard to please, and Norah indulged her husband with his very specific requests for Easter Sunday: a new white dress shirt, a new tie, and a proper soft hat this year, which, Norah didn’t mind. Like many men in the parish, he wore a tweed cap, a scally, which she felt unsuitable for Easter Sunday. He’d also requested, “Have one of the boys polish up me oxfords, and I’ll make due,” and thought of himself as cutting corners. He never gave a second thought to how difficult it was for Norah and the children to earn and scrape together every cent that made him look like a good provider.
Church bells pealed, bare trees peeped green buds, and early garden flowers greeted the fresh, spring Easter morning.
Southie’s streets were bustling with people on their way to Easter services: mothers, fathers, children, babies in carriages, grandparents, maiden aunts, bachelor uncles, and everybody in between, all dressed up in their finest clothes or someone else’s and politely greeting one another with inquires and exclamations.
“Happy Easter to you and your family.”
“Did the Easter Bunny stop at your house?”
“No, not yet. We’ve requested he make his visit while we’re still at Mass. If that overrated rodent comes any earlier, it’s too much of a distraction from all the gettin’ ready.”
Gate of Heaven Church
SOUTH BOSTON, MASS.
“I’d stop to chat, but Mass begins in ten minutes. And you know Father McNulty, he’s no reservation about speakin’ his mind to the tardy.”
Irish-born Father McNulty, in regal white-and-gold vestments, forearms resting on his stomach, hands hidden within the folds of his cassock sleeves, stood at the church door welcoming one and all.
The quick-witted older priest was well loved but not without the reservation and strictness parishioners expected from a man in his position. At the stroke of five minutes to nine, Father Mychal Seamus McNulty loudly announced to stragglers, “This door is closing in two minutes. If you don’t want a mortal sin on your soul for missing Mass on this holiest of days, run, or go to the ten o’clock with all the other Tardy Tillies.”
Gate of Heaven’s white marble altar shone, and beams of jewel-toned sunlight streamed from the magnificent, stained-glass windows. Gone were the purple mourning cloths of Lent. Once again, the Stations of the Cross, every crucifix and statue, were in full view. The entire church was filled with lilies: on the stairs leading up to the altar, on either side of the tabernacle, on both smaller side altars, before every statue, around the Baptismal font, and at intervals along the Communion rail.
There was just enough room in one pew for the ten Kings. It was crowded, but Norah whispered, “It’s better this way, all of us in the one place.”
John Joseph whispered back, “No, it’s not,” and ordered John Michael to sit in the pew behind the family. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How’s a man supposed to worship properly when his bum’s crowded right and left? You should have offered to move, John. Now I’m tellin’ you, get back there.”
John Michael had no way of knowing why his father routinely singled him out whenever he had a complaint. He was, in fact, the spitting image of John Joseph’s older brother, Ian, who inherited the family farm back in Ireland. John Joseph hated Ian, and every time he saw John Michael it was as if “the fair-haired prince” was standing right in front of him.
All at once Rita got up. “Excuse me, excuse me, I need to get out,” she said softly. She slid past her sisters and parents, managed to pull loose from her father’s quick grip on her wrist, ignored Kay’s questions, genuflected, took one step backwards, genuflected again, slipped into the next pew, and sat alongside John Michael, the closest to her in age among a
ll her siblings.
“Rita,” he murmured, “what are you doing? You’ll get killed.” Their father looked over his shoulder and scowled.
“He doesn’t scare me, Johnny. Mum will be there. And besides, I don’t think Dad’ll act up today. The pubs are closed.” She patted the corsage on her purse and smiled impishly.
“Guess who?”
Now Norah turned around. “Shhhh.”
John Michael looked straight ahead and bumped his sister’s knee with his own. “Thanks, sis.”
The family worshipped—kneeling, sitting, and standing at the appropriate times—under Norah’s watchful eye; only the three youngest needed prompting. When it was time for Communion, organ music filled the great cathedral, and Norah closed her eyes to better hear the sacred composition, as the choir led parishioners in her best-loved hymn, sung in Latin. “Tantum ergo Sacramentum.”
The walk home was swift. Norah’s family was hungry and eager for the leg of lamb she put in the oven before they left. Much to her relief, John Joseph took no issue with the expense. His only comment was, “Tell me you’ve mint jelly to go with that supreme piece of meat.”
“And what do you think I am, Mr. King, a wife who doesn’t know her own husband’s preference? Of course, we have the mint jelly. It’s coolin’ in the icebox right now. And haven’t I butter for your potatoes too? There’ll be no oleomargarine on Easter Sunday.”
Inexpensive oleomargarine, made primarily from white beef fat, was mixed with yellow food coloring to look like butter.
Mr. and Mrs. King walked in silence until John Joseph spoke up. “Easter or no Easter, I’m beatin’ the impudence right out of Rita.”
“Come on now, John. The girl was only tryin’ to be polite.”
“I’ll think about it. If not today, tomorrow then.”
Norah returned to the joy of Easter. “Timothy, Thomas.” She playfully ran up to them. “Please stay in the backyard until you’re called upstairs. The Easter Bunny has some unfinished business and wants no interruption.”
The little boys mockingly boxed each other, and Tommy chanted, “We’re gettin’ candy! We’re gettin’ candy!”
John Joseph egged the older boy on. “Come on now, Tim. Show your brother that quick left you’ve got. You’re a champion, you are.”
Norah turned around. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re gettin’ that boy ready for the ring.” She returned to her husband’s side and, for just a moment, put her hand in the crook of his arm.
Once they reached home, most of the brood ran upstairs and straight to their bedrooms, removing hats, gloves, coats, and sweaters. Others raced for the bathroom. When John Joseph showed up, they stepped aside, leaving the door wide open for him. Norah headed for the kitchen and got down to the business of putting dinner on the table. All three girls were soon by her side, taking up their usual tasks, Norah at the helm of it all.
With Kay’s help, Rita set the long table, and cheerfully placed a large, pink, potted geranium right in the middle, with a lone blue-and-white willow saucer beneath it to protect Norah’s cherished Irish linen cloth. Tall glass candlesticks were precisely placed on either side.
“Mum, do you want me to light the candles?” Rita asked, matches in hand.
“Not yet. I’ll let you know. But for now, go look under my bed and you’ll find two chocolate bunnies for the little boys. We’ll make it a surprise and put them on the table as part of our decorations. Then you can call your brothers inside.”
Rita, disappointed Norah didn’t have candy for all of them, pouted.
“And don’t be moonin’ about. You’ll also find a bag holdin’ six of Fannie Farmer’s best chocolate cream eggs for the rest of you. Put one by each place then.”
Without warning, Norah gasped, and caught herself on the kitchen sink. For the first time in her life, she felt faint. Kay was getting milk from the icebox and ran to her, while Rita pulled a chair from the table. “Here, Mum.”
“I don’t know what came over me. One minute I’m strainin’ the potatoes, and the next I thought I’d find meself on the floor.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with your foot, Mum?” Rosemary asked, referring to the lump that had been on her mother’s right foot for weeks.
“It has nothin’ to do with that, just an odd moment, that’s all.”
“Mum, I’ll take care of the potatoes.” Rita went to the sink.
“You can strain them darlin’, but better put an apron on first and get one of the boys to do the mashin’. It’s too much for you, mashin’ potatoes for ten people.” Kay and Rosemary exchanged knowing glances. If either of them had been about to do the mashing Norah wouldn’t have objected. Rita was, even at fifteen, her mother’s baby girl.
Rosemary handed Norah a cup of tea. “This should pick you up, Mum.”
“Thank you darlin’. Girls, we’re havin’ a nice Easter, and I don’t want anything to spoil it. So please don’t mention this to your father.”
When they were all seated at the table, John Joseph called his family to order. “Pay attention to your mother now.”
Norah paused and looked around. What lovely children and they’re all mine. God bless the whole lot of them.
Her husband was curt. “Norah, the food’s gettin’ cold.”
She nodded her head in his direction “We’ll be thanking God for this fine meal and make the sign of the cross together now.” And so they all did, including the head of the household who most of the time seemed godless. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
After dinner, everyone picked up their place setting, and walked toward the sink, except for John Joseph, who headed for the living room calling back over his shoulder, “Joe, I want a word with you.”
Norah was putting away the only leftover when she heard her husband yell. “What? What? Norah, come in here right now!” She laid the half-full bowl of cauliflower on the kitchen table, and rushed to the living room with Rosemary, Kay, and Rita following close behind. The other children peeked out of doorways, looking at their mother for answers. Norah indicated with a whisk of her left hand they should remain where they were. The girls stayed in the hallway.
“It took you long enough to get here, Norah. It’s a good thing I wasn’t yellin’ fire. The house’d burn down before you’d be of any help.” John Joseph sat on the edge of the couch. “Well, guess what your firstborn son has up and done? He’s joined the United States Navy.”
“Joseph Frances, is this true?” Norah, still standing, folded her arms.
John Joseph spoke before Joe could answer. “I was tellin’ him there’s a job openin’ at the foundry, and this is what he comes back with. ‘Well, Dad,’ he says, ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to go after that job right now.’”
John Joseph jumped to his feet. “‘I’m shippin’ out in two days,’ he says.” He grabbed Joe by the collar and pulled him out of the chair he was sitting in. “And when were you goin’ to tell us, Joe? Or were you going to sneak away in the middle of the night like a bloody coward?” He let go, and his son fell into the chair with a thump, gripped the chair’s arms, and clenched his teeth. For an instant, Norah thought he might go after his father, but he didn’t.
Norah crossed the room. “Joe, why would you do such a thing? Goin’ behind our backs like that?”
“Mum, I didn’t do it to go behind your back.” Young Joe leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “It’s just that some of the fellas were signin’ up, and it seemed like a good idea. The Navy’s a first-rate place to learn a trade. Say, electronics. And then, I could get into the union and—”
“The fact remains you joined the U. S. Navy and never said a word about it. And now, you’re shippin’ out in the two days!” Norah brought her hands to her lips as if in prayer, closed her eyes, opened them, and put a hand to her heart. “Are you aware, Joseph Frances, there’s a war goin’ on in Europe? If the Germans
take your life, you’ll have no need for electronics. For I’ve never seen a dead man do a day’s work yet. Have you?”
John Joseph shot up from the couch. “You’ve dug your own grave, Joe. And I’m puttin’ you in it meself before some goddam German has the pleasure.”
Norah stood between them. “John, for the love of God, please stop.”
John Joseph pretended to strike her with the back of his hand and smirked. “You’re not worth the trouble.” He walked over to Joe and said, “Imeacht gan teacht ort.” May you leave without returning. He went to his bedroom, and slammed the door with one last complaint. “What kind of goddam holiday is this anyway, when a man can’t even raise a glass to the occasion?” He immediately opened the door, yelling at the top of his lungs, “But you managed to have enough money for the lamb! Didn’t you, Norah?”
Rosemary, Kay, and Rita returned to the kitchen. The others went outside.
Norah sat on the couch, hands folded on her lap. Joe was still sitting in the chair. Neither mother nor son spoke. The apartment smelled of Easter dinner, children could be heard playing in the street below, and shadows from Norah and Joe’s images fell on the slightly frayed area rug. “Mum, I…”
“Let’s sit here quietly for a few minutes, Joseph. I need to think this over, and you do too. Be still now.”
Norah contemplated her son’s decision. On the one hand, he’s been spendin’ time with the wrong crowd, congregatin’ on the corner and smokin’, lookin’ for easy money in the pool halls when he’s got a nickel or two. Workin’ here and there, nothing steady, although every place has called him back. The lad isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, and God knows he gives me every cent he can spare before it’s all spent or his father takes it. Mary, Mother of God, I can’t believe this is happenin’.
Norah worried about Joe. Of all the children, his temper was the most like her husband’s. And his discovery of liquor frightened her. Last week, him comin’ home three sheets to the wind. I’ll have to warn Joe how liquor can change a person, impairin’ judgment and tearin’ down all those about them. Norah reconsidered her son’s enlistment.
The Red Coat Page 7