The Red Coat

by Dolley Carlson

  Sister devoutly picked up a copy of the Baltimore Catechism and for a split second reassuringly patted her habit’s other pocket, which held illustrated holy cards of the Sacred Heart and revered saints and small, oval Blessed Mother medals for those who answered correctly.

  “Tell me now children.” She read directly from the text, “What is necessary to receive Holy Communion worthily?”

  The boys and girls raised and waved their hands, calling out, “Sister, Sister!” Sometimes it was reduced to “Ssss,” which was never recognized, other than for chastisement. Donny Roche, an A-student, cocky and stocky, dark haired, his Sacred Heart red and navy striped tie off center and poorly knotted, was the first to be called on. “Please stand, Donald.”

  “To receive Holy Communion worthily, it is necessary: to be free from mortal sin, to be fasting from midnight, and to have a good intention.”

  Sister rewarded his answer with a holy card of Saint Lawrence, martyr. “A bright boy like yourself, Donald, and beloved by all for his sacrifice and humility. Very good. You may be seated. Next question. Tell me, children, what is prayer?”

  Judith Dolan, the shyest girl in the class, who only had her hand up halfway, was called upon next. She slid out of her seat, and her head was down as well as her voice.

  “‘What is prayer?” She grasped the skirt of her navy-blue uniform, raised only her eyes and stated the answer as a question. “Prayer is speaking lovingly to God?”

  “That’s right, Judith, dear.” Sister approached the slight girl with a Blessed Mother medal and pinned it on her uniform with the attached tiny, gold safety pin. “And you’ll want to be holdin’ that pretty head up and mind your posture while you’re at it. You’re a daughter of the King and must carry yourself as such. You may be seated.”

  The class’s saving grace came right in the midst of it all when Mother Superior walked in the room with a memo, spotted the Necco Wafers and offered to help give the children Communion. Before proceeding, Mother Superior had a thing or two to say about receiving the body of Christ. “Heaven forbid you don’t open your mouth wide enough, or put your tongue out far enough, and God’s one and only Son fall down, in the direction of hell, from which He has saved us all.”

  It had been an eventful last few months in the Donnelly household.

  Christmas was good. The older children got what they’d asked Santa for. A Toni doll with black hair for Ruth Ann, and a red wagon and Tinker Toys for Bobby. Baby Catherine was more content to play with empty boxes than the gifts that came in them.

  Rita and Bob kicked off the New Year with a rare night out. Her brother Johnny and his wife, Marion, had a party, and many of the officers from Station 3 and their wives went too. The Donnelly children were safely tucked in at Grammy’s, where they fell fast asleep to the Windsor chime of church bells and woke up the next morning when Mrs. Mac’s cocker spaniel, Blackie, jumped up on the bed.

  But by mid-January, as Bob so aptly described it, “all hell broke loose.”

  Rita was changing the baby’s diaper, and mischievous, freckle-faced, ever-grinning, seldom-stopping Bobby, with a cowlick sticking up on the crown of his head like a feather (Rita affectionately called him “my wild Indian”) noted his mother’s distraction, snatched a knife from the silverware drawer, tried to pry the top off a can of hard candies, slipped, and made a gash in his leg, requiring a trip to the hospital, stitches, and cash payment.

  February held a preplanned medical expense, Ruth Ann’s corrective surgery for her crossed eyes, but a week before her hospitalization the insurance company pulled back coverage due to the “corrective aspect,” evaluating the often-ineffective surgery as fairly frivolous. “The child’s vision is still good.”

  Rita and Bob went ahead as planned, and the operation was a success, but the drain on family finances almost stretched them to the limit.

  In March, one of the neighbors spotted “a huge rat” in the cellar, and in a panic, Rita hid tiny red squares of rat poison in the back corners of all the apartment’s closets. She was busily dust-mopping the hallway one morning when Catherine toddled up, and her scarlet mouth said it all. Hospital, stomach pumped, the last dollars, and final straw. Or so it seemed.

  April brought showers of First Communion dresses. Filene’s, Jordan’s, Gilchrist’s, and several other downtown stores were well-stocked and ready for business, while in Jamaica Plain, the second-grade girls at Blessed Sacrament School excitedly asked each other, “Do you have your dress yet?”

  But the cash Rita and Bob had been putting aside for this very time was gone. Medical expenses took every penny, including Rita’s secret stash. But she came up with a plan.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You pawned your wedding ring!”

  “Not my wedding ring. See, the band is right here, my engagement ring.”

  “Oh, excuse me, your engagement ring.”

  She despised the sarcastic tone Bob was using.

  “God Almighty, Rita, I gave you all the money I could spare for her First Communion outfit. What happened?”

  “Plain and simple, Bob. It wasn’t enough for everything she needed.”

  He disliked the way his wife held her own when they argued, and on a certain level considered it disrespectful. He was, after all, the man of the house.

  “Wait a minute. I can’t believe you of all people couldn’t make that amount work?”

  “Of course I could, if I wanted to buy her the lowest-priced dress on the rack. It looked cheap, and the veils were even worse. Filene’s Basement doesn’t have a thing. Communion clothes won’t be there until the end of next month, when it’s all over.”

  “Forget it, Rita. All that matters to me is that you pawned your goddam wedding ring.”

  “We’ll get it back. They gave me six months.” Rita’s eyes glistened. “It’s all I could think to do. I don’t want to be embarrassed, I don’t want you to be embarrassed, and I certainly don’t want our daughter to be embarrassed. We get one shot at this, honey, and I want to give it our best. I haven’t spent a penny yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” She regained her composure and raised her voice. “And don’t you ever call it a goddam wedding ring again.”

  Bob’s eyes narrowed to a pensive slit, closed as he shook his head, and opened again. “What the hell.” He took his petite wife in his brawny arms and, against her initial resistance, held on tightly. “I’ll ask around the station about extra details. One of the fellas said he got work moonlighting in a meat packing plant. You’ll have your,” he hesitated, “diamond ring sooner than six months.”

  Rita lightly kissed his chest, and he pushed her away from him just far enough to see her face. “You and Ruth Ann better go into town tomorrow and get this taken care of. Let me worry about the rest.”

  The time had finally arrived to actually buy the First Communion dress. The whole family knew. Grammy and even Aunt Kay offered to go along and help with the selection, but Rita said, “Thanks anyway. I think we’ll be fine.”

  This shopping trip, there would be no first stop on Newbury. The ecstatic mother and daughter went straight to Jordan’s. It was easy. Rita knew just the style of dress she wanted, and Ruth Ann thought all of them were pretty. “Mummy, look at this one.”

  As Rita readied her child for “the most important day of your life” and examined rounders and racks of dresses and veils, she strongly felt the presence of her mother, Norah, in the memory of her own First Communion.

  Rita Margaret’s daily prayer as read from the Baltimore Catechism –

  Morning Prayer

  As soon as you awake make the sign of the cross and say:

  Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts: the earth is full of Thy glory. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.

  When dressed, bless yourself with holy water, kneel and say this short Morning Prayer,

  Our Father … Hail Mary … I believe in God …

  O my God, I believe all that Thou hast revealed because Thou canst nei
ther deceive nor be deceived.

  O my God, I hope in Thee and I hope to obtain from Thee all the graces necessary to my salvation.

  O my God, I love Thee above all things because Thou hast first loved me and art most deserving of my love.

  O my God, I offer Thee all my thoughts, words, actions, and sufferings and I beseech Thee to give me Thy grace, that I may not offend Thee this day.

  All ye Angels and Saints of God, pray for me.

  Angel of God, my guardian dear,

  To whom His love commits me here.

  Ever this day be at my side,

  To light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen.

  It had been the height of the Great Depression, and yet every boy and girl who walked down the aisle at Gate of Heaven Church was dressed entirely in appropriate white clothing. In Rita’s case, she wore the same pretty, pristine dress Rosemary and Kay had worn, but Norah felt “Sure and this sorry-lookin’ veil has seen better days,” and she managed to buy Rita Margaret new shoes, lace-trimmed knee socks, and material to sew a new veil. Though only God knows how.

  Norah had wanted her youngest daughter to have brand new everything from head to toe. The original plan was for the “big girls,” Rosemary and Kay, to share a First Communion dress and for the “little girls,” Noni and Rita, to do the same with one of their own. But eight-year-old Noni “wore hers into heaven, darlin’,” and there wasn’t enough money to buy another. “We’ll do well with the dress we have, Rita Margaret, and I’ll give your Sunday underthings an extra bleachin’.”

  The Communion clothing was gone now, but Rita’s Catechism had remained with her all these years, a constant source of comfort and surety, at home in her nightstand drawer.

  Ruth Ann’s lily-white dress had two, well, actually three, layers: a full, nylon-taffeta slip; sheer, organdy dress with a delicate, lace-trimmed Peter Pan collar and short gathered lace-trimmed sleeves, topped with a scalloped hem, satin sash, bow-tied, organdy pinafore. The double-tiered, shoulder-length veil was trimmed in similar lace and fell from a dainty band of artificial white flowers. Her knee socks, Mary Jane shoes, gloves, panties, undershirt, and small pocketbook were all pure white too.

  Rita was buttoning up the back of her daughter’s plaid cotton dress when the perky saleslady brought a pink taffeta slip to the dressing room. “With this you could have two dresses for the price of one.” She slid it beneath the double layer of sheer organdy to make her point. “See, a pretty pink dress all ready for a party.”

  Rita considered it. Bob will be furious if I spend more than absolutely necessary. She took a chance anyway. “We’ll take it.” She ended up buying the entire outfit for full retail at Jordan Marsh and loved every blessed minute.

  When they finally left the store, presumably headed for the subway, happily toting two bags each, the pleased mother stopped and asked her preoccupied daughter who was trying to avoid stepping on cracks in the sidewalk, “Do you want to go see Miss Cordelia?”

  Over the past few months, the most unlikely friendship had developed between Cordelia Parker and Rita Donnelly and her child.

  The second time they went to Chandler’s Linens, it truly was a “just looking” visit, and Rita wouldn’t think of accepting refreshments for that very reason. The budget was tight with the holidays coming, but her philosophy was “You never learn anything staying at home,” and she absolutely loved seeing how the other half lived.

  When Rita and Ruth Ann came through the door, Cordelia put down the box of crocheted Bavarian antimacassars she was arranging in a yellow moiré-lined case and slipped out from behind the display piece. “I’m so happy to see you again. How did the guest towels work out?”

  Rita said, “Oh, fine. Thanks for asking.” She pictured where the luxury linens had been stored ever since, underneath bed sheets stacked on a high shelf in her bedroom closet. She was waiting for the perfect time to put them out, a special occasion when Bob might be more understanding of why exactly they needed French guest towels in the only bathroom of a third-floor apartment in a three-decker.

  Cordelia couldn’t help but notice Rita’s familiar coat. It was the same one she wore the last time she was in, navy with a shawl collar. Good for her. Repeated wear mattered little to Rita as long as her outfit looked classy.

  On one of those future visits Cordelia would breach the obvious in the kindest way possible. “There’s something different about you Ruth Ann, no glasses this time. “No glasses and my eyes are straight too.” Why, yes they are and pretty blue.”

  As intended, Rita declined refreshments, but Cordelia insisted. Anyone entering the store would have thought them old friends with how easily the conversation flowed. They each learned the other was an avid reader, compared titles, and Cordelia sent Rita home with a book she’d just finished. “Wait, I have something for you.” She darted to the back room.

  Rita left without buying a thing, and Cordelia didn’t care. She hoped the personable lady and her bespectacled, cross-eyed daughter would come back again and again. And they did.

  The next time Rita went to the store Cordelia wasn’t there.

  “I know she’ll be disappointed she missed you,” the gentleman clerk said and simultaneously plucked an infinitesimal piece of lint from Rita’s coat while asking permission. “If you’ll please allow me?”

  Joy Street by Francis Parkinson Keyes, A familial and romantic intrigue novel, many Bostonians were eager to read replete with familiar ethnic, geographic, professional, and social references to the greater Boston area and taking place primarily on Beacon Hill.

  She smiled coolly and stated her business. “Oh, I’m so disappointed she’s not here. We came by to return this Francis Keyes book.” Rita handed it to him. “If you don’t mind.” She reached in the pocket of her coat and gave him a small white envelope, a thank you note. “This too, please.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you. We have some other stops to make.”

  Percy Clark didn’t remember seeing the boy before. “And don’t you look the little man in your tweed coat and matching cap? What’s your name, son?”

  The boy’s sapphire eyes smiled before the rest of his face did, and he reached up to shake hands, just as his father had taught him. “Bobby Donnelly, Mister.”

  “Well, how do you do, Bobby Donnelly? And hello to you too, young lady. Would you children like a cookie? That is, if it’s all right with your mother.”

  Rita didn’t object.

  He promptly returned from the kitchenette and handed each of the happy youngsters a gingersnap and a paper napkin.

  When Chandler’s door closed behind them, Percy Clark joined Florence Sippi Morton, who was gazing out the window, as the mother and children made their descent to the sidewalk, and she commented, “They certainly make a nice appearance.”

  He blithely added, his right elbow resting on the back of his left hand, right fist beneath his jutting Patrician chin, “I’ve never considered red a very favorable color for women with auburn hair. However, that red coat is quite stunning on Mrs. Donnelly.”

  On the First Communion shopping day, Rita gaily entered Chandler’s Linens and greeted Cordelia with, “I’ve only got a minute, but we wanted to drop by for a quick hello.” She pulled a paperback book from her pocketbook.

  “This is the one I was telling you about. Get ready to stay up all night. It’s that good.”

  The Great Gatsby was new to Rita, but Cordelia had read it years ago in college, though she decided she needn’t say so, and it wouldn’t hurt to read it again. Gatsby will be my dinner partner tonight.

  From the alternately shifting position of one wiggling, oxford-shoed foot pigeon-toed on top of the other, Ruth Ann said, “Miss Cordelia, want to see my First Communion dress?”

  “First Communion dress? Yes, I’ve never seen a First Communion dress before.”

  Rita was a little embarrassed and a lot warm. She unbuttoned her coat, rather than remove the
three-quarter, beige boiled wool she’d had since before she was married. Then she took the “most special dress Ruth Ann’s ever had” out of the bag by the hook of the hanger, and held it up, thinking it was even prettier away from the bustling department store.

  Cordelia was duly impressed and held the scalloped, tiny-bow-tied hem in her hand.

  “Sweet, and such excellent workmanship. This must be a very special occasion, Ruth Ann.”

  Rita suddenly realized something was missing. “Cordelia, do you have any small white hankies?”

  “We certainly do. I’ll be right back.”

  “We’ll follow you.”

  It was at that moment, in the glow of the nice lady’s interest, that Ruth Ann jumped in and innocently asked, her dimples at their deepest, “Mummy, can Miss Cordelia please come to my First Communion?”

  CHAPTER 34

  My Dearest Savior,

  Come into my heart when I receive Thee …

  But above all, dear Savior, do please feed me (Communion)

  as long as I live…. as the mother bird feeds her little ones.

  NEW KEY OF HEAVEN: A COMPLETE BOOK OF

  LITTLE PRAYERS & INSTRUCTIONS

  MOST REVEREND ARCHBISHOP JOHN

  CARDINAL FARLEY OF NEW YORK

  RITA LIKENED HER PAST WEEK to a roller coaster ride at Nantasket Beach’s Paragon Park, with the escalating joy of First Communion fast approaching and a devastating letdown. She hadn’t been looking for trouble on Tuesday morning. It was an innocent find.

  Rita needed to light the stove, and when she couldn’t locate any matches, she went into their bedroom and plucked a Patten Restaurant matchbook from the assorted pocket items on her husband’s dresser: wallet, handkerchief, pen, notepad, Lucky Strike cigarettes, and peppermint Life Savers, right next to his empty police revolver and a saucer full of bullets. Bob was still asleep.