Maggie Now

by Betty Smith

expected to se! teat' too. But poor Claude only looked

  t~evvildered.

  "Thanks," said Lottie pointedly. She continued, ". . .

  gave me that pug dog on our first wedding anniversary."

  "It's an amusing little thing," he said.

  .laggie-NoN`.r moaned inwardly. I Vhy, she thought,

  can't he talk plain to her the clay he talks to me? I know

  whet he means that it's cute in a Tray that makes you

  smile. but Lottie thinks he wean that he thinks it's co7nical.

  Indeed she did. She snatched the dog from him and held

  it to

  [ ~4 1

 

  her breast. "I was going to give it to Maggie-Now when

  she got married. Yes, I was going to give it to her." Her

  intonation said plainly that she wouldn't think of giving it

  to her now.

  It was an uncomfortable visit. Claude kept saying the

  wrongthings as far as Lottie was concerned and his

  habit of cocking his head to hear better, a habit that

  usually endeared him to women, made Lottie nervous.

  It was time to go and Lottie gave Denny the Easter

  basket she had prepared for him. It was large and

  elaborate.

  "Oh, Lottie! You shouldn't have," protested Maggie-Now.

  "Why not? You give two and I only give one back so it

  should be bigger. Like it, Denny?" He nodded. "Well, what

  do I get for it?" He gave her a big hug.

  "Well, Mr. Bassett, it was nice to meet you," said Lottie.

  "And come again when you call stay longer." She didn't

  mean it, but that was the right thing to say.

  Going home on the trolley, Claude said: "I'm starry she

  doesn't like me your Aunt Lottie."

  Maggie-Now thought of saying, BUt she does. It's just her

  way. But she was too honest to say it. She said: "Lottie's

  not used to strangers. She'll like you after a wlli!e. When

  she knows you better."

  "But I like you, /mrw," said Dermy.

  Claude placed the little boy's hand on his palm. When

  he saw 110V`T little the hand was and 110NV vulnerable

  it looked, Claude put his other hand over it protectively.

  He held the child's hand 50 and said: "Thank you, Dcnny."

  There was a little break in his voice. ''I'll always remember

  that.'

  t22, ~

 

  ~; CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE ~

  Liar many people w ith limited amounts of money to

  spend, Maggic-Now thoroughly enjoyed the spending of it.

  She loved to shop, especially for ~ rod. She loved to see

  things in great abundance: a basket of tomatoes, a bin of

  potatoes, a thick stalk of bananas or a huge side of beef.

  She was one of those women who like to touch things; she

  picked out onions one by one to drop into the bag the

  greengrocer held for her. She picked up muskmelons to

  hold and to smell before she bought. She picked up

  objects in stores and held them a second before she

  replaced them; ran her palm over dress goods in the bolt.

  Shopping for food was a daily pleasure but shopping for

  Easter dinner for Glaude Bassett had been pure ecstasy.

  She had taken Delmy along with her, as .oon as they got

  back from the cemetery and before they went to l,ottie's.

  She had wanted the traditional ham for Easter but

  prices were up to twent~y-tvvo cents 2 pound on account

  of the big demand. She decided on marinated leg of lamb.

  Her usual butcher had lamb but it was twenty" two cents

  a pound and Maggie-Now thought that was too dear.

  "Last week it was eighteen cents a pound," she said.

  "It's gone up because we're in the war," he said.

  She didn't see Low being in the war for tvventy-four

  hours would affect the price of meat he had had in his

  icebox for two weeks, but she said nothing. Another

  woman in the store said: "Pst! " Maggie-Now went to her.

  "Go by Winer's, near L~orDtler Street," she whispered.

  "He's got lamb for seventeen cents."

  "What goes on there, hall?'' called out the butcher

  suspiciously from behind the counter.

  ~ 226 ]

 

  "Nothing'7, nothing," said the woman hurriedly. (She

  owed him money.)

  Maggie-Now went to Winer's but there was a catch in it.

  It was seventeen a pound if one bought the whole leg;

  nineteen a pound for half. Also it wasn't lamb; it was

  mutton. Maggie-Now felt a thrill. She liked mutton better

  than lamb but the butcher mustn't know or the price might

  go up. She hesitated and he said eighteen a pound if she'd

  take the shank end. That was the end she'd intended to

  buy but she was crafty.

  "bet me see it first," she said.

  He brought out the leg of mutton and threw it on the

  block. Maggie-Now fell in love with it at first sight. "All

  right," she said.

  "How much?"

  "About four pounds and cut off the bone end for soup."

  It w as done and she was happy.

  While the butcher was sawing away, Denny worked his

  way behind the counter and watched the butcher. "Denny!"

  called Maggie-Now reproachfully.

  "Leave him," said the butcher. "Maybe he'll be a butcher

  when he gets big." Maggie-Now must have made a little

  grimace for he said: "But maybe you'd sooner he was

  President?"

  "I wouldn't mind," said Maggie-Now.

  "Listen, lady. How many Presidents is there? Just one.

  But how many butchers? A couple thousand. He's got

  more chance of being a butcher than President." He

  wrapped up the meat and gave Denny a slice of liverwurst.

  She bought a few pounds of small, new potatoes with

  curls of red skin peeling off, a bunch of green spring

  onions, the smallest carrots she could find and a sliver of

  Roquefort cheese.

  She put the mutton in a big bowl with sweet oil, pickle

  vinegar, salt, pepper and a bay leaf, and left it to marinate

  overnight in the icebox.

  The next morning, Easter Sunday, Pat got dressed up

  and left soon after breakfast with the information that he

  wouldn't be home until the evening. In a flurry of

  excitement Maggie-Now put up her dinner so it could

  cook while she was at Mass.

  She took the mutton from the bowl, wiped it dry and

  braised it in hot bacon drippings until it was a golden

  brown. She transferred it to her'oig, heavy iron pot, added

  five peppercorns, salt.

  ~ 2 2? 1

 

  a new bay leaf and a cup of water. She let it boil up, put

  the heav v lid on and turned the hea, down to simmering.

  She fixed a simple salad in her old, warped, wooden

  salad bowl: chopped lettuce, grated onion, slivers of green

  pepper, crumbs of Roquefort cheese and olive oil and

  vinegar dressing with seasonings and a pinch of sugar.

  At ten o'clock, Dennv, all washed and pressed, left for

  the children's Class. Maggie Now dressed herself carefully,

  wishing she had a new dress but released that she had th
e

  new hat she had bought that week. JUst before eleven, she

  put the potatoes and carrots (wl-~ich she had scrubbed

  earlier) into the pot, added the peeled onions, let the

  whole thing boil up once more, and then put the heat

  down to simn1er. It wouLl be done to a tender turn when

  they got back front church.

  She wet the cork of a little of oil of cloves that her

  father used for his toothaches, and touched the cork to

  each hand (in case her hands still smelled like onions), and

  rubbed until the pungent scent vvas sorrlewhat faint and

  smelled a little like spicy carnations. She took a fresh

  handkerchief from the box where it had rested all week on

  a bag of or,-isroot, and was ready for her church and her

  Claude.

  He Noms waiting outside the church. She thought he

  looked handsome in his freshly pressed suit and shined

  shoes. He had a package and a book under his arm. The

  children's Mass was just getting out and Denny ran over to

  say hello. Claude asked Dennv to take the package and

  t,ook home.

  "And don't open the package to look," said Maggie-NoNv.

  "I won't," he promised.

  "And nobody's home so don't go near the stokes hears"

  "I never no near the stave."

  a,

  "Promise me plain."

  'I won't go near the stove."

  He walked down the street, holding the package up to

  his ear and shaking it.

  "Margaret," whispered Claude as they entered the

  church 'how will I know what to do?"

  "Do whatever I do," she whispered back.

  They remained after the Mass was over because

  Claude wanted

  n, examine the Stations of the Cross and see the details

  of the

  ~ ~'s1

  altars. He watched fondly while she knelt before the statue

  of Saint Anthony, lit a candle and bowed her head briefly.

  She stood up and smiled at him.

  "Why did you do that?" he asked.

  "For my intention."

  "What was your intention?"

  "I can't tell you." She couldn't tell him that she had

  prayed to the saint, asking him to intercede for her in

  gaining Claude's love.

  Father Flynn was standing outside the church in cassock

  and biretta, enjoying the spring air and anticipating the

  goodness of the Easter dinner that would break his long

  fast. He greeted Maggie-Now and looked sharply at

  Claude.

  "Father," she said, "I want to introduce Mr. Bassett.

  Claude Bassett." To Claude, she said: "This is Father

  Flynn."

  Claude started to extend his hand, then drew it back. He

  didn't know whether to bow, genuflect or shake hands. The

  priest noticed his confusion and reached out and grasped

  Claude's hand. Claude didn't know whether to address him

  as Father, Reverend or Mister. He decided on "sir."

  "How do you do, sir."

  "I am pleased to know you," said the priest.

  Father Flynn watched them go down the street. So she's

  found her Fran, he mused. And his faith isn't the saline as

  hers. He sighed deeply.

  Denny was sitting on the stoop with the packages

  because the door was locked and he couldn't get in. Denny

  was disappointed when Claude took the package and book

  from him. He had thought he'd say: Keep the package, a

  present for you.

  When they entered the house, Claude said what

  thousands of men were saying all over the country at that

  same time: "Something smells good."

  And women were answering: "I hope it tastes good," or

  "Why shouldn't it smell good? I spent the whole morning

  cooking it." But Maggie-Now said: "Oh, it's nothing. Just

  some meat and potatoes."

  He followed her out into the kitchen, informing her that

  he was the type who peered into pots to see what was

  cooking. He told her it was the most beautiful kitchen he'd

  ever seen.

  She looked around the large room, wondering whatever

  an

  1 229 ]

 

  other person could see in it. There was the plate shelf

  running around the walls with her mother's hand-painted

  china plates leaning against the wall. The wooden bowls

  for the morning oatmeal stood on the shelf and her blue

  willowware dishes. The cups hung by hooks from the

  bottom of the shelf.

  "Reminds me of the kitchens in Devon," he said. "They

  have blue willowware with the cups hung up like that."

  "Oh, those," she said. "Everybody around here has

  dishes like these. You get them for trading stamps. It's

  such a common pattern."

  "Is it, my little Chinee;" he asked.

  The conversation bored Denny. He went out to the

  front room and sat on the lounge next to the package,

  sweating out the time until Claude should either open it

  himself or give it to him, Denny.

  Maggie-Now was chattering away in the kitchen. '`I like

  those dishes, though. Lots of women keep them in dish

  closets but I like them where I can look at them. The way

  some people like to look at books."

  While she was talking, she thickened the gravy with

  flour and stirred in a teaspoon of grated horseradish. On

  each of tluee plates she placed a thick slice of mutton,

  three of the small new potatoes with their skins flaking

  off, a couple of soft but intact baby carrots and a ladleful

  of soft, almost transparent, tiny onions. She gave the

  mutton a thick coat ing of the pungent gravy and called

  Denny to the table. Before she sat down, she set the

  wooden bowl full of salad in the middle of the table.

  She watched anxiously as Claude took his first bite of

  the mutton "Venison!" he amlounced.

  "No," she said. "Just mutton."

  "No, my little Chinee. Venison afar something better."

  She flushed with pleasure.

  Denny, feeling the oneness between theta, and feeling

  left out in the cold, pushed his plate away. This had his

  hoped-for result. He got his sister's attention away from

  Claude.

  "NONV what?" she asked.

  "I'm not hungry," he answered.

  "Eat!" said his sister.

  "But I don't like it."

  "Eat it anyhow." She explained to Clande: "He's been

  eating

  [ ~3('1

 

  eggs from his Easter basket, that's why he's not hungry."

  "Just two," Denny mumbled.

  But he ate everything on his plate. So did Claude and so

  did Maggie-Now. Claude had some gravy left on his plate.

  He looked over the table, wondering why there was no

  bread and butter.

  "This wonderful gravy," he said, "cries out for a piece of

  bread to sop it up with." Denny opened his mouth to say

  something.

  "Don't tell him, Denny," said Maggie-Now sharply.

  "Tell me what?" he asked smiling.

  "About the dessert," she said. "It's supposed to be a

  surprise. Do you want more gravy?" Yes, he did. Sh
e

  poured a ladleful on his plate and gave him a spoon.

  "Please use this for the gravy,'? she said graciously.

  "Denny, will you gr ind the coffee while 1 go and get the

  dessert? "

  "Okay."

  "Denny," said Claude, "I'll give you a nickel if you'll let

  Ate grind the coffee." The deal was consummated.

  Maggie-Now almost ran the two blocks to the Jewish

  delicatessen The bread wagon was just leaving. Inside the

  store, Mrs. Fine was arranging the warm round mounds in

  the showcase.

  "You come just in time," she told Maggie-Now. "Only

  now did the breads come. Still warm. Half a loaf like

  always?"

  "Like always," smiled Maggie-Now.

  The woman wrapped the half in a clean rag. "So it

  should stay warm for you," she said kindly.

  Maggie-Now went to the dairy next door. Three tubs of

  butter lying on the side faced the customers across the

  counter. The vats were labeled: Good, Better and Best.

  "A half pound of the best sweet butter," said

  Maggie-Nov. The man lifted the glass door and picked up

  the wooden paddle. "And all in one piece," she added. "No

  crumbs!"

  He faced her, hands on hips. "No crumbs! No crumbs,

  she says! So I'm magic and can cut exact-tle one half

  pound! Sure! Well, look con bottom the tub. Look on all

  the pieces from people what don't want crumbs. Them," he

  said dramatically, "them pieces is my profits."

  "My bread's getting cold," she said.

  He put the wedge of butter on the scale. His hand

  trembled as

  ; Hi ]

 

  he did so because he feared the worst. His fear was

  justified. The wedge weighed an ounce over the half

  pound. He hit the side of his head with the flat of his

  hand.

  "My profit! My profit!" he cried out. "Now I must cut off

  my profit and throw it on the floor of the tub!"

  "Oh, I'll take the whole thing," she said.

  "Don't do me no fav`,rs," he said bitterly as he wrapped

  the butter.

  She made the coffee vie ry strong and heated a

  saucepan of milk and served it half coffee, half hot milk.

  She brought the still-warm bread to the table and stood

  before Claude holding it in her hands.

  "Ceres!" he said.

  "I guess you'll think it s funny bread and butter for

  dessert," she said.

  "No, my little Chinee, 1 think it's a very nice idea."

  "We always have it for- Sunday dessert because it's

  better than any pie I could bake or Cooke I could buy."

  He stood up. "It's wonderful, Margaret. Beautiful bread

  Nice to look at and it smells so good. It's nice to the

  touch and will be nice to the taste. Like good wine, it

  appeals to all the senses except sound."

  "Listen!" she said. She pressed her forefinger on the

  e�,rr,rshellthin but crisp crust. An inch of the crust

  collapsed into flakes with a sound like a small sigh.

  "The clink of touched glasses that gives sound to good

  ovine," he said.

  "Can I have a piece now? " asked Denny.

  She cut the bread. She watched while Claude broke off

  an edge and spread it thinly with butter.

  "Let me do it for you," she said. She took his slice and

  spread the whole thing thickly with the good butter. "That

  way, it's dessert," she said. "Eat it all in one piece."

  He took a bite. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" he said. "It

  deserves to be brought to the table under a glass dome

  like pheasants and mushrooms."

  They're startin`,r up that do talk again, thought Denny r

  esentfully.

  He decided to make a diversion. He folded his buttered

  bread in half and defiantly plunged it into his cup of

  coffee and milk.

  f 7~]

 

  "Denny!" cried out Maggie-Now. "Where are your table

  manners? "

  Claude put his hand on the boy's arm. "Thank you,

  Denny," he said. "You opened the way for me to do

  exactly the same thing." He dipped his bread into his

  coffee.