Maggie Now

by Betty Smith

house."

  "I have an empty room waiting."

  "The home pays five dollars a week for each child. No

  foster mother must profit from that; nor divert the money

  to her own uses. It is for the child's food and necessities.

  Therefore, there must be proof that the husband works

  and has a steady income."

  She bowed her hea.l and squeezed her hands together

  in anguish. She did not ha e that kind of husband. The

  priest's heart went out to her.

  "Of course, in the case of a widow, a son or daughter

  living at home and supporting the mother . . . or if she has

  a small legacy . . i"

  "I own my own home," said Maggie-Now, with eager

  hope, "and I have rental property and it's my money and

  Papa has a

  F33'1

 

  steady job. And Claude brings home money . . .

  sometimes. And he always works for a Mole after he

  comes home and gives me every cent...."

  "You would surely get an 'A' on finances and on a

  suitable home," he said with a smile. "Of course, there

  must be no history of sickness in the family, like

  tuberculosis or congenital . . . well, social diseases."

  "Oh, we're all so healthy," she exclaimed. "Nobody's ever

  been sick in the family with anything catching, except the

  time Denny and Papa had measles."

  "That would be an easy 'A,"' he conceded. "However . .

  ." he paused a long time before he continued. "The woman

  must have, or must have had, children of her own. She

  must be rearing, or have reared, children of her ov. n."

  "I brought up Denny ever since he was born," she said.

  "I have experience."

  "Of her own," he repeated.

  "I see." All the eagerness left her and she bowed her head

  again.

  He rose, beginning to terminate the visit. She rose with

  him. "But you're a good mother, Margaret, even if you

  have no children of your own. If you have no child of your

  own within a year, come to me again. I'll speak to Mother

  Vincent de Paul and see what I can do. You can wait a

  year, Margaret?"

  Yes, Maggie-Now could wait a year. She was used to

  waiting.

  Denny got through that year without getting into too

  much trouble. He was grudgingly promoted. The only

  thing, he took to hanging out on the streets with a bunch

  of slightly older kids. He'd stay out until ten o'clock at

  night if he could get away

  . . .

  with It.

  Claude came home with the winter. There was that same

  tender reunion. He brought her a pair of white buckskin

  moccasins to wear as bedroom slippers. The name of a

  shop in Albuquerque, New Mexico, was stamped on the

  inner sole. At least, she thought, he divas where it divas

  warm. The gold piece was still pinned in his coat and she

  knew he had not been in want.

  Their reunion was tender and their love-making seemed

  new again, the way it had been on their honeymoon night.

  He worked a few weeks, someplace or other. He gave her

  all

  [333]

 

  of his pay except the money he used for Christmas

  presents. He gave her a singing canary in a lovely bamboo

  cage. She named him Timmy. It was a nerd cross for Pat

  to bear. He was superstitious and instinctively his lips

  formed the words "rest his soul" whenever she called the

  bird by name.

  Pat kept up a nudging feud with Claude all winter. To

  compensate, Denny openly worshiped Claude, and worked

  hard in school for good marks to get Claude's

  approbation.

  It was a wonderfully happy winter for Maggie-Now. But

  he left again on that day when that certain wind called to

  him.

  And she knew another year would pass and she would

  have no child.

  ~ CHAPTER FORTY-SE VEN ~

  Now when Maggie-Nt~w made her visits to Lottie, she

  was, in a way, visiting Timmy, too. Lottie acted as though

  Timmy were in the same room with them and she had

  stopped saying, "I make believe."

  "Well, Aunt Lottie, I guess I'll start for home before the

  rain comes."

  "Oh, it's not going to rain. L)o you think it's going to

  rain, Timmy?" She spoke to the empty chair. She waited.

  "There! Timmy says he thinks the rain will hold off until

  nighttime."

  Once Widdy was there and he drew Maggie-Now aside.

  "I just happened to drop in," he said, "and Mom was

  eating her supper. But there was a full plate where Pop

  used to sit, and you know, Maggie, she was talking to him

  just like he was sitting there eating supper with her? Poor

  Mom!"

  "Oh, I don't know," said Maggie-Now. "She's found a

  way to be near Timmy."

  Annie had her worries that year. Tessie was growing too

  fast. She was thin and frai I and coughed all the time,

  Annie said. Maggie-Now assured Annie that Tessie would

  be all right when summer came and she :ould get out in

  the air and sun. Maggie

  1 7541

 

  Now took ~I essie over to Dr. Scalani but he wasn't

  there. A young Dr. Mahony, who had taken his place, said

  Dr. Scalani had gone into some other business. And have

  this prescription filled and see that the little girl gets

  plenty of rest and lots of milk, he said.

  Maggie-Now was curious about Dr. Scalani and she

  went to Mr. Van Clees, who knew everything that went on

  in the neighborhood.

  "That doctor goes by the school now to learn how to

  take care of the dead. He marries the widow of the

  undertaker on Humbol' Street when is a year the

  undertaker is dead. This for respect. Then he takes the

  undertaking business."

  "Why, he must be in his fifties," said Maggie-Now.

  "So; For twenty years Dr. Scalani goes by a woman's

  house every Sunday. And now, he don't marry her. She

  too is old as him."

  "Poor thing!" said Magrie-Now.

  (Dr. Scalani married the undertaker's widow. A week

  later, neighbors smelled gas coming from one of the flats

  of a side-street tenement. They broke open the locked

  door and smashed the kitchen windows. Dodie, the

  doctor's dressmaker friend, was lying on the black leather

  lounge. There was a small item in the paper.

  . . . fell asleep on the couch while waiting for the coffee

  to boil. It boiled over and extinguished the flame.

  Neighbors became aware of the odor of escaping gas.

  When the police arrived, it was too late to . . .)

  Denny and some other kids stood in front of Golend's

  Paint Shop. Out front was a big plate on a tripod. A scar

  of healing cement ran across what looked like a bad break

  in the plate. A chain went through a hole drilled in the

  plate and a heavy iron weight hung from the chain. It said

  on the plate that the cement was like iron a
nd would hold

  the hundred-pound weight without breaking.

  "I bet that plate would break right away if you even

  touched it," said Denny.

  "Go 'head, then. Try it." One of the boys handed Denny

  a baseball bat. Denny tapped the plate.

  Sure, it broke. It was made of cast iron, enameled

  white.

  [ 33S 1

 

  Maggie-Now heard tile hubbub on the street. She went

  to the window to look. To her horror, she saw Denny

  being escorted home by a tall policeman. A bunch of kids

  and some adults were following after. When they got to

  the stoop, the young cop dispersed the crowd with a

  genial: "Why don't you all beat it, now?"

  They stood in the front room. The cop removed his hat.

  Maggie-Now looked up at him. He was a clear-eyed

  young man with a nice, homely Irish face. He told about

  the plate.

  "Golend was all for sending the kid to the electric

  chair," said the cop. "I talked him out of it. I said, let the

  kid's mother punish him. So here he is."

  "I don't know how to thank you' Officer.... Anyone else

  would arrest him...."

  "Oh, I expect to hate kids of my own, someday," he said.

  "I vouldn't want a boy of mine crucified just because it

  was vacation and the kid was full of beans and got into

  mischief."

  "I don't know how t J thank you," she said again.

  "Say, you look awful young to be the mother of such a

  big boy."

  "I'm his sister."

  "Well, that's fine! Just fine!" He grinned down at her.

  She looked up at him with her wide smile.

  After the policeman had left, Maggie-Now started in on

  lecturing Denny. But her heart wasn't in it. She kept

  thinking how nice it was to have a man look at her with

  admiration.

  The following Friday, she went to the fish store to buy

  a flounder for supper. She was waiting for the man to

  dress it into fillets when the policeman came in. The

  fish-store man's wife smiled at the cop.

  "Where's my fish sandwich?" he asked.

  "In a minute, Eddies" said the woman. She stuck a fork

  in a thick wedge of halibut which w as browning in a

  caldron of boiling oil. "In a minute."

  ~ good Catholic boy, thought Maggie-Now. Fish for him

  077 Fridays.

  He recognized Mag. de-Now. "Hello," he said.

  "Hello," she answered. They smiled at each other.

  "How's your brother?"

  1 3,6 1

 

  'iFine."

  "That's fine."

  It seemed they had run out of conversation until

  llaggie-Now said: "My father went around and gave Mr.

  Golend a dollar for the plate and Mr. Golend said he was

  satisfied."

  "That's fine."

  "Here you are, Maggie.' The fish dealer pushed the

  package across the counter. "Fifty-~wo cents."

  "Look," said the cop. "NVould it be all right if I came

  around to see you some night; I mean in plain clothes?"

  "I'm married," she said.

  "Oh, I see!" The smile washed off his face. "I'm sorry,"

  he said sincerely.

  "I'll always appreciate what you did for my brother."

  "That's all right," he said. She left the store.

  "What do you want on your fish sandwich, Eddie?" asked

  the woman.

  "Nothing," he said. "Just some catsup."

  She prepared for bed as usual that night. She undressed,

  put on the Chinese kimono and the moccasins that Claude

  had given her. She went out and covered Timmv's cage.

  She sat before the dressing table he had given her and

  brushed her hair. She ran her hand over the smooth

  leather of the little red suitcase, read his postcard and

  read a line car two from the SOm?ets. It was her nightly

  communication with her husband.

  She lay awake in bed thinking. Make believe, she thought,

  that I had never met and married Clande (and that would

  have been just terrible!). But make believe anyhow. Suppose

  I had married someone like this Eddie. I know I would've

  liked him if I wasn't married. We would live in a house on

  the Island. We'd all go to Mass together on Sundays and sit

  in the back pew so that in case the children got restless, they

  wouldn't annoy too many people back there. He would come

  hoagie to me and the children every single night and . . .

  The next day, Saturday, she `ent about with a heavy

  heart. She had to go to confession that night and she had

  a grave sin to confess and she did not know its name. I

  CJ??'t say I committed adultery in my thoughts: that l was

  lewd in Any thoughts . . . what name can I give this sill?

  [ 337 1

 

  She went to confession late and let others go before her.

  She was trying to think of a name for her sin. The church

  was empty; she was the last one. She knelt in the dark

  confessional and confessed the usual sins in a whisper and

  then she came to the big sin.

  "I lusted after a man, Father." It was the only way she

  knew how to say it. She thought she heard a snort from

  the other side of the tiny screened opening, but she wasn't

  sure.

  "Explain, my child," said the priest.

  "I thought how it would be if I were married to a man

  other than my husband."

  He made no comment. She finished her confession, and

  was kneeling in a pew saying her penance, when she saw

  Father Flynn come out: of the confessional. He went to

  the altar and extinguished the candles. He genuflected and

  then knelt to pray before the altar.

  When she left the church, Father Flynn was waiting on

  the steps. "Margaret," he said, "Monday I will take you to

  the home. I will do whatever I can to get you a foster

  child or two."

  "Oh, Father!" she said, tears of joy coming to her eyes.

  "I think it is time," he said.

  ~ CHAPTI,R FORTY-EIGHT ~

  MAGGIE-NOW sat on a long bench while she waited for

  Father Flynn to confer with Mother Vincent de Paul. The

  room was combined office and waiting room. A nun sat at

  a typewriter briskly tapping out letters from shorthand

  notes. Another nun had six varicolored sheets and five

  carbons in her typewriter and was filling out forms. A very

  young nun stood at a filing case expertly filing documents

  and letters away. Another sat at a table and filled in a

  printed form with the answers of an applicant who stood

  before her.

  All the clerical activity should have made it seem like an

  efficient office. But the habited nuns and a large picture

  of Christ holding a lamb in His arms gave it the feeling of

  a busy church. Aside from the woman having a form filled

  out, there were four other

  f338]

 

  women with Maggie-Now on the bench. Two had children

  with them. The woman next to Maggie-Now was evidentlyr />
  foster mother to a beautiful child of six who quietly

  wandered about the room, returning to the bench at

  intervals. She addressed the woman as "Mama."

  Maggie-Now struck up a conversation with the woman.

  "She's very pretty."

  "Yes. I hate to give her up. My husband and I got very

  attached to her. We get attached to all of them. But she's

  six now and they have to take her back to put her in

  school. Well, in the twenty years I been a foster mother,

  I had to give up many a one I would have liked to keep.

  This one especially." She returned the smile the little girl

  gave her across the room before she resumed talking. She

  dropped her voice.

  "This one's different. Her mother was a rich and

  beautiful society girl and her father was a poor artist. Her

  parents wouldn't let her marry this artist. But they had

  this child anyhow."

  "Did they tell you that here? " asked Maggie-Now.

  "Not in so many words," evaded the woman. "But I

  kr~o~v." She whispered: "She's a love child. That's why

  she's so beautiful."

  Father Flylm came out of Mother Vincent de Paul's

  office and instructed Maggie-Now to file an application.

  He stood by her side. The nun asked the routine questions

  and filled in the answers. Then she came to "Husband."

  "Occupation? "

  "He travels...." Maggie-Now looked appealingly at Father

  Flynn.

  "Traveling man," said the priest.

  The nun's pen hovered over the blank space for a

  second or two before she wrote: "Travels."

  "Income? "

  "I live with my father. He's in Civil Service." She stated

  his salary. "And I get twenty-five a month from rental

  property and I own my own house free and clear."

  "Husband's income?"

  "He earns fifty dollars, sometimes thirty dollars a week."

  She paused. "When he works," she added honestly. The

  nun put a question mark in that space.

  The nun picked up the application and said: "I'll take you

  to

  ~ 339 ~

 

  Mother Vincent de Paul. This way."

  The nun put the paper on the desk and quietly

  withdrew. It was a small room holding only a desk and a

  chair. A large crucifix hung on the wall behind the desk.

  The mother wore bifocals and may have been in her

  sixties, although it was hard to tell the age of a nun; no

  matter what age, their faces were unlined and serene.

  Maggie-Now stood quietly she had not been asked to

  sit down and waited. Without looking up, the mother

  said: "As you know, there are certain irregularities in your

  application." She pointed to the printed word "Children,"

  and the inked "None" in the space following. "But Father

  Flynn spoke highly of you and we'll waive that. Do you

  agree to take two children?"

  "Oh, yes! Yes!"

  "Children must grow up with other children."

  "Yes, Mother."

  "When a child reaches the age of six, he will be taken

  from you. There must be no pleas, no tears, no requests

  to keep in touch with the child and no requests for

  adopting the child. Do you understand? "

  "Yes, Mother."

  "In due time, a nurse will visit you and examine the

  premises. If her report is satisfactory, your application will

  be accepted."

  "Thank you, Mother."

  The mother pressed a buzzer and a nun came in and

  took the application and went out again. Without looking

  up, Mother Vincent de Paul said: "Whatever became of

  your horse?"

  "My horse, Mother? ' gasped the girl, astonished.

  "Drummer."

  "Why, gone I guess, Mother," she said, bewildered.

  The mother looked up at her. "I used to know Sister

  Mary Joseph," she explained. She smiled; Maggie-Now

  smiled back. "God bless you, my child."

  Maggie-Now rode home on the trolley with Father

  Flynn. The priest read from his little black-bound book

  and Maggie-Now beamed happily at all the people in the

  car.

  The nurse came in due time. She was a middle-aged

  woman in a tailored suit. She had a large black handbag