in that little church; his beloved's name and his: Margaret
Rose Moore. He half expected that a burly man some
pews ahead would turn around and it would be Timmy.
He sat with his head bowed, wringing his hands in
anguish between his knees. Oh, if only I was a boy again,
back in Ireland he mourned. I'd marry me Maggie Rose and
gladly. And I wouldn't care what Henny the Hermit, sang
about me. I'd work from morning to night cutting peat, and
when they'd call me a bog trotter, I'd only laugh. 'Twould be
heaven to live in a oneroom sod shanty and sleep on a bit of
straw on the poor and eat the small, hard potatoes that I
planted meself and, yes, take a licking every day of me life
from Tim7ny and never complain. Anything . . . anything! If
I was only young again! Anything, if only I was young again!
~ C HAPTER FORTY ~
MAGGIE-NOW was married in the new green challis
dress she'd made; new hat, new shoes, new white gloves
and a winter coat that had been new five years ago. She
carried a bunch of baby bronze chrysanthemums. She
came out of the priest's house on Claude's arm and two
lines of people had made a path for them from the house
to the curb. They were friends, neighbors, acquaintances,
curious people and children. The bride shared interest
with a tall woman at the end of one of the lines.
The woman wore a large black hat with a long black
crepe veil that swirled around her head in the winter wind.
She wore a long black coat of bearskin. It reached from
her neck to her
~ 253 ]
ankles. Maggie-Now thought briefly of Mrs. Schondle the
ship that had passed in the night.
Bride and groom walked down the path. She nodded to
the strangers, shook hands with acquaintances and put her
hand, in a gesture of affection, on the arm of each friend
and kissed all the children. Claude bowed from side to
side like a visiting dignitary. When they reached the end
of the lane, Maggie-Now put her arms around the woman
in the bearskin coat, buried her face in the prickly fur and
sighed happily as though she had come home from far
away.
"My Aunt Lottie came to my wedding," she said.
"Did you think for one minute that I wouldn't come to
your wedding?" said Lottie. "Why, that would be terrible!"
"But you said . . ."
"You know I just talk. I don't do."
Lottie congratulated Claude and said sternly, but with a
smile: "Take good care of her or you'll hear from me."
"If I ever mistreat her in any way," said Claude, "I hope
you will take an aunt's privilege and spank me."
Lottie frowned. She thought his little speech was
affected. puts on too much, was the way she described it to
herself. Claude may have felt her aversion for he put his
arms about her and pressed his cheek to Lottie's.
"I hope you will like me in time," he murmured. "You're
such a grand, sweet lady."
Something stirred in Lottie. I don't like him for a nickel,
she thought. And I never evilly But l can see now what she
sees in him.
She gave Maggie-Now a wrapped gift, said, no, she
couldn't come to the house for a cup of coffee, because
she had stopped going out socially ever since Timmy
passed away. Maggie-Now watched her go down the street.
Bride and groom walked home arm-in-arm. Children
playing on the street ran up to her, looked up at her, said,
"Hello, Maggie," walked a bit with them and dropped out.
Other children took their place. Maggie-Now gave each
one a flower. A woman with her arms hugging her sides
against the cold came out on a stoop and called: "Luck,
Maggie." A woman in an upstairs flat tapped on the w
indow and, when she got Maggie-Now's attention, blew
her a kiss. Maggie-Now blew one back.
[2841
At home, a little party had been arranged. Guests stood
in a line behind the parlor table, on which were a bottle
of port wine, glasses and a wedding cake. There were a
miniature bride and groom on top. The groom looked like
Charlie Chaplin. Pat stood at the head of the line. Next to
him was a tiny, trim woman with a chenille-dotted veil
stretched taut across her face, taut kid gloves and coat
buttoned tautly all-out her waist. At her side stood a little
grinning gnome of a man with two rows of perfect white
teeth. Then there were Mr. Van Clees and a stout woman
with three children clustered about her. Maggie-Now was
ecstatic about the cake.
"Who got it?" she asked.
"He did," said the taut lady, indicating Pat.
"She made him," said the little gnome, indicating the taut
lady.
Pat made the introductions. "This here," he said, "is me
friend, Mrs. O'Crawley, the lady what I eat with, Sundays."
The lady bowed graciously and the newlyweds bowed back.
"And this is Mick Mack," said Pat indifferently.
The little man grinned up at Maggie-Now and said: "He
is my friend from night-school days."
"Where are your manners?" said ilaggie-Now sharply.
The beam left his face. By God, he thought, she's just
like her old man!
"Don't you know," continued Maggie-Now, "that you're
supposed to kiss the bride? Shame on you! "
The beam came bacl<. Mick Mack put his arms about
her waist. He stood on tiptoe but was only able to reach
her neck. He put a smacking kiss on it.
Maggie-Now greeted Van Clees. He lifted her hand and
kissed it. "Just so you should be happy, is all," he said. She
thanked him. He said: "And look!?' He smiled at the stout
lady with the three children. "Annie comes by your
wedding."
"Annie?" asked Maggie-Now, puzzled.
"Annie Vernacht. You know. Gus' Annie?"
Maggie-Now embraced her. "Ah, Annie," she said. "It's
been so long since the first and only time I saw you to talk
to. But you don't know how many times I thought of you.
How nice you were . . . Gus' Annie."
"And you, I would not know no more if somebody don't
tell
[285]
me. So big you got! And so pretty you are now." She
addressed Claude. "You have luck, Mister, getting such a
wife like her."
"I know," said Claude sincerely.
Annie presented her children. Jamesie was now a tall,
manlylooking boy, an inch taller than his mother.
Tessiewas a head shorter than Denny. She was a
conventionally pretty child with curls the color of coffee
with a lot of cream in it, and large, blue eyes. Only she
was frail and wispy looking. Albie was a sturdy, fat-legged
boy of five.
There was the ceremony of cutting the cake which
everyone tried to make hilarious by all talking at once in
a notched-up tone of voice. They drank to the bride and
groom in port wine. They drank to the future; they drank
to each other. A boy rushed in from the corner candy
store with a phone message from the manager of the
movie house: that, as a wedding gift, he would not dock
Maggie-Now for the night off for her honeymoon. Maggie-
Now gave the boy a piece of cake.
"Give the boy a nickel, Papa," she said.
"Give the boy a nickel, Claude," said Pat. Claude
complied.
There was the presenting of and the ritual of opening
the wedding presents. Mrs. O'Crawley led off with what
she called: "Just a little something. Not much." It was a
fine linen handkerchief with tatted edges. The bride
proclaimed it "Lovely!" Mick Mack gave her a small
pottery bowl filled with hardened cement into which were
stuck six pink paper roses. Maggie-Now claimed it was
exactly what she had always wanted. Annie's present was
a brown linen cushion top which she said she had
"stitched" herself. It was an American flag blowing in the
breeze worked in silk floss. Deeper shadings of red in the
stripes made it look as though it were actually blowing.
Maggie-Now said it was too good to sit on; that she'd
frame it and hang it in her room. Annie blushed with
pleasure.
Father Flynn dropped in and accepted a glass of wine.
He declined the cake but asked for a piece to take to his
housekeeper. She was in one of her dish-banging moods,
he said, and the cake might get her out of it. He didn't
stay long. He blessed the bridal couple before he left.
Mrs. O'Crawley, who was "up" on wedding procedure,
suggested that it was time that the bride change into her
going-away [286]
outfit. Magg de-Now looked surprised. She had no
going-away outfit. Her wedding outfit was the whole thing.
But she said, yes, it was time to get ready.
She opened Lottie's present in the privacy of her room.
She smiled tenderly at the china pug dog and the nursing
puppies. She didn't like it for what it was, but she loved it
for what it meant. Her father came into the room.
"What's that you got?" he asked.
"From Aunt Lottie." Impulsively, she thrust it into his
hands. "Here, Papa. Hold it!"
"What for?" He scowled at the thing.
mantelpiece and holding it. And Aunt Lottie. Claude held
it, too." And, she thought, so did Sonny. "Everyone I love
has held it. I want you to hold it too."
He held it for the count elf three and then put it on the
dresser. "Trash!" he announced. "Giving away second-hand
junk for a wedding present."
"Now, Papa!"
"I got a present for you," he said. "I didn't want to show
off in front of the company and make them ashamed of
the cheap presents what they gave you, so I give it to you
in private." He gave her a twenty-dollar gold piece.
"Oh. Papa! Papa!" She put her arms around him and
squeezed him. He suffered the embrace.
"Don't lose it," he said, "because them gold pieces is
hard to get. And don't let him spend it either." After
which gracious presentation speech, he left to rejoin the
company.
Maggie-Now checked the contents of the little red
leather suitcase Claude had given her as a wedding
present. It held a new white nightgown, a new white
woolen robe, new white bedroom slippers, a change of
lingerie and her toilet articles. She tucked the gold piece
in the toe of her slipper and at the last second decided to
take the pug dog with ller. She thought Claude might be
pleased with Lottie's gift. She snapped the case shut, put
on her hat and coat and went out to say good-by to her
friends.
She looked around for Denny. Only then did she recall
that she hadn't seen him since the ceremony. She went to
his room. He was sitting on the middle of his cot.
~ 287 1
"Denny, why didn't you come out for a piece of cake?"
"I don't like cake."
"Why, you love cake."
"Today, I don't. Where you going?"
"Away with Claude for a little while."
"I want to go with you."
She knelt down and put her arms around him. "I'll be
back tomorrow."
"NO, you won't. You just say that so I won't cry."
"I promise. And I'll bring you a nice present."
"But I'd sooner go with you."
"Not this time, Demly, dear. Now come out and see the
company."
"I don't want to."
"Why? "
"Because I don't like to."
She got to her feet and spoke a bit sharply. "It makes no
difference whether you like to or not. There are certain
things that you have to do. You can't always run away and
hide. Come on, now." He went into the living room with
her.
She kissed everyone good-by, her father last of all. "Say
something nice to Claude, Papa," she whispered.
"Not while he's above ground." Pat didn't bother to
whisper, either.
"Please?" she begged.
Grudgingly, extended his hand to Claude. He tried for
words. He wanted to say something to Claude that would
please Maggie-Now and yet not be something nice.
Eventually he came up with the words spoken to him
more than twenty-five years ago by Mary's father.
"Be good to this good girl," he said.
"I promise," said Claude, "not to beat her more than
once a day."
The bastid, thought liar Why couldn't l a-thought of that
remark twerlty-five years ago?
They scrambled down the stoop in approved newlywed
fashion, ducking their heads correctly to avoid being
spattered with the conventional rice, which Mrs.
O'Crawley had thought to bring with her. Hand in hand,
they ran to the corner to get a trolley ~ 288 ~
and, arriving there out of breath, had to wait fifteen
minutes for a car to come along.
Claude had two surprises for his bride: the wedding
supper and the hotel where they'd spend their one-night
honeymoon. He took her to Gage and Tollner for the
supper and Maggie-Now couldn't get over how beautiful
it was; the wonderful food and the exquisite service. When
the headwaiter presented them with a split of champagne,
compliments of the management, she was so delighted that
she stuttered when she tried to speak. She took a sip of
champagne.
"I love it!" she said. "It's so good."
"That's strange," he said. "Champagne is an acquired
taste. Like olives."
happiness; "I love everything in the whole world!"
When the waiter appeared before them with the tray of
French pastries, she was lost. "What will I do? What will
I do?" she moaned. "They are all so beautiful. No matter
which one I take, I'll be sorry that I didn't rake some
other one."
&
nbsp; "I'll choose for you," he said. He had not one, but two
pastries put on her plate.
She was about to eat a pastry the way she ate her
breakfast bun: out of hand. But she saw ( laude pick up a
short fork to eat his with and she followed suit.
"Do you mean to say," she asked, "that there are people
in the world who eat like this every day?"
"You ain't seen nothing, yet," he said in an inept Al
Jolson imitation. "Wait until I take you over to the
Chambord in Manhattan. Wait until I take you to
Antoine's down in New Orleans for a New Year's Eve
supper."
"It couldn't possibly be better," she said flatly, "than this
place right here in Brooklyn."
He had reserved a room for them at the St. George
Hotel. She had never been in a hotel before. She was so
awed that she spoke in whispers.
"Do you mean to say," she whispered, "that you take
wages for working in this beautiful place?"
He laughed. "Good Lord, I don't work here. I work in
a mean, grubby . . ." He broke off to show her the register.
"Look!" In
~ 289 ]
a careful, beautiful hand, he wrote: Mr. and Mrs. Claude
Bassett, Manhattan Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Tears of happiness came to her eyes. "It looks so real,"
she said. "Like forever," she whispered.
"It is, my Margaret. It is," he said.
She babbled happily about the beauty and luxury of
their room. She was awed by the huge, gleaming
bathroom. She would have spent hours joyously examining
each piece of furniture and each bathroom fixture, but he
cut her short.
"It's been a long day," he said, "and you must be tired.
I know I am. So . . ."
Faint pink colored her cheeks. "All right," she agreed.
She took her little suitcase and w ent into the bathroom.
She took a bath, using her geranium-scented soap, and
dusted herself with Mennen's talcum powder. She got into
her new white nightgown and robe and slippers. She took
her hairbrush and went back into the other room. He was
sprawled out in an armchair but he got up when she
entered the room. She stood in front of the dresser mirror
and brushed her hair.
"You look like a bride," he said with a smile.
"I am a bride," she said seriously. He took his hat from
the closet shelf. "Going out?" she asked, surprised.
"Margaret," he said, "you want children, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," she said eagerly. "Lots of children. Why?"
He turned his hat twice around in his hands before he
answered. "Wouldn't you like to wait a year or so? Give
us a chance to know each other better; get used to each
other . . . have some fun? You're still so young."
She turned to face him, her brush stilled and suspended
over her head. "But, Claude! I want a child right away."
He put his hat back on the shelf.
He bathed and got into his new blue pajamas. He
buttoned up the frogs and examined himself in the door
mirror. He didn't like the way he looked. He put the
pajama coat inside the pants and pulled the string tighter.
He thought that looked worse. He pulled the coat out
again. He took a pair of military brushes from a leather
case: Maggie-Now's wedding gift to him. He wet his hair
and started to brush it. He brushed and brushed and
brushed. Finally, he had to admit to himself that he was
stalling for time.
[ 290 ]
I must be very careful, he thought. She's never been with
a man. I must be careful not to frighten her. Not to disgust
her. She will remember this night all of her life. I must not let
it be a bad night to remember. He made plans. I'll walk
around the room and fix the shades and look out the window
and say easy things like all the stars are out tonight. I'll hang
up my clothes and maybe sit on the bed and get her to
talking about, say, the church socials, and when she's relaxed
and drowsy . . .
When he felt he could put it off no longer, he entered