a neighbor boy came and said Maggie had sent him
because her father was dying and asking for the priest.
Poor Father Francis took the paper out of his still-wet
shoes and shrugged into his still-wet coat.
It was beginning to snow as they left. Ah! thought
Father Flynn. But he said nothing. A pale and quiet
Maggie-Now met them at the door with a lighted candle.
She genuflected and preceded them into the house in the
proper way and took the two priests up to her father's
room. The bedside table was prepared with crucifix and
candles and the needed things.
As in other years, there were clean sheets on the bed
and dried blood on Pat's face from Maggie-Now's inept
barber work.
Pat started talking right away. "You will forgive me,
Fathers," he said, "for getting you out in the weather."
And one of youse would have been enough, he thought.
"But I'm not long for this world and I want to make me
peace with me God and me Church before I go."
"You are prepared then, my son?" asked the young
priest of the man almost old enough to be his grandfather.
And there was no incongruity. The young priest was the
older man's spiritual father.
"I have enough insurance to bury me," said Pat. "And a
bit of money in the bank to pay for Masses for the sake of
getting me out of purgatory when I go," said Pat. No one
but Father
tow]
Flynn noticed he emphasised the word when.
"Be no longer concerned with things of the world," said
good Father Francis. "Prepare yourself spiritually." Father
Francis cot his stole out of his black leather bag.
He believes me! thought Pat in a panic.
Maggie-Now started to cry. Father Flynn touched her
am' and said: "Come, my c hild." They started to leave the
room.
"Where are you going, Father?" asked Pat, really scared
now.
"Downstairs. I leave you in the good hands of Father
Francis, my son." The door closed after his daughter and
Father Flynn.
Pat heard them in the hall. He heard a sob from
Maggie-Now and the murmurous voice of Father Flynn
saying, ". . . a speedy recovery or a happy death."
They all believe note, thought Pat in despair-. Mild all I
Canted 'as to tell me priest lee troubles.
Father Flynn noticed that Maggie-Now's kitchen v-as
freshlsscrubbed. There was a new white oilcloth cover on
the kitchen table. The chintz skirts that masked the ugly
built-in soapstone washtubs had been freshly washed,
starched and ironed. There was the good smell of good
cooking in the house, and, furnace or no, Maggie-Now
had a wonderful fire burning in the kitchen range and a
pot of coffee simmering on the back.
As she poured a cup of coffee for her priest, Father
Flynn noted a strand of grey in one of the braids of her
brown hair. Yet she had an expectant air, subdued as was
natural with a dying man in the house or one whorls she
thought was dying. There was something radiant about
her like a bride waiting for her bridegroom.
"Have you had the doctor, AIargaret? "
"Papa wouldn't let me send for the doctor."
"When was he taken like this?"
"After supper. And he ate such a good supper, too. He
asked for a clean nightshirt and went to bed. He asked me
to shave him. He said he was too weak. Then he said to
send for you because he knew he was dying."
"Like he did last year, ' said Father F lynx.
"Like last year and all the other years when it starts to
snow. I'm afraid not to take him seriously because every
time I think it is real." She rubbed a tear from the corner
of her eve.
~ Joy 1
"When do you expect your husband back? "
"Any night, now."
They talked some more Maggie-Now told him little
anecdotes about the children and made him smile. After
a while, Father Francis came down from upstairs.
"He rests quietly," reported Father Francis.
"I'll go up and look at him," said Father Flynn.
"IIargaret, why don't you show Father Francis your
children?"
She took the young priest into the bedroom where two
of the children slept. Then she took him into Denny's old
room, where the newest baby had his crib. The children
smelled fresh and clean and wore freshly washed and
ironed nightgowns. The rooms were bare but
immaculately clean.
which ran the length of the room. On it was a row of
heavy white china bowls three of them three spoons,
three mugs and three bananas. There was a large pot of
oatmeal simmering on the back of the stove. She
explained that, in the morning, the bowls would be filled
with the hot oatmeal, sugar and milk added and a banana
sliced on top of each bowlful, and that and three mugs of
warmed milk would be breakfast for three babies.
"Is it all right, Father?" she asked anxiously. "The way I
do for the boys from the home?"
Father Francis had a flash of prescience. He knew that
often in the years to come a picture would come to him
unbidden: a picture of three mugs and spoons and bowls
and bananas. And prescience told him that he would have
that same impulse to weep as he had now. But he spoke
in a detached and judicial way.
"You do well with our orphaned children, Margaret.
They are safe, warm, well-fed and well-loved."
"Thank you, Father. I am pleased and rewarded."
Pat lay very still, scarcely breathing, until he saw it was
Father Flynn who came in not the other priest. Then Pat
sat up and began to talk indignantly.
"Ah, Father, the curse of ungrateful chiltllrcn!''
What now? thought Father Flynn.
"I speak of me only son, Dennis Patthrick. He was sent
for. but do you think he comes to see his only father and
he at death's door? "
1 4~y 1
"Dennis might think, possibly, that you're crying wolf
again."
"Wolf ? "
"I told you the story often enough."
"It slips me mind."
The priest told him the fable again, concluding: "And
someday, you'll really need help and no one will come."
"Is it becoming," asked Pat, "for a holy father to frighten
a poor soul who has no one in the world a-tall . . . but his
priest and his chilthren?" He sighed piteously. "But 'tis
true. No one cares for a man that is old."
"True, you are old, my son. True."
"I ain't so old, Father," said Pat indignantly.
"Too old," continued Father Flynn, "to act the foolish
way you do."
Pat felt the sudden need to mend his fences. "I am no
good atall. But I will do better from this day on."
"You can," said the
priest patiently. "You can do better
if you try."
"And I All do better, Father. Yes, I will! Providing," he
bargained, "our Lord lets me live a long, long time."
"You will start doing better tomorrow morning."
"Yes, yes," agreed Pat. "I'll get me a good night's sleep
first and . . ."
"You will be at the church at six tomorrow morning
prepared to make a good confession."
"But I did! I did! This very night!"
"You will confess that, after receiving Extreme Unction,
you started sinning all over again in word and in thought."
"Could you not make it nine o'clock, Father?"
"Six o'clock."
Denny and Tessie didn't get over until eight that night.
Tessie made hi m eat his supper first. They had to wrap
up Mary Lorraine in a blanket and carry her with them
because there was nobody to stay with the` baby.
Denny was on edge from worrying about his father. He
never believed his father was faking in spite of the fact
that Pat always put on the dying act when he wanted
attention. Yes, dike Shakespeare's coward, Pat died many
times before his death.
~ 410 1
"He's fooled you and Maggie-Now before," said Tessie.
"What makes you think it's real this time?"
Denny pushed his plate away. ''I'm not hungry," he said.
What that man does to his children, thought Tessie in
exasperation. Always feeding off their lives. And when I
think of my mother! If she was really dying, she'd deny it so's
eve wouldn't be vorried.
Denny seemed to know what she was thinking. He said,
"Now, Tess, you don't have to go if you don't want to. The
drizzle's turning into snow and no one would blame you."
"Oh, I'll go with you, Denn. Maybe he is real sick this
time. And I couldn't live with myself if I was mean and
didn't go and he really died."
When they got to Maggie-Now's house, Tessie w as
fussing because the baby's blanket was wet and she was
worried about her taking cold. Maggie-~'ow hung the wet
blanket on a chair in front of the stove and placed Mary
"How's Papa?" asked Denny.
"Father Flynn and Father Francis just left."
"Do you think I can see Papa?" asked Denny.
"Now, Dennis," said Tessie. "What do you think he sent
for you for?"
Denny smoothed his hair and pulled his tie knot closer
and examined his fingernails. He was very nervous. When
he came into the room, Pat pretended to be asleep. He
tried to throttle down his breathing. He almost laughed
aloud when Denny cautiously placed a hand over his,
Pat's, heart, to check on his father's breathing.
Let him worry his head off about me, thought Pat. It will
do him good.
"Papa?" Denny sounded worried. "Can you hear me?"
I've got him going, thought Pat.
Denny tried his best to get through to Pat. Finally the
boy gave up. He tiptoed out of the room and closed the
door carefully.
I hope he's good and Cared, thought Pat. That'll learn
him to neglect his father.
Back again downstairs, Denny said to his sister, "I'm
sort of worried about Papa."
17/11
"He'll be all right," said Maggie-Now.
"Why did you send for the priest then?" asked Tessie.
"After all! "
"Because I always gel: the priest when he asks. I
wouldn't want the responsibility of not getting him. In case
something happened."
"That's all right, Maggie-Nov, as far as you're
concerned. But what about us? Denn works hard all day
and then he can't eat his supper he's so worried."
"Now, Tess," said Denny soothingly.
"And then we had to drag the baby out in the snow."
"Tessie, I told you! You didn't have to come."
"I'm sorry I did. I should have thought first of my baby,
who has her whole life before her, than of some old man
who has to die anyhow sometime."
"Denny has some obligation to his father," said
Maggie-Now evenly.
"His first obligation is to me and the baby," said Tessie.
"And," said Denny, finally losing his temper, "after that
to your mother and your brother . . ."
"Why, Denn!" said Tessie, immediately hurt.
Denny loosened his tie, ran his fingers through his hair,
started pacing and said: "The sooner Otto builds that
place in Hempstead and the sooner I get OUt there away
from all this, the better I'll like it!"
Tessie was instantly ashamed of herself. "Aw,
Maggie-Now, honey, I'm sorry for blowing up. But you're
so swell that it makes me as mad as anything the way you
give in to your father."
"Oh, I don't mind humoring him, Tessie."
"That's all right for you!" Tessie flared up again. "But it
makes it hard for Dennis and me. You give in to your
father, he expects Dennis to give in. You cater to him and
everybody else has to."
"Papa's dependent on me and I'm used to it, I guess."
"Get unused to it," said Tessie. "Because it's going to be
tough for you when you get old and nobody . . ."
"I'll always treat you as though you were company,"
quoted Lenny. "Remember, To ss? "
"Yes. And," she quoted, "I'll always treat you like a girl
I just met that I'm anxious to make a little time with.
Remember when you said that to me?"
1 4! 1
"You said, I will always love your sister and . . ."
"And I do! I do!" She put her arms around Maggie-Now
and started to cry. "I didn't mean it, Maggie-Now. Honest!
I'm so wrong. I shouldn't talk to you that way. But I'm so
on edge all the time. The baby cries all night long and I
get behind in my housework and I'm alone all day and .
. ."
"Listen," said Maggie-Now. "HONV long since you and
Denny went out together?"
"Why . . . why it must have been last February. Yes, I
remember. I was showing so much by then I didn't want
to go out and then the baby came and . . ."
"Look! You and Denn,` go out tonight. You can catch
the last part of the show at The Bushwick. Or have coffee
and waffles someplace. Anything to get out together."
"But the baby!"
"Leave her with me ovcrnigllt.''
"I couldn't!"
"You can and you will," said Denny.
"But the baby needs . . ."
"Maggie-Now's been taking care of kids all her life."
"But I mean the formula and the diapers."
"Matty's about the same age as Mary Lorrainy," said
MaggieNow. "I can use the same formula. And I've got
hundreds of diapers. Nova you and Denny go out and
have yourselves a time."
Tessie held out until Dtnny said: "Let's go out and
celebrate our first big fight."
There was a thin covering of snow on the groun
d now.
MaggieNow watched Denny and Tessie go down the
street. Tessie took a running slide but her high heels
threw her off balance and Denny caught her and washed
her face with snow. She broke loose, scraped up a handful
of snow to throw at Denny. He caught her arm and made
her drop it and she squealed and he laughed and they ran
off down the street, hand in hand.
Maggie-Now watched them out of sight. Just kids, she
thought tenderly. She took a moment to watch the snow
dancing about the lighted orange globe on the corner. The
globe meant there was a fire alarm box there. The white
snowflakes flashed orange as they went past the light
She went back to the kitchen and added half a cup of
water to
[ 4~3 ]
the simn Bring oatmeal because it was getting a little
thick. She checked the orphans, arranging the covers more
securely on one and turning another, who was sleeping
upsidedown, the right way. She felt of Mary Lorraine,
whom everybody was beginning to call Rainy, to see if she
needed changing. Lastly, she went Lp to her father's room.
He vas on his knees on the floor, half under the bed.
"Papa! What are you doing?"
"Looking for me pipe."
"Get right back in bed! Crawling on the floor and all. I
wish you'd rest more, Papa." She got him back into bed.
"Rest, she says! And how can I be resting with me room
full of priests praying over me and me family downstairs
hollering and fighting and me only son out on the streets
with his German girl, jigging and hollering and doing I
don't know what."
"Oh, don't begrudge them a little fun."
"I begrudge nobody nothing. All I ask is that me
chilthren leave me body get cold, first. before they hold
me wake." He jumped out of bed.
"Get back ill bed! I've had enough out of you for one
day. Get your sleep because you're moving to Mrs.
O'Crawley's in the morning."
"No you don't, me girl. No one is shoving me into the
O'Crawley's arms. I'll find me own room. I'll find a room
in some widder woman's house; a widder woman who'll be
glad to marry the likes of me with me pension and all and
carrying insurance."
"Mrs. O'Crawley's a widow," she suggested.
"Too old! She's fifty-five."
"You're sixty-four yourself."
"How did me age get in the conversation?"
"Oh, Papa," she sighed, "if you only would marry again!"
"What would you do without me insurance then? Answer
'e that."
"I don't want your insurance, Papa. I hope you live nany
years to come."
"That I will! T hat I chili! " he shouted.
"You don't have to holler so."
"I'll holler all I w ant," he shouted, "and I won t die,
either. 1'1] live! I'll live just for spite!"
1 }~! 1
"Live, then!" she hollered back. "Who cares?"
"I'll bury~youse all!" he roared. "I'll live to bury youse
all!"
His curse rang through the house. The little orphan boys
downstairs trembled in their cribs. Mary Lorraine Moore
whimpered, wet her diaper, woke up and cried.
Maggie-Now changed the baby's diaper, pulled a rocking
chair up close to the kitchen range and sat there rocking
Mary Lorraine and talking to her.
"I'm going to hold you all I want tonight and rock you
and sing to you. Because you're my baby. My brother is
your father and my father is your grandfather and your
grandmother was my mother. You have the same blood
and bones and flesh that I have. So you're my baby. At
least, until tomorrow morning."
~ CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO ~
PAT left the next day for Mrs. O'Crawley's. At last, he
had decided to marry the widow. He would have to figure
out the best way to tell her. It never occurred to him to
ask her. He would have told her some time ago but for