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.