"That's nothing, Johnny. You just get a good rest and get on your feet again and they'll be glad to take you in. You're a good waiter and the best singer they've got."
"I'm no good any more. I can't sing any more. Katie, they laugh at me now when I sing. The last few jobs I had, they hired me to give the people a laugh. It's come to that, now. I'm finished." He sobbed wildly; he sobbed as though he never could stop.
Francie wanted to run into the bedroom and hide her head under the pillow. She edged toward the door. Mama saw her.
"Stay here!" she said sharply. She spoke to Papa again. "Come, Johnny. Rest a while and you'll feel better. The oil stove is lit and I'll put it in the bedroom and it will be nice and warm. I'll sit with you until you fall asleep." She put her arms around him. Gently, he put her arms away and went into the bedroom alone, sobbing more quietly. Katie spoke to the children. "I'm going to stay with Papa for a while. Keep on talking or doing whatever you were doing." The children stared at her numbly. "What are you looking at me like that for?" her voice broke. "Nothing's the matter." They looked away. She went into the front room to get the oil stove.
Francie and Neeley did not look at each other for a long time. Finally he said, "Do you want to talk about olden times?"
"No," said Francie.
36
JOHNNY DIED THREE DAYS LATER.
He had gone to bed that night and Katie had sat by him until he went to sleep. Later she slept with Francie so as not to disturb him. Sometime during the night he got up, dressed quietly and went out. He did not return the next night. The second day they began looking for him. They looked all over but Johnny hadn't been in any of his accustomed haunts for a week.
The second night, McShane came over to take Katie to a nearby Catholic Hospital. On the way over he told her, as gently as he could, about Johnny. Johnny had been found early that morning huddled in a doorway. He was unconscious when a cop found him. His tuxedo jacket was buttoned up over his undershirt and the cop saw the St. Anthony's medal around his neck and called up the Catholic Hospital ambulance. There were no marks of identification on him. Later the cop made his report at the station house and gave a description of the unconscious man. In the routine of checking the reports, McShane came across the description. His sixth sense told him who the man was. He went to the hospital and saw that it was Johnny Nolan.
Johnny was still living when Katie got there. He had pneumonia, the doctor told her, and there wasn't a chance. It was merely a question of hours. Already he was in the coma that came before death. They took Katie to him. His bed was in a long corridor-like ward. There were fifty other beds in the ward. Katie thanked McShane and said good-bye. He went away knowing that she wanted to be alone with Johnny.
There was a screen, connoting dying, around Johnny's bed. They brought a chair for Katie and she sat there all day watching him. He was breathing harshly and there were dried tears on his face. Katie stayed there until he died. He had never opened his eyes. He had not spoken a word to his wife.
It was night when she came home. She decided not to tell the children until the morning. "Let them have a night's sleep behind them," she thought, "one more night of griefless sleep." She told them only that their father was in the hospital and very sick. She said no more. There was something about the way she looked that discouraged the children from asking questions.
Just as dawn came, Francie woke. She looked across the narrow bedroom and saw Mama sitting next to Neeley's bed and looking down into his face. Her eyes were dark underneath and she looked as though she had been sitting there all night. When she saw that Francie was awake, she told her to get up and get dressed right away. She shook Neeley gently to awaken him and told him the same thing. She went out into the kitchen.
The bedroom was gray and cold and Francie shivered as she got into her clothes. She waited for Neeley, not wanting to go out to Mama alone. Katie was sitting by the window. They came before her and stood waiting.
"Your father is dead," she told them.
Francie stood numb. There was no feeling of surprise or grief. There was no feeling of anything. What Mama just said had no meaning.
"You're not to cry for him," ordered Mama. Her next words had no sense either. "He's out of it now and maybe he's luckier than we are."
*
An orderly at the hospital was in the pay of an undertaker whom he notified as soon as a death occurred. This wide-awake undertaker gained an advantage over his competitors in that he went after the business while the others waited for the business to come after them. This enterprising fellow called on Katie early in the morning.
"Mrs. Nolan," he said, surreptitiously referring to the slip of paper on which the orderly had written her name and address, "I sympathize with you in your great grief. I give you a thought: What has come to you has to come to all of us."
"What do you want?" asked Katie bluntly.
"To be your friend." He hurried on before she could misunderstand. "There are details connected with...ah...the remains, I mean..." again a quick look at the slip, "I mean Mr. Nolan. I ask you to look on me as a friend who brings comfort at a time when...who will...well, I want you to leave everything in my hands."
Katie understood. "How much would you charge for a simple funeral?"
"Now, don't you worry about costs," he hedged. "I'll give him a fine funeral. There's no man I respected more than Mr. Nolan." (He had never known Mr. Nolan.) "I'll make it my personal business to see that he gets the best there is. Don't worry about the money."
"I won't. Because there's none to worry about."
He wet his lips. "Aside from the insurance money, of course." It was a question, not a statement.
"There's insurance. A little."
"Ah!" He rubbed his hands together happily. "There's where I can be of service. There's red tape connected with collecting insurance. Take a long time before you get the money. Now, supposing you (and understand I'm not charging you for this) let me take care of it. You just sign this," he whisked a paper out of his pocket, "turning your policy over to me. I'll advance the money and collect on the policy."
All undertakers gave this "service." It was a trick to ascertain how much insurance there was. Once they knew the amount, the funeral cost eighty percent of it. They had to leave a little money for mourning clothes to keep the people satisfied.
Katie got the policy. As she put it on the table, his practiced eye picked out the amount: two hundred dollars. He appeared not to have looked at the policy. After Katie had signed the paper, he talked of other things for a while. Finally, as if coming to a decision, he said:
"Tell you what I'll do, Mrs. Nolan. I'll give the departed a first-class four-coach funeral with a nickel-handle coffin for one hundred and seventy-five dollars. That's my regular two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar job and I'm not making a penny on it."
"Why are you doing it then for?" asked Katie.
He wasn't at all put out. "I'm doing it because I liked Mr. Nolan. A splendid man and a hard-working man." He noticed the surprised look Katie gave him.
"I don't know," she hesitated. "A hundred and seventy-five..."
"That includes the mass, too," he put in hastily.
"All right," said Katie dully. She was tired of talking about it.
The undertaker picked up the policy and pretended to see the amount for the first time. "Say! This is for two hundred," he said in stagey surprise. "That means you got twenty-five dollars coming to you after the funeral is paid." He dug into his pocket stretching his leg out straight before him to do so. "Well, I always say that a little cash comes in handy at a time like this...at any time, if you ask me." He chuckled understandingly. "So I'll just advance you the balance out of my own pocket." He put twenty-five dollars in new bills on the table.
Katie thanked him. He wasn't fooling her but she made no protest. She knew that was the way things were done. He was only working at his trade. He asked her to get the death certificate from the officiating doctor.
"And please inform them that I'll call for the re...I mean for the depart...well, I'll come and get Mr. Nolan."
When Katie went to the hospital again, she was taken to the doctor's office. The priest of the parish was there. He was trying to supply information for the making out of the death certificate. When he saw Katie, he made the sign of the cross in blessing and then shook her hand.
"Mrs. Nolan can tell you more than I can," said the priest.
The doctor asked necessary questions; the full name and place of birth and date of birth and so on. Finally Katie asked him a question.
"What are you writing down there--what he died from, I mean."
"Acute alcoholism and pneumonia."
"They said he died of pneumonia."
"That was the direct cause of death. But this acute alcoholism was a definite contributing factor; probably the main cause of death, if you wish the truth."
"I don't want you to write down," said Katie slowly and steadily, "that he died from drinking too much. Write that he died of pneumonia alone."
"Madam, I have to state the entire truth."
"He's dead. What can it mean to you what he died of?"
"The law requires..."
"Look," said Katie. "I got two nice children. They're going to grow up to amount to something. It isn't their fault that their father...that he died from what you said. It would mean a lot to me if I could tell them that their father died of pneumonia alone."
The priest took a hand in it. "You can do it, Doctor," he said, "without hurt to yourself and with benefit to others. Don't be kicking around of a poor lad that's dead and gone. Write down pneumonia which is no lie, and this lady will be remembering you in her prayers for a long time to come. Besides," he added practically, "it's no skin off your teeth."
All of a sudden, the doctor recalled two things; he remembered that the priest was a member of the hospital board and he remembered that he liked being head doctor at that particular hospital.
"All right," he conceded. "I'll do it. But don't let it get around. It's a personal favor to you, Father." He wrote down "pneumonia" in the blank after "Cause of death."
And it was nowhere on record that John Nolan had died a drunkard.
*
Katie used the twenty-five dollars to buy mourning clothes. She bought Neeley a new black suit with long pants. It was his first long-pants suit, and pride, pleasure and grief fought in Neeley's heart. For herself, Katie got a new black hat and a three-foot widow's veil according to the custom of Brooklyn. Francie got new shoes which she had been needing for a long time anyhow. It was decided not to buy Francie a black coat as she was growing fast and it wouldn't fit her next winter. Mama said her old green coat would do with a black band around the arm. Francie was glad because she hated black and had worried lest her mother put her in deep mourning. The little money left over after the shopping was finished was put in the tin-can bank.
The undertaker came again to report that Johnny was at his funeral parlor and was being fixed up fine and would be brought home that evening. Katie told him, rather sharply, not to give them the details.
Then the blow fell.
"Mrs. Nolan, I have to have the deed to your lot."
"What lot?"
"The cemetery plot. I need the deed to get the grave opened."
"I thought that was all in the hundred and seventy-five dollars."
"No, no, no! I'm giving you a bargain. The coffin alone cost me..."
"I don't like you," said Katie in her blunt way. "I don't like the business you're in. But then," she added with her amazing detachment, "I suppose someone has to bury the dead. How much is a plot?"
"Twenty dollars."
"Where in the world would I get..." She stopped short. "Francie, get the screwdriver."
They pried up the tin-can bank. There was eighteen dollars and sixty-two cents in it.
"It's not enough," said the undertaker, "but I'll lay out the rest." He held out his hand for the money.
"I'll get all the money together," Katie told him. "But I'll not turn over the money until I have the deed in my hand."
He fussed and argued and finally went away saying he'd bring back the deed. Mama sent Francie over to Sissy's house to borrow two dollars. When the undertaker came back with the deed, Katie, remembering something her mother had said fourteen years ago read it slowly and carefully. She made Francie and Neeley read it too. The undertaker stood first on one foot, then on the other. When all three Nolans were satisfied that the deed was in order, Katie handed over the money.
"Why should I want to cheat you, Mrs. Nolan?" he asked plaintively as he put the money away carefully.
"Why should anyone want to cheat anybody?" she asked in return. "But they do."
The tin-can bank stood in the middle of the table. It was fourteen years old and its strips were battered.
"Do you want me to nail it back down, Mama?" asked Francie.
"No," said Mama slowly. "We won't need it any more. You see, we own a bit of land now." She placed the folded deed on top of the clumsy star bank.
Francie and Neeley remained out in the kitchen all the time the coffin was in the front room. They even slept in the kitchen. They didn't want to see their father in the coffin. Katie seemed to understand and did not insist that they go in and look at their father.
The house was full of flowers. The Waiters' Union, which had thrown Johnny out less than a week before, sent around an enormous pillow of white carnations with a purple ribbon running diagonally across it on which were the words in gold letters: Our Brother. The cops from the precinct, in memory of the capture of the murderer, sent a cross of red roses. Sergeant McShane sent a sheaf of lilies. Johnny's mother, the Rommelys and some of the neighbors sent flowers. There were flowers from dozens of Johnny's friends that Katie had never heard of. McGarrity, the saloon keeper, sent a wreath of artificial laurel leaves.
"I'd throw it in the ash can," said Evy indignantly when she read the card.
"No," said Katie gently, "I can't blame McGarrity. Johnny didn't have to go there."
(Johnny owed McGarrity over thirty-eight dollars at the time of his death. For some reason, the saloon keeper said nothing to Katie about it. He cancelled the debt silently.)
The flat was sickly with the combined scents of roses, lilies and carnations. Forever after, Francie hated those flowers, but it pleased Katie to know how much people had thought of Johnny.
A few moments before they were to close the coffin lid on Johnny, Katie came out to the kitchen to the children. She put her hands on Francie's shoulders and spoke low.
"I heard some neighbors whispering. They said you won't look at your father because he wasn't a good father to you."
"He was a good father," said Francie fiercely.
"Yes, he was," agreed Katie. She waited, letting the children make their own decision.
"Come on, Neeley," said Francie. Hand in hand, the children went in to their father. Neeley looked quickly, then, afraid he would start crying, he ran out of the room. Francie stood there with her eyes on the ground, afraid to look. Finally she lifted her eyes. She couldn't believe that Papa wasn't living! He wore his tuxedo suit which had been cleaned and pressed. He had on a fresh dicky and collar and a carefully tied bow tie. There was a carnation in his lapel and, above it, his Union button. His hair was shining and golden and as curling as ever. One of the locks was out of place and had fallen down on the side of his forehead a little. His eyes were closed as though he were sleeping lightly. He looked young and handsome and well-cared for. She noticed for the first time how finely arched his eyebrows were. His small mustache was trimmed and looked as debonair as ever. All the pain and grief and worry had left his face. It was smooth and boyish-looking. Johnny was thirty-four years old when he died. But he looked younger now; like a boy just past twenty. Francie looked at his hands, crossed so casually over a silver crucifix. There was a circlet of whiter skin on his third finger where he used to wear the signet ring th
at Katie had given him when they married. (Katie had taken it off to give to Neeley when he grew up.) It was queer to see Papa's hands so quiet when she remembered them as always trembling. Francie noticed how narrow and sensitive-looking they were with the long and tapering fingers. She stared steadily at his hands and thought she saw them move. Panic churned up in her and she wanted to run away. But the room was full of people watching her. They would say she was running away because...He had been a good father. He had! He had! She put her hand on his hair and put the lock back in place. Aunt Sissy came and put her arm around her and whispered, "It's time." Francie stepped back to stand with Mama while they closed the lid.
At the mass, Francie knelt on one side of Mama and Neeley on the other. Francie kept her eyes on the floor so that she wouldn't have to look at the flower-covered coffin standing on trestles before the altar. Once she stole a look at her mother. Katie was kneeling, staring straight ahead, her face white and quiet under the widow's veil.
When the priest stepped down and walked around the coffin sprinkling holy water at the four corners of it, a woman sitting across the aisle sobbed wildly. Katie, jealous and fiercely possessive even in death, turned sharply to look at the woman who dared weep for Johnny. She looked well at the woman, then turned her head away. Her thoughts were like torn bits of paper blowing around.
"Hildy O'Dair is old for her age," she thought. "It's like powder was sprinkled on her yellow hair. But she's not much older than me...thirty-two or three. She was eighteen when I was seventeen. You go your way and I'll go my way. You mean you'll go her way. Hildy, Hildy...he's my feller, Katie Rommely...Hildy, Hildy...but she's my best friend...I'm not much good, Hildy...I shouldn't have led you on...you go your...Hildy, Hildy. Let her cry, let her cry," thought Katie. "Someone who loved Johnny should cry for him and I can't cry. Let her...."