A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [107]
One cold day, Drummer took matters into his own hands—or as Aunt Evy said it, into his own feet. Francie listened enchanted while Aunt Evy told the story to the Nolans. No one could tell a story like Evy. She acted out all the parts—even the horse and, in a funny way, she’d put in what she thought each one was secretly thinking at the time. It happened like this, according to Evy:
Willie was down on the street washing the shivering horse with cold water and hard yellow soap. Evy was standing at the window watching. He leaned under to wash the horse’s belly and the horse tensed. Flittman thought Drummer was going to wet on him again and it was more than the harassed and futile little man could stand. He hauled off and punched the horse in the belly. The horse lifted a leg and kicked him decisively in the head. Flittman rolled under the horse and lay unconscious.
Evy ran down. The horse whinnied happily when he saw her but she paid no attention to him. When he looked over his shoulder and saw that Evy was trying to drag Flittman out from under, he started to walk. Maybe he wanted to help Evy by pulling the wagon clear of the unconscious man or maybe he wanted to finish the job by rolling the wagon over him. Evy hollered out, “Whoa there, boy,” and Drummer stopped just in time.
A little boy had gone for a policeman who had gone for the ambulance. The ambulance doctor couldn’t make out whether Flittman had a fracture or a concussion. He took him to a Greenpoint Hospital.
Well, there was the horse and wagon full of empty milk bottles to be gotten back to the stables. Evy had never driven a horse but that was no reason why she couldn’t. She put on one of her husband’s old overcoats, wrapped a shawl around her head, climbed up into the seat, picked up the reins and called out, “Git for home, Drummer.” The horse swung his head back to give her a loving look, then set off at a cheerful trot.
It was lucky he knew the way. Evy hadn’t the slightest idea where the stables were. He was a smart horse. He stopped at each intersection and waited while Evy looked up and down the cross street. If all was clear, she’d say, “Giddy-yap, boy.” If another vehicle was coming she’d say, “Just a minute, boy.” In this way they reached the stables without mishap and the horse cantered in proudly to his usual place in the row. Other drivers, washing their wagons, were surprised to see a lady driver. They made such a commotion that the stable boss came running and Evy told him what had happened.
“I saw it coming,” the boss said. “Flittman never did like that horse and the horse never liked him. Well, we’ll have to take on another man.”
Evy, fearful lest her husband lose his job, asked whether she couldn’t take his route while he was in the hospital. She argued that the milk was delivered in the dark and no one would ever know. The boss laughed at her. She told him how much they needed that twenty-two-fifty a week. She pleaded so hard, and looked so little and pretty and spunky, that he gave in at last. He gave her the list of customers and told her the boys would load the wagon for her. The horse knew the route, he said, and it wouldn’t be too hard. One of the drivers suggested that she take the stable dog along for company and protection against milk thieves. The boss agreed to that. He told her to report to the stables at 2 A.M. Evy was the first milkwoman on the route.
She got along fine. The fellows at the stable liked her and said that she was a better worker than Flittman. In spite of her practicalness, she was soft and feminine and the men loved the low and breathless way she had of talking. And the horse was very happy and co-operated as much as he could. He stopped automatically before each house where milk was to be left and never started up again until she was safely in the seat.
Like Flittman, she brought him to her house while she ate her dinner. Because the weather was so cold, she took an old quilt from her bed and threw it over him so he wouldn’t catch cold while he waited for