A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [146]
Then she saw her mother’s face in the trolley car when Mama sat with her head back and her eyes closed. She remembered how white and tired Mama had looked. Mama did love her. Of course she did. Only she couldn’t show it in the ways that Papa could. And Mama was good. Here, she expected the baby any minute and she was still out working. Supposing Mama died when she had the baby? Francie’s blood turned icy at the thought. What would Neeley and she do without Mama? Where could they go? Evy and Sissy were too poor to take them. They’d have no place to live. They had no one in all the world but Mama.
“Dear God,” Francie prayed, “don’t let Mama die. I know that I told Neeley that I didn’t believe in You. But I do! I do! I just said that. Don’t punish Mama. She didn’t do anything bad. Don’t take her away because I said I didn’t believe in You. If You let her live, I’ll give You my writing. I’ll never write another story again if You’ll only let her live. Holy Mary, ask your son, Jesus, to ask God not to let my mother die.”
But she felt that her prayer was of no use. God remembered that she had said that she didn’t believe in Him and He’d punish her by taking Mama as He had taken Papa. She became hysterical with terror and thought of her mother as already dead. She rushed out of the flat to look for her. Katie wasn’t cleaning in their house. She went into the second house and ran up the three flights of stairs, calling “Mama!” She wasn’t in that house. Francie went into the third and last house. Mama wasn’t on the first floor. Mama wasn’t on the second floor. There was one floor left. If Mama wasn’t there, then she was dead. She screamed:
“Mama! Mama!”
“I’m up here,” came Katie’s quiet voice from the third floor. “Don’t holler so.”
Francie was so relieved that she all but collapsed. She didn’t want her mother to know she had been crying. She searched for her handkerchief. Not having it, she dried her eyes on her petticoat and walked up the last flight slowly.
“Hello, Mama.”
“Has something happened to Neeley?”
“No, Mama.” (She always thinks of Neeley first.)
“Well, hello then,” said Katie smiling. Katie surmised that something had gone wrong in school to upset Francie. Well, if she wanted to tell her….
“Do you like me, Mama?”
“I’d be a funny person, wouldn’t I, if I didn’t like my children.”
“Do you think I’m as good-looking as Neeley?” She waited anxiously for Mama’s answer because she knew that Mama never lied. Mama’s answer was a long time in coming.
“You have very pretty hands and nice long thick hair.”
“But do you think I’m as good-looking as Neeley?” persisted Francie, wanting her mother to lie.
“Look, Francie, I know that you’re getting at something in a roundabout way and I’m too tired to figure it out. Have a little patience until after the baby gets here. I like you and Neeley and I think you’re both nice enough looking children. Now please try not to worry me.”
Francie was instantly contrite. Pity twisted her heart as she saw her mother, so soon to bear a child, sprawled awkwardly on her hands and knees. She knelt beside her mother.
“Get up, Mama, and let me finish this hall. I have time.” She plunged her hand into the pail of water.
“No!” exclaimed Katie sharply. She took Francie’s hand out of the water and dried it on her apron. “Don’t put your hands in that water. It has soda and lye in it. Look what it’s done to my hands.” She held out her shapely but work-scarred hands. “I don’t want your hands to get like that. I want you to have nice hands always. Besides, I’m almost finished.”
“If I can’t help, can I sit on the stairs and watch?”
“If you’ve nothing better to do.”
Francie sat watching her mother. It was so good to be there and know that Mama was alive and close by. Even the scrubbing made a safe, pleasant sound. Swish-a-swish-a-swish-a-swish-a went the brush. Slup-a slup-a slup-slup went the rag wiping up. Klunk, flump went the brush and rag as Mama dropped them into the pail. Skrunk, skrunk went the pail as mama pushed it to the next area.