A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [147]
“Haven’t you any girl friends to talk to, Francie?”
“No. I hate women.”
“That’s not natural. It would do you good to talk things over with girls your own age.”
“Have you any women friends, Mama?”
“No, I hate women,” said Katie.
“See? You’re just like me.”
“But I had a girl friend once and I got your father through her. So you see, a girl friend comes in handy sometimes.” She spoke jokingly, but her scrub brush seemed to swish out, you-go-your-way, I’ll-go-my-way. She fought back her tears. “Yes,” she continued, “you need friends. You never talk to anybody but Neeley and me, and read your books and write your stories.”
“I’ve given up writing.”
Katie knew then that whatever was on Francie’s mind had to do with her compositions. “Did you get a bad mark on a composition today?”
“No,” lied Francie, amazed as always by her mother’s guesswork. She got up. “I guess it’s time for me to go to McGarrity’s now.”
“Wait!” Katie put her brush and scrub rag in the pail. “I’m finished for the day.” She held out her hands. “Help me to get up.”
Francie grasped her mother’s hands. Katie pulled heavily on them as she got to her feet clumsily. “Walk back home with me, Francie.”
Francie carried the pail. Katie put one hand on the banister and put her other arm around Francie’s shoulder. She leaned heavily on the girl as she walked downstairs slowly, Francie keeping time with her mother’s uncertain steps.
“Francie, I expect the baby any day now and I’d feel better if you were never very far away from me. Stay close to me. And when I’m working, come looking for me from time to time to see that I’m all right. I can’t tell you how much I’m counting on you. I can’t count on Neeley because a boy’s no use at a time like this. I need you badly now and I feel safer when I know you’re nearby. So stay close to me for a while.”
A great tenderness for her mother came into Francie’s heart. “I won’t ever go away from you, Mama,” she said.
“That’s my good girl.” Katie pressed her shoulder.
“Maybe,” thought Francie, “she doesn’t love me as much as she loves Neeley. But she needs me more than she needs him and I guess being needed is almost as good as being loved. Maybe better.”
40
TWO DAYS, FRANCIE CAME HOME FOR LUNCH AND DID NOT RETURN TO school in the afternoon. Mama was in bed. After Neeley was told to go back to school, Francie wanted to get Sissy or Evy but Mama said it wasn’t time, yet.
Francie felt important being in sole charge. She cleaned the flat and looked over the food in the house and planned their supper. Every ten minutes, she plumped up her mother’s pillow and asked whether she wanted a drink of water.
Soon after three, Neeley rushed in out of breath, flung his books in a corner and asked whether it was time to run for anybody yet. Katie smiled at his eagerness and said it was no use taking Evy or Sissy away from their own affairs until it was necessary. Neeley went off to work with instructions to ask McGarrity if he could do Francie’s work as well as his own since Francie had to stay home with their mother. McGarrity not only agreed, but helped the boy with the free lunch so that Neeley was all finished at four-thirty. They had supper early. The sooner Neeley started with his papers, the quicker he’d be finished. Mama said she didn’t want anything except a cup of hot tea.
Mama didn’t want the tea after Francie brewed it. Francie worried because she wouldn’t eat anything. After Neeley left on his paper route, Francie brought in a bowl of stew and tried to make her mother eat it. Katie lashed out at her; told her to leave her alone; that when she wanted something to eat, she’d ask for it. Francie poured it back into the pot trying to hold back the hurt tears. She had only meant to help. Mama called her again and didn’t seem mad anymore.
“What time is it?” asked Katie.
“Five to six.”
“Are you sure the clock isn’t slow?”
“No, Mama.”
“Maybe it’s fast, then.” She seemed so worried that Francie looked out the front window at Jeweler Woronov’s large street clock.
“Our clock’s right,” reported Francie.
“Is it dark