A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [152]
“And you had a boy’s name picked out, Mama.”
“Yes. But I don’t mind a girl, really.”
“She’s pretty.”
“She’ll have black curling hair. And Neeley has blond curling hair. Poor Francie got the straight brown hair.”
“I like straight brown hair,” Francie said defiantly. She was dying to know the baby’s name but Mama seemed like such a stranger now that she didn’t like to ask outright. “Shall I write the information out to send to the Board of Health?”
“No. The priest will send it in when she’s christened.”
“Oh!”
Katie recognized the disappointment in Francie’s tone. “But bring in the ink and the book and I’ll let you write down her name.”
Francie took the Gideon Bible that Sissy had swiped nearly fifteen years ago, from the mantelpiece. She looked at the four entries on the fly-leaf. The first three were in Johnny’s fine careful hand.
January 1, 1901. Married. Katherine Rommely and John Nolan.
December 15, 1901. Born. Frances Nolan.
December 23, 1902. Born. Cornelius Nolan.
The fourth entry was in Katie’s firm back-hand slant.
December 25, 1915. Died. John Nolan. Age, 34.
Sissy and Evy followed Francie in to the bedroom. They, too, were curious as to what Katie would name the baby. Sarah? Eva? Ruth? Elizabeth?
“Write this down.” Katie dictated. “May 28, 1916. Born.” Francie dipped her pen in the ink bottle. “Annie Laurie Nolan.”
“Annie! Such an ordinary name,” groaned Sissy.
“Why, Katie? Why?” demanded Evy patiently.
“A song that Johnny sang once,” explained Katie.
As Francie wrote the name, she heard the chords; she heard her father singing, “And ’twas there that Annie Laurie.”…Papa…Papa….
“…a song, he said, that belonged to a better world,” Katie went on. “He would have liked the child named after one of his songs.”
“Laurie is a pretty name,” said Francie.
And Laurie became the baby’s name.
41
LAURIE WAS A GOOD BABY. SHE SLEPT CONTENTEDLY MOST OF THE time. When she was awake, she put in the time lying quietly and trying to focus her berry brown eyes on her infinitesimal fist.
Katie nursed the baby, not only because it was the instinctive thing to do, but because there was no money for fresh milk. Since the baby couldn’t be left alone, Katie started her work at five in the morning, doing the other two houses first. She worked until nearly nine when Francie and Neeley left for school. Then she cleaned her own house leaving the door of her flat ajar in case Laurie cried. Katie went to bed immediately after supper each night and Francie saw so little of her mother that it seemed as if Mama had gone away.
McGarrity didn’t fire them after the baby’s birth as he had planned. He really needed them now because his business boomed suddenly in that spring of 1916. His saloon was crowded all the time. Great changes were taking place in the country, and his customers, like Americans everywhere, had to get together to talk things over. The corner saloon was their only gathering place, the poor man’s club.
Francie, working in the flat above the saloon, heard their raised voices through the thin floor boards. Often she paused in her work and listened. Yes, the world was changing rapidly and this time she knew it was the world and not herself. She heard the world changing as she listened to the voices.
It’s a fact. They’re gonna stop making liquor and in a few years the country will be dry.
A man that works hard has a right to his beer.
Tell that to the president and see how far you get.
This is a people’s country. If we don’t want it dry, it won’t be dry.
Sure it’s a people’s country but they’re gonna push prohibition down your throat.
By Jesus, I’ll make my own wine, then. My old man used to make it in the old country. You take a bushel of grapes….
G’wan! They’ll never give wimmen the vote.
Don’t lay any bets on it.
If that comes, my wife votes like I do, otherwise I’ll break her neck.
My old woman wouldn’t go to the polls and