A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [156]
“Thank you, Miss Garnder.”
“You remember our little chat?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why did you turn stubborn and stop handing in work, then?”
Francie had nothing to say. It was something she couldn’t explain to Miss Garnder. She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Miss Garnder.”
Miss Garnder was taken aback. “Well—good-bye, then,” she said. They shook hands. “In time to come, you’ll see I was right, Frances.” Francie said nothing. “Won’t you?” Miss Garnder asked sharply.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Francie went out of the room. She did not hate Miss Garnder anymore. She didn’t like her, but she felt sorry for her. Miss Garnder had nothing in all the world excepting a sureness about how right she was.
Mr. Jenson stood on the school steps. He took each child’s hand in both of his and said, “Good-bye and God bless you.” He added a personal message for Francie. “Be good, work hard, and reflect credit on our school.” Francie promised that she would.
On the way home, Sissy said, “Look! Let’s not tell your mother who sent the flowers. It will start her to remembering and she’s just about getting well after Laurie.” They agreed to say that Sissy bought the flowers. Francie removed the card and put it in her pencil box.
When they told Mama the lie about the flowers, she said, “Sissy, you shouldn’t have spent your money.” But Francie could tell that Mama was pleased.
The two diplomas were admired and everyone agreed that Francie’s was the prettiest on account of Mr. Jenson’s fine handwriting.
“The first diplomas in the Nolan family,” said Katie.
“But not the last, I hope,” said Sissy.
“I’m going to see to it that each of my children have three,” said Evy, “grade school, high school and college.”
“In twenty-five years,” said Sissy, “our family will have a stack of diplomas this high.” She stood on tiptoe and measured six feet from the ground.
Mama examined the report cards for the last time. Neeley had “B” in conduct, the same in physical education and “C” in all his other subjects. Mama said, “That’s good, son.” She looked past Francie’s “A”s and concentrated on the “C minus.”
“Francie! I’m surprised. How did this happen?”
“Mama, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And in English, too. Your best subject.”
Francie’s voice notched up higher as she repeated, “Mama, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“She always wrote the best compositions in school,” explained Katie to her sisters.
“Mama!” It was almost a scream.
“Katie! Stop it!” ordered Sissy sharply.
“All right, then,” surrendered Katie, suddenly aware that she was nagging and ashamed of herself.
Evy jumped in with a change of subject. “Do we have that party, or don’t we?” she asked.
“I’m putting my hat on,” Katie said.
Sissy stayed with Laurie while Evy, Mama, and the two graduates went to Scheefly’s Ice-Cream Saloon for the party. Scheefly’s was crowded with graduation parties. The kids had their diplomas with them and the girls brought their bouquets. There was a mother or a father—sometimes both, at each table. The Nolan party found a free table at the back of the room.
The place was a medley of shouting kids, beaming parents and rushed waiters. Some kids were thirteen, a few fifteen, but most of them Francie’s age—fourteen. Most of the boys were Neeley’s classmates and he had a great time hollering greetings across the room. Francie hardly knew the girls, nevertheless she waved and called out to them as gaily as though they had been close friends for years.
Francie was proud of Mama. The other mothers had graying hair and most of them were so fat that their backsides slopped over the edges of the chair. Mama was slender and didn’t look at all like going on thirty-three. Her skin was as smoothly clear and her hair as black and curling as it had ever been. “Put her in a white dress,” thought Francie, “with a bunch of roses in her arms, and she’d look like any fourteen-year-old graduate—except for