A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [198]
“You damned kid!” screamed Francie in impotent fury.
“You cursed! I’m gonna tell Mama, I’m gonna tell Mama, I’m gonna tell mama you cursed,” chanted Neeley.
She heard the trolley coming and had to run for it.
He was waiting for her when she got out of work. He met her with that smile.
“Hello, my best girl.” He tucked her arm within his.
“Hello, Lee. It’s good to see you again.”
“…dear,” he prompted.
“Dear,” she added.
They ate at the Automat—another place he had wanted to see. Since smoking wasn’t permitted there and Lee couldn’t sit still for long without smoking, they didn’t linger to talk after coffee and dessert. They decided to go dancing. They found a dime-a-dance place just off Broadway where servicemen were given half rates. He bought a strip of twenty tickets for a dollar and they started to dance.
They had gone but halfway around the floor when Francie discovered that his gangling awkwardness was extremely deceptive. He was a smooth and skillful dancer. They danced, holding each other closely. There was no need for conversation.
The orchestra was playing one of Francie’s favorite songs, “Some Sunday Morning.”
Some Sunday morning,
When the weather’s fine.
She hummed the chorus as the vocalist sang it.
Dressed up in gingham,
What a bride I’ll be.
She felt Lee’s arm tighten around her.
I know my girl friends,
They’re gonna envy me.
Francie was so happy. Once more around the floor, then the vocalist sang the chorus again, this time varying it slightly in honor of the soldiers present.
Dressed up in khaki,
What a groom you’ll be.
Her arm tightened around his shoulders and she rested her cheek on his tunic. She had the same thought Katie had had seventeen years ago dancing with Johnny—that she’d willingly accept any sacrifice or hardship if she could only have this man near her for always. And like Katie, Francie gave no thought to the children who might have to help her work out the hardship and sacrifice.
A group of soldiers were leaving the hall. As was the custom, the orchestra cut off the song they were playing and went into “Till We Meet Again.” Everyone stopped dancing and sang a farewell to the soldiers. Francie and Lee held hands and sang, even though neither was quite certain of the words.
…When the clouds roll by
Then I’ll come back to you,
Then the skies will seem more blue…
There were cries of “Good-bye, soldier!” “Good luck, soldier!” “Till we meet again, soldier.” Then the departing soldiers stood in a group and sang the song. Lee pulled Francie towards the door.
“We’ll leave now,” he said. “So that this moment will remain a perfect memory.”
They walked down the stairs slowly, the song following them. As they reached the street, they waited until the song died away.
…Pray each night for me,
Till we meet again.
“Let it be our song,” he whispered, “and think of me every time you hear it.”
As they walked, it started to rain and they had to run and find shelter in the doorway of a vacant store. They stood in the protected and dark doorway, held each other’s hand and watched the rain falling.
“People always think that happiness is a faraway thing,” thought Francie, “something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up; a place of shelter when it rains—a cup of strong hot coffee when you’re blue; for a man, a cigarette for contentment; a book to read when you’re alone—just to be with someone you love. Those things make happiness.”
“I’m leaving early in the morning.”
“Not for France?” Suddenly she was jolted out of her happiness.
“No, for home. My mother wants me for a day or two before…”
“Oh!”
“I love you, Francie.”
“But you’re engaged. That’s the first thing you ever told me.”
“Engaged,” he said bitterly. “Everybody’s engaged. Everybody in a small town is engaged or married or in trouble. There’s nothing else to do in a small town.
“You go to school. You start walking home with a girl—maybe for no other reason than that she lives out your way. You grow up. She