A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [202]
She tore the sheet in half.
“No! I don’t want to need anybody. I want someone to need me…I want someone to need me.”
She wept again, but not so hard this time.
54
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME FRANCIE HAD SEEN MCSHANE WITHOUT HIS uniform. She decided that he looked very impressive in his expensively tailored double-breasted gray suit. Of course he wasn’t as good-looking as Papa had been; he was taller and more massive. But he was handsome in his own way, decided Francie, even though his hair was gray. But gosh, he was awful old for mother. True, mother wasn’t so young, either. She was going on thirty-five. Still that was much younger than fifty. Anyhow, no woman need be ashamed to have McShane for a husband. While he looked exactly what he was, a shrewd politician, his voice was gentle when he spoke.
They were having coffee and cake. With a pang, Francie noticed that McShane was sitting in her father’s place at the table. Katie had just finished telling him all that had happened since Johnny died. McShane seemed amazed at the progress they had made. He looked at Francie.
“So this slip of a girl got herself to college last summer!”
“And she’s going again this summer,” announced Katie proudly.
“There’s wonderful for you!”
“And she works in the bargain and earns twenty dollars a week now.”
“All that and good health, too?” he asked in honest amazement.
“The boy is halfway through high school.”
“No!”
“And he works at this and that afternoons and evenings. Sometimes he earns as much as five dollars a week outside of school.”
“A fine lad. One of the finest of lads. And look at the health of him—would you now.”
Francie wondered why he commented so much on the health which they themselves always took for granted. Then she remembered about his own children; how most of them had been born but to sicken and die before they grew up. No wonder he thought healthiness such a remarkable thing.
“And the baby?” he inquired.
“Go get her, Francie,” said Katie.
The baby was in her crib in the front room. It was supposed to be Francie’s room but all had agreed that the baby needed to sleep where there was air. Francie picked up the sleeping child. She opened her eyes and instantly was ready for anything.
“Bye-bye, Fran-nee? Park? Park?” she asked.
“No, sweet. Just an introduction to a man.”
“Man?” said Laurie doubtfully.
“Yes. A great big man.”
“Big man!” repeated the child happily.
Francie brought her out to the kitchen. The baby was truly a beautiful thing to see. She had a fresh dewy look in her pink flannel nightgown. Her hair was a mass of soft black curls. Her widely set apart dark eyes were luminous and there was a dusky rose color in her cheeks.
“Ah, the baby, the baby,” crooned McShane. “ ’Tis a rose she is. A wild rose.”
“If Papa were here,” thought Francie, “he’d start to sing, ‘My Wild Irish Rose.’” She heard her mother sigh and wondered whether she, too, was thinking….
McShane took the baby. The child sat on his knees, stiffened her back away from him and stared at him doubtfully. Katie hoped she wouldn’t cry.
“Laurie!” she said. “Mr. McShane. Say ‘Mr. McShane.’”
The child lowered her head, looked up through her lashes, smiled knowingly and shook her head, “no.”
“No may-mane,” she stated. “Man!” she shouted triumphantly. “Big man!” She smiled at McShane and said wheedlingly, “Take Laurie bye-bye? Park? Park?” Then she rested her cheek against his coat and closed her eyes.
“Aroon, aroon,” McShane crooned.
The child slept in his arms.
“Mrs. Nolan, you’re wonderin’ why I came tonight. Let your wonderin’ be over. I came to ask a personal question.” Francie and Neeley got up to leave. “No. Don’t be leavin,’ chilthern. The question would be concernin’ you as well as your mother.” They sat down again. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Nolan, time has passed since your husband—God rest his soul….”
“Yes. Two and a half years. God rest his soul.”
“God rest his soul,” echoed Francie and Neeley.
“And my wife—’tis a year since she’s been gone, God rest her soul.”
“God