Бетти Смит - Maggie-Now

t249] "Are you going with anyone?" he asked.

"Not any more," she said.

"We're both in the clear, then," he said.

He told her he was going to camp Tuesday and he had to spend Monday night with his family but couldn't they do something together on Sunday? She told him she had to go and see her godmother but it would be a short visit.

He suggested picking her up there and they could have a soda or something. Arrangements were made. She received his good-night kiss, which she had looked forward to, with a sensation of pleasure.

Lottie, her conscience bothering her a little because she had been so outspoken in her dislike of Claude, treated Sonny most cordially and insisted that he stay a while. She made him sit in Timrmy's chair.

He sat down, leaned back and looked around. "My, it's nice here, isn't it, Maggie-Now?"

"I love this room," said Maggie-Now.

"Timmy always liked it so," said Lottie.

"Your son?" he asked.

"My husband. He passed away some years ago."

"God rest his soul," said Sonny.

"I'll show you his picture."

The album tinkled out its little tune when she opened it.

"Say! Do that again," he said. She opened and closed it several times. "That's a dandy picture album."

"Timmy gave it to me on our anniversary. Here's a picture of the two of us taken just before we was married."

He looked at the picture and looked at her. "You haven't changed," he said. An old-rose flush came to her faded cheeks. She showed him a picture of Tim in his uniform. "Your husband must have been quite a man," he said.

"Oh, he was! Didn't Maggie-Now tell you about my Timmy?"

"I haven't known Mr. Pheid very long," said Maggie-Now. Sonny looked around the room.

"Looking for an ashtray?" asked Lottie.

"I'm looking for this Mister Pheid."

Maggie-Now laughed. "I mean Sonny," she said.

"Well, I'll tell you about Timmy," said Lottie.

To Maggie-Now, the story seemed interminable. She had heard [So]

it a hundred times, it seemed. Also she was a little annoyed with Lottie, who had been so cool toward Claude and now was so warm toward Sonny.

Eventually, Lottie concluded her story with the inevitable: "And we was sweethearts until the end."

Sonny was moved by the story. "You were a lucky woman, Mrs. Shawn," he said.

"Don't I know it! "

He touched her hand briefly and said: "And he was a very lucky man."

Quick tears came to Lottie's tired eyes. She rubbed the tears out with her fingers. "Thank you, Sonny," she said.

She turned to Maggie-l`;ow. "Come in the kitchen with me. I want to show you something. Excuse us?" she asked Sonny.

"Certainly." He didn't get up. He was looking through the album.

In the kitchen, Lottie whispered: "Where'd you meet him?"

"Church social. But I knew who he was, though. He and his father have a plumbing shop together."

"Will he get the business when his father dies?"

"I guess so."

"He's just the right man for you, Maggie-Now."

Maggie-Now thought of Claude and sighed.

"You're still thinking of that other one, ain't you?"

"Always," said Maggie-Now.

"Listen. He was all right for one springtime of your life the way he looked at you and the things he must-a said to you. He gave you something nice to remember from time to time as you grow old. And that's all he should be: a memory.

"But for the long haul. . marriage, a home, children, being supported. . someone to get old with, Sonny's the one."

"What makes you think he'd want me?"

"He does. Or he will. Don't be foolish. Hang on to him."

When they got back into the living room, Sonny was standing at the mantelpiece. He grinned and said: "Well, ladies, will I do?"

Maggie-Nc,w couldn't help but laugh. But she was embarrassed when Lottie went to him, put her hands on his arms, looked up at him and said: "You'll do."

Maybe Solmy was embarrassed, too. He looked away from [2Si ~ Maggie-Now and pointed to the china pug dog on the mantelpiece. "I was looking at this," he said. "Can I see it?" (He meant, could he pick it up.)

"Sure. Go 'head," said Lottie.

He examined it admiringly. "Say, it's a little dandy," he said. "Just a little dandy."

"My Thnmy give it to me for a anniversary present. He loved it, too. He used to stand there, just like you, and hold it and say: 'Look at the little buggers getting theirs!'" Sonny let out a roar of laughter. "Sh!" said Lottie.

"Mama's sleeping."

But Mama had awakened. She called out querulously from the bedroom: "Timmy? That you, Timmy?"

"It's all right, Mama," called out Lottie. There was a little silence. The old lady mumbled and evidently went back to sleep.

With av.7ed voice, Lottie said to Maggie-Now, "Mama thought it was Timmy laughing." She stared at Sonny.

"Yes," she said, "come to think of it, in many ways, he reminds me of Timmy."

With a little shock, I\laggie-Now told herself: Yes. He does! But how? Why? She wondered. He doesn't look like Uncle l immy.

"Anyhow," Lottie went on, "when Maggie-Now gets married, I'm going to give her that little dog for a wedding present."

"I better be careful then, not to break it." He replaced it carefully on the mantelpiece.

Sonny took Maggie-Now home. "I'd ask you in," she said, "only…

"I know how it is," he said. "My pop's the same. My sister used to go with Cholly. You know, the piano player? She couldn't bring him in the house. Pop always passed some remark. He had nothing against Cholly, but he passed these remarks. She always had to meet Cholly on the corner."

In a way, thought Maggie-Now, it's a relief to be with someone of your own kind, who knows how things are and who doesn't keep saying he'd like to meet your father.

"Look, Maggie-Now," he said, "if I write to you, will you write back?"

"I'd be so glad to, Sonny."

1 2S2 J "Good-by, then." He put his arms about her tightly and kissed her urgently.

"Don't," she murmured.

"Just a long good-by kiss, Maggie-Now?"

"Please don't," she said.

"It wouldn't go further than that. I'm not that kind of a guy."

"I know, Sonny."

She submitted to the embrace, wishing Sonny were Claude and unhappy because she felt that she was disloyal to the one she loved and would always love, even though she never saw him again.

HE WROTE once a week. } lis first letter was a detailed account of the weather of Camp Upton. Her answer was a detailed account of the weather of Brooklyn. In his next letter he gave her a detailed account of the meals served at camp. She wrote back how dear everything was getting and how, now, three people could hardly eat on a dollar a day.

Next he wrote, asking her for a picture of herself. All the fellows here have pictures to hang up…. She had only a picture of herself at six with veil and prayerbook when she made her first communion and another when she was twelve and was confirmed. She went down to Batterman's and had a cabinet picture made of herself. She thought it was a good picture. She inscribed it: "To Sonny, from Margaret Rose." (She thought the fellers might laugh if she wrote "Maggie-Now.") A few weeks later, he sent her a snapshot of himself in his lima-bean pants and rolled puttees and campaign hat straight over his eyes and cradling his rifle in his arms. He was looking straight into the camera. He looked like exactly what he was: a good, honest, straightforward, [253]