Indigo Christmas (18 page)

She was about to climb into her seat, with the coachman's assistance, when she suddenly turned around and looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time. “Mr. O'Rourke,” she said, “are you warm enough when you drive in the snow or the rain?”

He was affronted. “I've never complained, ma'am.”

“I know you have not. That is not what I asked.”

He frowned. “Gets a bit cold now and then, doesn't it? And wet when the rain's drivin' in me face, or the snow.”

“That is what I thought. It is not fair, Mr. O'Rourke, that you should sit in front where it is wet and cold while I sit in back wrapped in a warm carriage robe.”

“Somebody's got to drive, ma'am.”

“Yes. And I am not a very good driver.”

“A lady doesn't drive herself, ma'am!” He sounded scandalized.

Hilda smiled. “But I am not really a lady, you know, only a Swedish maid who was lucky enough to marry a fine man. And I am happy to have you drive me, but you must have a warmer coat. After you leave me at the library, please go and buy one, and tell them to send the bill to me. Buy anything else that will keep you warmer, as well. I am sorry, Mr. O'Rourke, that I did not notice before.”

“Anything you say, ma'am.” O'Rourke sounded grumpy as he handed Hilda into the carriage, but then he nearly always sounded grumpy. Perhaps, thought Hilda, to whom a new world was opening, perhaps one day he will be able to see me as a real person.

Hilda dropped her notice off at the
Tribune
. Although the office was separated from the compositing room, the noise from several linotype machines being operated at once, and the heat they emitted, made Hilda slightly dizzy. The office girl promised Hilda she could pick up a hundred copies in two hours, and she was glad to escape to the quiet of the Public Library.

It was a beautiful building, donated by the Studebakers and the Olivers and other wealthy families in the city. Hilda was proud every time she walked into it, proud that all those books belonged just as much to her as to anyone else who entered. Today as she asked to see the City Directory she had the sudden thought that she could buy a copy for herself. She could buy any books she wanted! It was such a glorious idea it nearly diverted her from her mission.

Nearly, but not quite. Today was December 6. Only a week and a half before the party. She had to get the word out quickly, especially so she could concentrate on her other, more important task of solving the murder of the hired man.

She was daunted by the number of churches listed, nearly fifty. Many of them were Catholic, of course. She would need to visit only a few of those; they would pass the word. Then there were the many Protestant denominations, including some Hilda had never heard of. Well, she would just have to visit the ones downtown and trust they would get the word out to others.

She made a list of the churches she needed to call on. It took quite a while; the list was still very long. She looked out the window. At least nothing was yet falling, neither rain nor snow nor sleet. She hoped that respite would continue. For she had decided that she positively would not ask Mr. O'Rourke to drive her if the weather turned really nasty. New coat or not, she refused to let him get soaking wet in her service.

He was waiting when she came out of the library, resplendent in a black coat with a shoulder cape and a new black fur cap. He jumped down to help Hilda up. “The new coat is fine, Mr. O'Rourke.”

“You don't need to call me Mister, ma'am,” he said. “Thanks for the coat. It's warm, right enough. And waterproof, s'posed to be, anyway.”

“You are welcome. And I prefer to call you Mr. O'Rourke. It is more polite.”

He shook his head. Hilda's new attitudes made him extremely uncomfortable. “If you say so, ma'am. I got your notices from the
Tribune
.”

“Good. now, I do not need you to drive me to the first few churches. They are very near. I will go to the First Christian Church, and then the First Baptist. You can pick me up there.”

Her errands took Hilda longer than she expected. Some of the churches had adjacent parsonages where she could speak to pastors, but many did not, and on a Tuesday morning church doors were locked up tight. Hilda pushed several notices under those doors, with scant hope that any attention would be paid to them, until she got a better idea.

“Take me to the factories, please, Mr. O'Rourke. First the ones on the river, because they are near, and then Studebaker's and Oliver's.”

The coachman was shocked. “No place for a lady, ma'am, if you don't mind me sayin' so. Dirty places, factories, and some of those men are none too polite.”

“I am not a lady,” Hilda said for the second time that day, as patiently as she could. “I worked hard for many years, farm work and housecleaning. Dirt will not kill me. And I can deal with rudeness. Birdsell's first, please.”

At each factory she asked to speak to the owner or president. Many of the factories in town were run by men like Clement Studebaker, men who took a benevolent interest in their employees and in the community. “Fine idea, a club for the boys,” said Joseph Birdsell when the idea was presented to him. “I'll see to it that the men know about it.”

“And please, if we could know how many will attend the party?”

“Hard to throw a party when you don't know how many guests you'll have, eh? My secretary can give you a count. Just give her your address.”

“Thank you, sir—Mr. Birdsell.”

Mr. Birdsell grinned, and Hilda had a feeling he knew very well she was the same woman who had often taken his hat at Studebaker dinner parties, but he bowed as he showed her out.

She met with the same reception almost everywhere she went, until the noon whistle sounded and she was swept out of Oliver's on a tide of workmen seeking their dinners.

“Home, ma'am?”

“Yes, please. No!” she corrected herself. “No, I must go and talk to the boys at the Oliver Hotel.”

O'Rourke sighed. He had been a boot boy when he was young, then a gardener, and of recent years a coachman for many wealthy families. He and his wife had thought this new situation would suit them, because they could be together and had a pleasant little set of rooms on the top floor of the Cavanaugh house. Nor was the work onerous. But never had he had a mistress who insisted on visiting factories and talking to bellboys. She meant well, he supposed—the new coat and hat were welcome—but she didn't understand the way gentry were supposed to behave. Mrs. O'Rourke said she turned up in the kitchen at all hours, even serving food on the kitchen table when the cook was busy elsewhere!

If Mrs. Cavanaugh didn't become more conventional, they might have to rethink their employment. Scowling, he clucked to the horses and turned the carriage in the direction of the Oliver Hotel.

“Shall I wait, ma'am?” he asked sourly when they arrived.

“No, thank you, Mr. O'Rourke. Go home and tell Mrs. O'Rourke that I will have my dinner here, and I will make my own way home. If the weather becomes unpleasant I will telephone for you.”

O'Rourke didn't hold with telephones. Grumbling to himself, he made off.

Hilda shook her head. Clearly the O'Rourkes did not understand the way a former-servant-turned-lady behaved. If they couldn't be trained in her ways, she might have to try to find a more adaptable couple.

Dear Santa, please bring me a train
of cars a toy steam engin. A little barn
with toy anemals in it… Some nuts
and candy. I go to school when I can.

—Earl A. Carr, 9 years old
    South Bend
Tribune
   
December 1904

 

 

18

A
NDY WAS ON duty in the front lobby. He saluted when he saw Hilda and rushed to her side. “Help you, ma'am?” he asked, and winked at her.

“Yes, please. Will you show me where the restaurant is?” She waited until they were climbing the grand staircase to the dining room and had escaped the oversight of the doorman, and then whispered to Andy, “Are you allowed to eat with me?”

The eager light faded out of his face. “No, ma'am. It's my dinnertime in a half hour, but we have to eat in our office. Can't never eat in the dining room.”

“Cannot
ever
. Not even if a guest asks for you?”

“Don't think so, ma'am. I got things to tell you but—we're in uniform, y'see.”

Hilda saw. She thought it grossly unfair, but the boy couldn't afford to lose his job. “Then I will eat my dinner, for I am very hungry, and will meet you in your office when you have yours. What would you like me to bring you as a treat?”

“Ooh, a Hershey bar, please, miss—ma'am. I don't know if they sell 'em in the dining room, but the newsstand does.”

Hilda smiled indulgently. It was pleasant to have money for treats. “And what is a Hershey bar?”

“Chocklit, miss! A big slab of nothing but chocklit! Ain't you never had one?”

“
Have
I never had one, Andy. And no, but it sounds very good. I will buy one for myself, too. I will eat my meal quickly and meet you soon.”

Luncheon in the big hotel was intended to be a leisurely affair, eaten in courses and accompanied by cigars or pipes for the gentlemen. Hilda, who felt somewhat conspicuous as the only woman eating alone, chose to have a quick meal of chicken croquettes and a salad. She refused coffee, knowing it would not be made to her exacting standards, and left as soon as she had paid her bill, stopping at the newsstand for three Hershey bars.

Andy was just unwrapping his lunch when Hilda came into the “office.” Hilda saw that he had only bread and an apple. He flushed when he saw her look of dismay.

“Mama's been sick, miss. She hasn't had no time—
any
time to cook. So me and my big sister Ellie've been tryin' to help, but we don't cook so good. So this mornin' all there was, was some bread and a piece of meat from last night's supper, and Papa needed that for his own dinner. I'm not really hungry, anyway.”

Hilda looked at Andy's thin face and made a mental note to speak to the chairman of the Christmas party refreshments committee. Whatever was being planned, Hilda thought it should probably be doubled. “Yes, well, before you tell me what you have learned, I want to give you this.” She reached into her capacious pocket and pulled out one of the notices. “I promised you a party. Here it is.”

Andy's meager lunch was forgotten as he read the notice. She watched his lips move as he worked out difficult words, watched his pale face take on animation as he grasped the facts.

“It's really gonna happen, then, miss!”

“Yes, Andy. I promised.”

“Can I tell everybody?”

“Yes, every boy in town is welcome, especially boys whose families have not much money. I want you to tell every boy you know, and ask them to tell others. And have them report back to you, and you report to me, so that we will know how many to expect. We must have enough food and enough gifts.”

“Yes,
ma'am
! And speakin' of reports, miss, I found out some stuff. Good stuff, miss.”

Hilda handed over one of the chocolate bars, unwrapped another, and settled herself to listen.

“Well, see, I talked to everybody I could think of, but careless-like, see? Made out I didn't believe there was anything int'restin' about that fire, and said I'd give a nickel to the first boy who could show me the police wasn't—weren't—just makin' a fuss about nothin'.” He looked anxiously at Hilda. “Cost me three nickels, miss.”

Without a word Hilda reached in her pocket, pulled out a small purse, and counted out three nickels.

“So the first thing is, that farmer, that Mr. Miller, he said he was buyin' supplies that day, right?”

Hilda nodded. “That is what Patrick—Mr. Cavanaugh told me. Supplies and machinery.”

“Well, if he was, it wasn't around here. Some of the boys asked around. He wasn't at none—any—of the feed stores, nor anyplace where they sell stuff for farms. Hay rakes and stuff, I guess. I dunno. Never lived on a farm.”

“I did,” said Hilda. “Yes, rakes and hoes and shovels and plowshares and fencing and—oh, there are hundreds of things a farm needs.”

“Well, Mr. Miller didn't buy none—any—of that sort of stuff. And I know that for a fact, because one o' the boys knows him, or knows what he looks like anyway, and he saw him goin' back to his farm the next day, when he heard about the fire. Drivin' hell for leather, he was—beg pardon, miss, but that's what Tom said—and there wasn't nothin' in his wagon 'cept the two dogs, and they was whinin'—scared, y'see, cause they was goin' so fast and bein' jounced all over the place.”

Hilda was thinking so hard she forgot to correct Andy's grammar. “Machinery—he might have bought it to be delivered.”

“Yes, miss. But why'd he take the wagon for supplies, if he wasn't goin' to bring back no supplies?”

“That is very interesting, Andy. very interesting. You have done well.”

“That ain't all, miss. There's this one boy who knows a girl who knows a kid—well, anyway, somebody works at the bank, emptyin' out the trash cans and that, the bank where Mr. Miller does his business. And he heard somebody say—I wrote it down, 'cause it didn't mean nothin' to me—” Andy searched his pockets and finally found a grubby piece of paper. “Somebody said, ‘If he doesn't pay up soon they'll call in his more-gage.' I don't know what a more-gage is, miss, or how they call it in, but that's what this person said, and they was talking about Mr. Miller.”

“I think maybe I know. Who was the person who said that, Andy?”

“Dunno. I had it down the line, you might say. But I reckon I can find out.”

“Do that, if you can without—”

“I know, without makin' nobody suspicious. I can do that easy. And I gotta go back to work in a minute or two, but there's one more thing, miss.”