Indigo Christmas (20 page)

“You did once,” he reminded her. “That time when Erik ran away. not so long ago, either.”

“You were with me, and my brother. And it was an emergency. And the snow was not so bad as it is now. I have never before seen it this bad. But in the morning, somehow I must find a way. The streetcar, perhaps. Does it run to Station House Five?”

“Don't know. But listen, darlin'—”

The doorbell rang. Hilda started to get up and then remembered and sat back while Eileen ran in from the kitchen to answer the bell. “It does not seem right,” she said with a little frown, “that Eileen should be taken from her duties in the kitchen to go to the door, when I am nearer.”

Patrick, tired from a day's work, was not eager to debate about the work of a servant. “It's her job,” he said briefly. “But Hilda, about the fireman. I could—”

Sean's voice was heard in the hall. Hilda put her finger to her lips and rose to greet him. “Sean, it is good to see you,” she said warmly as Eileen took his coat. “But you have walked a long way, and you are wet and cold and tired. It is not good that you should catch a chill and maybe pass it on to Norah and the baby. Come and sit by the fire and have something to chase away the cold before you go and see Norah. Eileen, another of the same, please. very hot.”

Sean was, in fact, tired nearly to exhaustion. He had gone to work very early to work extra hours, knowing that the Friday pay packet would have to last a long time. He had left as soon as he possibly could and had gone home to change to cleaner clothes. Then he had made the long trek out to Oliver's, hoping to find work, but he had been too late. The man who did the hiring had already gone home. Studebaker's had been the same. Sean had thought about stopping at home again, to get warm before going to see Norah, but home was a cold and empty place without her, so he slogged on through the blinding snow. now he stumbled into the Cavanaughs' parlor, nearly fell into the chair Hilda pulled close to the fire for him, and sat, the picture of dejection.

Hilda scarcely knew what to say to the man. He was so obviously in a state of despair and physical near-collapse. “Things did not go well today, perhaps?” she suggested tentatively.

Patrick roared with laughter at that. “Darlin' girl, you'll be the death of me! Here's me cousin, frozen and worn to a frazzle, and you're sayin' it was maybe not a good day. What the man needs is some good food and some good drink—ah, that's the cure, Eileen. Here, me lad, get that into you and the world'll look a lot brighter.”

Dully Sean did as he was told. He took a sip from the drink Eileen handed him, and spluttered. “It's boilin'!”

“Good,” said Hilda. “Do not burn your tongue.”

“Too late,” Sean muttered, but he took another cautious sip, and then another.

“I put honey and lemon in,” Eileen whispered to Hilda before returning to the kitchen. “It's good against a cold, and makes it go down nice and smooth.”

By the time he had finished the drink, he had color back in his face, though his shoulders were as stooped as ever. Hilda and Patrick had kept up a gentle flow of unimportant talk to give him time to recover, but he had taken no notice. He put his mug down and stood. “Time I was seein' my girls,” he said. “Though what I'm to say to 'em I don't know.”

“I will send up two trays,” Hilda said. “Supper is ready, and you can eat yours with norah. Come, Patrick.”

And she swept her husband to the dining room before Sean could protest that he didn't want any supper.

“He hasn't found work,” said Hilda as they sat down.

“Doesn't look that way,” Patrick agreed. “never saw a man look so down.”

“He will feel better when Norah tells him that there is news,” sighed Hilda, “and then maybe it will all come to nothing.”

“Listen, me girl. I was about to say, when Sean came in, I can send a note to that fireman tomorrow, if the snow lets up at all. Unless Uncle Dan closes the store, I can send it by one of our messengers who's goin' that way. Then after work I can pick up an answer. It's not as good as you talkin' to him yourself, I know, but seein' as you can't hardly do that in this weather, I thought…”

“It is a very good idea, Patrick,” said Hilda with one of her sharp little nods. “Unless the fireman who picked up the billfold is not on duty tomorrow.”

“If he's not, it wouldn't do you any good to go traipsin' out there anyway, now would it? And a note can be left for him to answer when he can.”

Hilda nodded. “A
very
good idea. I should have thought of it.”

Patrick grinned. “now, what is this other rigmarole you're tellin' me about the farmer?”

“It is complicated, Patrick, but it is true that Mr. Miller was not telling the truth about where he went and what he did when he left the farm that day, the day of the fire. And I do not understand why. And it is true that the bank is going to call in his mortgage. At least I think it is true. Andy is going to try to learn more about that. I cannot work out a way that anything makes sense.”

Patrick grunted and attacked his meal. It was one of his favorites, boiled beef and potatoes and winter vegetables. Mrs. O'Rourke, an accomplished cook, would have liked to prepare more elaborate evening meals, but she recognized in Patrick an Irishman who liked plain food and plenty of it.

Hilda was hungry, too, so they ate in thoughtful silence for a time. Finally Patrick put his knife and fork down. “I can't make sense of it, either. Somebody needs to find out where Miller was that day.”

“Did you not say Sergeant Lefkowicz planned to go and see him?”

“I did, and he did. Plan to, I mean. But he'll not get there soon in this weather. It's bad enough in town, with workers to clear the snow from the streets, if it ever stops comin' down. It'll be hopeless in the country. even a sleigh can't get through if it gets too deep for the horses.”

“Hmm. At home we skied to town when the snow was deep. I wonder if Sven still has his skis…”

“You're
not
…” He looked at her frown and changed what he had planned to say. “You're not thinkin' of skiin' out to that farm, I hope? There's not much in the way of mountains around South Bend, ye know.”

“Do not be foolish. This is a different kind of skiing. It is meant for traveling, not flying downhill. But I have not done it for a long time, and probably I am out of practice. no, it was Sergeant Lefkowicz I was thinking of. Poland has snow in winter. If he knows how to ski…”

“Darlin' girl, you forget he's a policeman. He has to do what he's told, when he's on duty. It was in his spare time he was goin' out there, because he wasn't—he isn't—happy about the way the police are thinkin'.” Patrick shook his head. “There's some talk about that Applegate, Uncle Dan tells me. Seems he lives a little higher than you'd think a man could on what they pay a policeman in this town. nothin' you can put your finger on, mind, but Dan could see why Lefkowicz wanted to do a little investigatin' on his own. now this blizzard changes everything. Yes, we need to know, or anyway the police need to know what Miller was doin' that day. But right now there's just flat no way to find that out. So you'll have to content yourself with whatever you can learn from that fireman, and whatever you can work out with your own clever mind, without leavin' home.”

Hilda sighed. “You are right, I suppose. But I do not like to sit and do nothing.”

Patrick snorted. “That'll be the day. one thing you can do is tell Eileen to make up a bed for Sean, for he's not goin' home tonight. It'll help nobody if he freezes to death in a snowdrift, and so I'm tellin' him, the minute he comes down.”

“He will be happier than he was last night,” said Hilda with a grimace, “so maybe he will accept.”

“There's no question of acceptin' or not. He's stayin'.” And Patrick stood and picked up the apple pie Eileen had left on the sideboard. “Ah. A big piece for me. What about you?”

“A small one, please. And coffee. I must think hard tonight, so I must stay awake.”

“And you've got to write that note I'm to take to the fireman tomorrow. If there's any gettin' anywhere tomorrow.”

Hilda wrote the note, and Sean, after one look out the window into the frenzied swirl of whiteness, borrowed a nightshirt from Patrick and went up to bed. But Hilda's good intentions to stay awake and think were overcome by a weariness not even strong coffee could combat. She nodded in her chair one, twice, and the third time Patrick put a hand on her shoulder. “Come up and do your thinkin' in bed where it's comfortable and you won't get a crick in your neck,” he said with a grin.

She was yawning on her way up the stairs, and asleep before Patrick was undressed.

SNOW DELAYS TRAINS
The first genuine snow storm of the season
visited South Bend and…
trains on all of the railroads
entering the city were delayed…

—South Bend
Tribune
   
December 1904

 

 

21

I
T WAS APPARENT, in the morning, that no one was going anywhere. And no one was happy about it.

“Eggs we need, and ham, and flour, and we're near out of coffee and sugar,” grumbled Mrs. O'Rourke. “And how am

I to cook with nothin' in the cupboard, will you tell me that?”

 “There's beef and chicken,” said Eileen. “And potatoes and carrots and turnips and beets. And all the fruits and vegetables you put up in the fall. There's food enough for an army, but today's my afternoon off, and I was goin' home to help me mother with the little ones.”

“Hmph! Not my idea of a day off. And she'll know why you can't come. There's nothin' movin' out there. Look at it!”

The world outside, what could be seen of it through the stillfalling snow, had lost its definition. There were no corners anywhere. Bushes were rounded humps, roofs were weird shapes with peaks here and valleys there where the wind had sculpted the snow into drifts or scraped the roof tiles bare.

“And how are my horses supposed to get any exercise?” demanded O'Rourke, stamping snow off his boots as he came into the kitchen. “They're restless with all this wind, and need a good run. Not to mention they'll need hay in a day or two. I was expectin' a delivery today. Is there tea, Mrs. O'Rourke?”

“There is, Mr. O'Rourke, as you should know after thirty years. No storm stops me havin' me mornin' tea. At least we've tea in the caddy, still, though for how long I don't know. Worst storm I've ever seen, and I've seen some miserable weather in my time. Might as well be livin' at the North Pole.”

There was consternation in the rest of the house as well. Nurse Pickerell, stopping in the kitchen to get trays for herself and Norah and a bottle for the baby, needed clean uniforms and fresh milk. Sean fretted about losing a day's work. Patrick worried about the effect on the store of losing at least a full day's business, for there was no hope now of having the streets clear enough for even a sleigh before tomorrow at the earliest. And Hilda stewed about her investigation—stewed silently, for with Sean there she could say nothing.

All morning as Hilda paced irritably around the house, helping here and there with household duties, visiting Norah and the baby, she kept glancing out the window at the snow. The sky grew brighter as the morning progressed, the snow fell more slowly, and finally blue sky began to show. By noon, when everyone sat down to a dinner of fried chicken and applesauce, the sun was blindingly bright.

Patrick, nearly as restless as Hilda, went out with Sean when they had finished eating to help Mr. O'Rourke clear the sidewalk and the drive. Hilda watched them for a few minutes from the bay window in the parlor. They all wore tall boots and warm coats, Sean's borrowed from Patrick, and the snow flew as they threw shovelfuls high above their heads. The path they were creating more nearly resembled a tunnel, nearly shoulder-high in places.

Hilda sighed deeply. She had still cherished hopes of going to Firehouse Five, but she saw that it was impossible. With skis she would have tried it. She had been good on them back in Sweden. But the only skis that had traveled to America with her and her siblings were Sven's, and Sven's house was nearly as far away as the firehouse.

She tried to read but gave it up after looking at the same page for five minutes. She went to her desk and tried to make lists of things to be purchased for the Christmas party. Toys, of course. But for how many boys, of what ages? And would the older ones prefer practical things like warm clothing? Then there was food. Mrs. Brick was in charge of that part, but Hilda hoped she understood about different kinds of food. There would be boys of so many different nationalities, and they all ate different things. Polish, Hungarian, German, Irish, Swedish, as well as plain American. Maybe even Jewish boys, and Hilda had a vague idea they couldn't eat the same things as the others. She made a note to call Mrs. Brick about it. Potatoes, for certain. everyone ate potatoes.

It was hopeless. She couldn't keep her mind on the problem. Thoughts of all she should be doing to find a murderer kept wiping away every other consideration. She threw down her pencil and went upstairs.

Norah was awake, her west-facing room bright with the sunlight on the snow, and warm from the roaring fire. Hilda hoped they had enough coal, but if they didn't, it was Norah's room that mattered. The rest of them would come to no harm if they were chilly for a few days.

The baby was cradled in Norah's arms, drinking hungrily from a bottle while Nurse Pickerell kept careful watch. The look on Norah's face brought a lump to Hilda's throat.

The doting mother looked up at Hilda. “I'm wishin' I could feed her more meself, but Nurse keeps saying I'm not strong enough yet. As if a tiny babe could take enough from me to make a difference.”