Indigo Christmas (27 page)

“But I was only a maid! Why would Mrs. Clem miss me?”

“She doesn't look at servants the way most people do, Hilda.You ought to know that. We're people to her. She likes you, always did. She thinks you're interesting, and she's happy you've done so well for yourself. As for the rest of us—well, life is pretty dull around the place without you to stir things up. normal, comfortable, but dull.”

Hilda didn't know what to say to that, so she was silent the rest of the way back to Tippecanoe Place.

Mrs. Clem was indeed taking a tray in her room and invited Hilda to join her. Hilda, full of pie, declined anything but a cup of coffee. Mrs. Sullivan, the cook, would, Hilda knew, make it properly. Hilda had taught her herself.

“And are you any closer, my dear, to learning how that poor man died?” asked Mrs. Clem when Hilda was comfortably settled with her coffee.

“No closer. Further away, even. I thought Mr. Miller—the farmer, you know?—that he maybe had a reason to keep the hired man quiet, blackmail, perhaps. It was Norah who gave me the idea. I had learned that Mr. Miller was not where he said he was on the day of the fire, and Norah thought he was maybe carrying on with a married woman. But today I learned what he was really doing.”

“And that was?” Mrs. Clem leaned forward eagerly, her face pink with excitement.

“He was attending a wedding. His own wedding. He has a new wife.” She told the story.

Mrs. Clem laughed and sat back. “And how old a man is he? “I do not know, but Mrs. Miller is fifty, at least. I believe her when she says it takes Mr. Miller some time to make up his mind to do a thing.”

“Indeed. So that takes care of that.”

“Yes, and I am not sure what to do next. If Mr. Miller had been there today, I had planned to ask him about the mortgage on the farm, to see if there was any way he could profit from the fire. But I could not ask his new wife such a thing, and anyway I do not see how he could make money from a fire. Mrs. Miller says he has lost things that cannot be replaced, and that he is very upset about the death of Mr. Jenkins.”

Mrs. Clem considered for a moment, and then shook her head. “I don't see any help in that direction, either. Well, for Norah's sake, and the baby's, I hope you can see your way out of the woods soon. now, what is happening about the Christmas party?”

Hilda reported on the hall Riggs had reserved for the party, and the growing number of attendees. “So we will need many gifts, not just toys but warm clothing. Do you know what Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Cushing have done about the gifts?”

“Not a lot, I expect. They are probably waiting to know how many would be needed, and for what ages.”

“I thought so. Do you think we have enough money to buy so many? There is the food, too, and I think it should be more than punch and cookies. These boys do not have enough to eat at home, Mrs. Clem. We should have sandwiches for them, too, and not just tea sandwiches, but real ones, with meat. They do not get very much meat.”

Mrs. Clem nodded thoughtfully. “I think if you will give me your list of possible gifts, I will talk to Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Cushing. We can probably find donors for most of them. George gets home on Monday, and he can put a little pressure on South Bend Toy for a wagon or two. They're expensive, you know, five dollars or more.”

“I know. We cannot give them away like the rest of the toys. It would not be fair. I thought we could have a drawing, and some lucky boys would get them.”

“Better to make them a prize for doing something good. I'll think about that. Reward for accomplishment is better than reliance on luck, especially as a lesson in life. And shall I take over the planning of the food? I had boys of my own, remember. I know what they like to eat.”

“Yes, please! If you think it will not make Mrs. Brick angry,” she added anxiously.

“Anna Brick is a sensible woman. oh, and speaking of sensible. I had a phone call this morning from Mrs. Townsend, as sweet and pleasant as you could wish. She wanted to know if I thought a game of musical chairs would amuse the smaller boys. Mrs. Witwer is working on finding a pianist for the afternoon. So the entertainment seems to be coming along.”

Hilda nodded. “That is good. There are other details, though—decorations, and the Christmas tree, and other games for the bigger boys. I hope the other ladies are working on those things.”

“Perhaps we should have another committee meeting to make final plans. Let's see. Today is Friday. The party is a week from tomorrow. I have other obligations on Monday. Tuesday afternoon, here?”

“That will be good.”

“Fine. Then I'll have Williams telephone everybody. And if you can get that list to me today, we'll have most of the toys lined up by the time of the meeting.”

It must, thought Hilda as John drove her home, be nice to be the Queen of South Bend and know that everyone would do your bidding.

When Hilda reached home all was serene, on the surface, at least. Patrick had been home for his midday dinner and gone back to the store again. Hilda was glad of that. She wanted time to prepare herself for his displeasure about John Bolton.

She had to face Norah now, though. With leaden feet she climbed the stairway and tapped on Norah's door.

Norah was in bed with her face to the wall. The nurse, in one corner with the baby in her arms, stood and came to the door. “She's not asleep,” she said in a low tone. “She won't talk to you. She won't do anything. I've had to force her medicine down, and I thought she'd spit it right back at me. She won't even nurse Fiona, and she must, or her milk will go dry. If you think you can do anything, Mrs. Cavanaugh, I wish you'd try. I'm not one to let a patient get the best of me, but this one…” She shook her head.

Hilda made up her mind, and said, rather loudly, “Yes, I will try, but you must leave the room. I am going to tell her a secret I promised to tell no one. I know you can be trusted, but I do not wish to break my word any more than I have to.”

When she went into the room, the lump in the bed hadn't moved, but it seemed to Hilda to have a certain alert attitude. She seated herself by the side of the bed. “norah, I am going to tell you something I should not. If you say anything to anyone— anyone at all, even your mother—it could harm Sean. Do you understand that?”

There was no response from the lump.

“very well. I am angry with you, Norah. You are being stubborn and foolish. It is your mother who has put this into your head, I think, or I would be
very
angry. You are safe here, and comfortable, and you and your baby are getting good care. There is no reason for you to refuse to eat, or talk, or do anything like a sensible person. I never thought you were stupid. Always I thought you had a good mind, but now I wonder. Maybe the people who say the Irish are stupid are right, after all.”

The lump stirred. There was a sound remarkably like a snort.

“And there is no reason for you not to trust me. We have been friends for many years now. It hurts me, Norah, it hurts me very much that now you think I will not help you and Sean. I do everything I can, and you lie there and sulk. Eileen says you and your mother are ungrateful, and maybe she is right. or maybe you are just afraid of what I will find out, because you know Sean is guilty after all.”

That did it, finally. Norah rolled over and sat up. “Don't you dare say that, you—you—Swede! Me mother's right! I'm gettin' out of here this minute, and takin' the babe with me, and I'm findin' a new name for her as soon as I can think of one!” Then she collapsed onto the pillows in a storm of sobs.

“That is better,” said Hilda calmly. “I thought I could make you lose your temper. When you have finished feeling sorry for yourself, I will tell you what I said I would. It is about Sean, and it will make you happier. But you must promise by all your Catholic saints not to tell anyone at all.”

“What? What about Sean? Is it something good? Tell me this minute!”

“Not until you promise.”

Norah uttered a rich curse and threw a pillow across the room, narrowly missing the water pitcher.

“And do not destroy my property, if you please.”

Norah's eyes, Hilda had always thought, were beautiful, dark blue with long, long lashes. now they were filled with fury. “All right. I promise. now
tell me!”

“By the saints.”

Norah's breasts heaved as she made the sign of the cross over them. “By all the saints. I swear.”

“Good. The police do not think Sean set the fire.”

“Then why in the name of all that's holy haven't they let him go?” Norah's voice rose to a scream.

“Because he is safer in jail. I will tell you the story if you will lie back and be calm and take your tonic.”

“To the divil with my tonic!”

But Hilda stood with the bottle in her hand and refused to speak a word until Norah allowed a spoonful down her throat. Then she lay back on the pillow Hilda returned to her. “There. now are you satisfied?”

Hilda sighed. “You are not calm, but I suppose that is asking too much. I will tell you all I know.” She sat down beside the bed. “The police think the real murderer has tried to make them believe Sean is guilty. If the murderer knows he has not succeeded, he will maybe try to keep Sean quiet. The best way to do that would be to kill him. So he is being kept in jail for his own safety, while they—and I—try to find the real killer. now. Does that make you feel better?”

“Is this the truth you're tellin' me?”

“Norah! Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes. often.”

Hilda made a face. “Well—but only when it was better that you should not know the truth. This time I tell no lie. The mayor went to the police yesterday and made them understand that the evidence they thought they had against Sean was no good.”

“What evidence? Why did they arrest him? nobody ever tells me anything!”

“We did not want to make you unhappy,” said Hilda reluctantly, “but I expect I will have to tell you now. Yesterday morning the police found Sean's pocketknife in the ashes of the barn.”

“His knife? The one I gave him? But he's had that with him, all the time. I've seen it every day, ever since his birthday when he got it. He couldn't have left it in that barn. I can tell that to any policeman who bothers to ask me! What do they think they're doin', makin' up a thing like that?” Norah was sitting bolt upright again, and the fire was back in her eyes.

“They
did not make it up, Norah. Someone stole it, we think during the blizzard on Tuesday, and planted it in the ashes. Then they told the police it was there. So the police really did find it, and for a time the police believed—or pretended to believe—that it meant Sean must have dropped it while setting the fire. But I thought that did not make sense, and Patrick thought the same, so he and I and Uncle Dan went to the mayor about it, and he went to the police chief, and the rest is as I told you.”

“Don't know why nobody asked me,” said norah. She lay back, but her tone was sulky. “I could've told them.”

“But you are Sean's wife,” said Hilda patiently. “You would say anything that would protect him. So would his friends. And we did not want you to know the knife had been used in that way, because you gave it to him and it is precious to both of you.”

“It's all right?”

“Dented a little, and black from the ashes. We think the person who stole it maybe dropped it in a fireplace for a bit to make it look right. But it can be made to look like new.”

“Oh. Well, then.” Norah was silent for a time, absorbing all she had been told. “But when will they let Sean go?”

That was the question Hilda had been dreading. “Probably not until they catch the real murderer. Do you not see, Norah? It will not be safe for him until then.”

“And what, may I humbly ask Your Majesty, are they doin' to catch him?”

“I do not know. Patrick is talking to them today, and will tell me when he comes home tonight. Me, I tried to find out something this morning, and I did, but it did not help.” She related the story of Mr. Miller and his bride.

Norah laughed a little at that, and then said, “Hilda, I'm sorry I got so mad at you. It was just worry about Sean, and not feelin' so good, and that. And you were tauntin' me, y'know.”

“I know. I was not really angry with you. I needed only to make you pay attention to me. But Norah, I am serious about you saying nothing. no one must know that the police no longer suspect Sean. If you tell one person, and she tells someone else—you see?”

“I see,” said Norah. “But if I don't tell me mother, she'll stay on the warpath, and I warn ye, she can be—”

“I know,” said Hilda again. “But Patrick knows how to handle her. Last night he gave her so much whiskey that I think she will not feel very good today. I am sorry, but it was the only way. She was determined to take you and Fiona away, and that would have been very bad for both of you.”

Norah stirred restlessly. “Ye-es. I suppose so. But Hilda, we can't stay here forever, Fiona and me.”

“You have not been here forever, only a week. Fiona is a week old today, think of that!”

Perhaps it was the sound of her name. or perhaps not. At any rate, Fiona, wherever she was with nurse Pickerell, began to wail. Norah perked up. “Ah, the little beggar! She's hungry. Get her, Hilda, and bring her to me.”

When Fiona had settled to comfortable suckling, Hilda stole out of the room.

MANY FINE WINDOWS
Local Merchants Make
an Unusual Showing—
Displays Very Attractive

—South Bend
Tribune
   
December 1904

 

 

28

H
ILA COMPLETED HER list of needed toys and sent it to Mrs. Clem, but her mind was entirely on Sean's problem and what Patrick might have learned. When she heard Patrick's footstep on the porch, she flew to the hall and barely let him get his coat off before accosting him. “Did you have time to go to the police station? Did you find out anything about the billfold?”