Indigo Christmas (23 page)

She didn't like the thoughts that were crowding in on her. Like most other people in South Bend, she had thought the police more or less competent, and more or less honest. Oh, they could be somewhat lazy, eager to accept the obvious solution, and certainly prejudiced against immigrants—which in turn prejudiced Hilda against them, or most of them. There were exceptions like Sergeant Lefkowicz, hard working, intelligent men whose quest was the truth, not the easy answer.

Or so she had believed. Now she wasn't sure what to believe. She had accepted, with dismay, the sergeant's tale of the discovery of Sean's knife. Now it seemed ridiculous. Where was the proof that anyone had been out to the farm at all? How very much easier to go to Sean's house while he was elsewhere, take a conveniently small object that was obviously his, and make up a story about finding it at the scene of the fire? Drop it in a hearth fire for a little while to give the thing a convincing look, and there was evidence against the only suspect you had. End of case, everybody can relax into their preparations for Christmas.

Would Sergeant Lefkowicz do something like that? Hilda hated to think so. She tried to remember. Had he actually said
he
had found the pocketknife? Or only that it had been found? The news had upset her so much she hadn't concentrated on details. Maybe it was that Sergeant Applegate who had found it. Or pretended to find it? Well, that was something for Patrick to pursue. She could not go to the police station and ask questions, not with any hope of getting answers, and now she hesitated to go to Sergeant Lefkowicz privately.

Andy was on duty in front of the Oliver Hotel. He popped out the door when the carriage pulled up. Given the day's numbing cold, he had been allowed to wait inside for guests, but his face was still bright red. So were his hands, when he took them out of his pockets and blew on them.

“Miss Hilda! Didn't think I'd see you today. Nothin' to report to you, anyway. Snow was so bad on Tuesday that I had to spend the night at the hotel, and most of the boys didn't make it in yesterday. Reckon they was helpin' at home, diggin' out and that. Biggest snow I ever seen!”

“Biggest you ever
saw
, Andy. And the other boys
were
helping at home.”

“Yes, ma'am. Anyway it was some storm, huh!”

Hilda was pleased that Andy was still child enough, despite his often hard life, to find pure enjoyment in a blizzard. “It was, indeed. And it is still very beautiful today. But terribly cold. May we go inside for a minute?”

“I have to stay by the door, Miss Hilda. The doorman's down sick, so I'm takin' over for the day. We could talk there, though. It's warmer, unless a lot of people go in and out. And today there's hardly nobody—hardly anybody in the hotel. Most people left this mornin' and nobody new's come yet.”

“Good. We will go in. I need to talk to you about the Christmas party.”

He grinned. “Reckon you're goin' to have to rent the biggest hall in town for it, Miss Hilda. I've been tellin' everybody, and they're all comin' and bringin' other boys. I started to make a list of names, but it got to be too long, so I gave up and just counted.” He reached into his pocket and awkwardly with his stiff hands pulled out a grubby piece of paper. “Let's see. That's ten…and those there, squished up in the corner, that's another seventeen… so twenty-seven…” He muttered to himself for a moment, turning the paper over and frowning at it. “I can't make it come out the same twice, miss, but it's sixty-three or sixty-five. And me and my little brother.”

Hilda was staggered. Sixty-seven boys, and that was only the ones Andy had invited. She had been thinking of perhaps a hundred in total. She took a deep breath. “Good, Andy, that is very good. Now, first I want to pay you a little more money. Your information has helped me, and you have also worked hard to invite boys to the party.” Gravely she handed him a quarter. “Also, I need to consult you about presents. I am not in charge of that part, but I think maybe the women who are might not know what boys would want, so I will help them.” She took a small writing tablet and a pencil out of her handbag. “My brother is making wooden toys, wagons and carved horses and the like, and my mother and sisters are knitting. I think you would like a pair of warm mittens, yes? And perhaps a baseball.”

“I don't need nothin'—anything—Miss Hilda. My brother would like a baseball, though. And lots of the little boys I talked to want balls to play with, any kind. Oh, and whistles. The bigger ones are kind of hoping for skates, if they don't cost too much. And some of them would like sleds, but I told them I don't think—”

“We will see if we can find some sleds,” said Hilda. “I cannot promise, but I have had an idea. And perhaps small wagons. Banks for saving money?”

“Yes! Not that we've got a lot to save, but I've been puttin' what you pay me in an old sock. A bank would be better.”

By the time Andy had to deal with a hotel guest, Hilda had added tops and checkers and marbles and magnets to her list, along with, of course, candy canes and oranges. She also made a note of several more errands she had to run. First to the churches she had asked to spread the word about the party, and then to Mrs. Elbel's. To that lady she would give the long list of toys, and a suggestion. It had occurred to her that the South Bend Toy Company might well be persuaded to donate some of their famous miniature Studebaker wagons. And didn't she remember that one of the bicycle factories in town also made sleds? It was no good her approaching them, but Mrs. Elbel would know which of the wealthy ladies might be best at soliciting contributions. Oh, and surely the Philadelphia would sell them candy at a discounted price, or even give it to them. And naturally they could get anything they needed from Malloy's Dry Goods at wholesale prices or better! Even if Mrs. Elbel had already thought of all these things, it made Hilda proud that she, too, had thought of them. She was maybe learning to think like a privileged lady.

She was busy all day, stopping only for a sandwich and a cup of tea at Osborn's, a café on Michigan Street. Instead of going home, she sent O'Rourke home to get his own dinner, take a message to his wife that she would be away all day, and come back for her when he had finished.

It was cowardly of her, and she knew it, but she simply could not face Norah. Not yet. Not until she had made some progress towards clearing Sean's name.

In midafternoon, having visited all the churches and added nearly two hundred more party-goers to her list, she asked the coachman to take her to Uncle Dan's store. She tried never to bother Patrick at work, but the situation was critical. She had to talk to him about Sean. “Do not wait for me, Mr.—kevin. I do not know how long I will be. I will walk home, maybe.”

“Mighty cold for that, ma'am. You could phone,” he added somewhat grudgingly.

Hilda smiled to herself. If O'Rourke was beginning to accept the telephone, it was progress, indeed.

Trade was no brisker at Malloy's than at the Oliver Hotel. Clerks stood around tidying the merchandise, quite unnecessarily as far as Hilda could see, or gossiping in small groups. Hilda approached one bored woman who straightened up and tried to look busy when she saw Hilda.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cavanaugh. And how can I help you today? We have some lovely new silk mufflers in—just the thing for a Christmas present for Mr. Cavanaugh.”

“Thank you, Miss—Miss Forbes.” She was learning the clerks' names, but slowly. “I would like to look at them, but not right now. I want to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh for a little. Is he in his office?”

“I expect he is. Mr. Malloy is upstairs, I know.”

“I will go up, then. Thank you, Miss Forbes, and I will look at the mufflers before I leave.”

The sales clerks received a small commission for every item they sold, Hilda knew. It wouldn't be much, since Hilda was entitled to a big discount on her purchases, but it would help a bit. Christmas was coming as surely for Miss Forbes as for everyone else, and she probably needed all the extra cash she could get in these hard times.

Malloy's Dry Goods Store was modern in every way. It was lit by electricity and there was an elevator to the upper floors, run by a boy whom Hilda knew slightly. “Hello, ma'am,” he said brightly when she entered the cage. “Where to?”

“The third floor, please, Mike. Oh, and Mike, has anyone told you about the Christmas party a week from Saturday?”

“Yes, ma'am! I'm comin', and so are my three brothers. It's the first party we've ever been to. What's it gonna be like, ma'am?”

Absolute chaos, Hilda's mind replied. Aloud, she said, “There will be a Christmas tree, and decorations, and plenty of food, and games and gifts. It will be fun, Mike. I am happy you are coming.”

“Me, too! Here we are, ma'am.”

Patrick was sitting at his desk, frowning at a big ledger. He looked up as Hilda came in, and a smile replaced the frown. “Darlin' girl! It's a pleasure to see you, and no mistake. Sit down.”

She looked around. The two other chairs in the small office were covered with wallpaper sample books, fabric swatches, wholesalers' catalogues, and odd sheets of paper. “Where?”

“Oh. Just throw that on the floor. None of it's important.”

She did as he suggested, not even remembering to scold him for his untidiness. Patrick saw that something was up. “What is it, darlin'?”

“They have arrested Sean for murder.” Her voice quivered a little in spite of herself, and Patrick was at her side in an instant.

“Tell me,” he said, his arm around her shoulders.

So Hilda told him, told him everything in an increasingly unsteady voice, what Lefkowicz had told her about the pocketknife, what Joe Brady had said. “So you see,” she finished, “I do not even like to go to Sergeant Lefkowicz now, for I am not sure I can trust him. And I do not like that, Patrick! I do not like losing a friend. And oh, more than one, my best friend even, maybe, for if I cannot clear Sean's name, Norah will—she will not be my friend anymore and even she might die!”

That unleashed real tears, and for a few minutes Patrick knelt at her side and held her and let her cry in his arms. When her sobs had subsided to sniffles he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbed her cheeks, and then handed it to her.

She sat back, blew her nose, and sniffed. “I did not mean to weep,” she murmured.

“I'd hope not,” said Patrick, raising one eyebrow. “Got me best suit coat all wet. It'll shrink, like as not.”

“Patrick! It will not. It is not that wet, and anyway, the goods came from here. It is fine wool.”

He grinned. “Feelin' a little better, are you?”

She was able to muster up a small smile. “Always you distract me, and never do I catch up.”

“Catch on,” said Patrick. “We'll have you speakin' English yet.”

“I do speak English! I—oh. You are doing it again.”

“Right you are. Now, you ready to talk about it, sensible-like?”

“I will be sensible.” Hilda blew her nose once more and put the handkerchief in her pocket. “Patrick, what are we to do? And do not tell me we can do nothing and must leave all to the police, because I will not listen.”

“No, you're right. Somethin' has to be done, and it's somethin' neither of us can do. No, darlin', let me finish. If we're talkin' about the police maybe plantin' evidence, that's a serious thing, serious enough to take to the mayor. I think it's time we had a talk with Uncle Dan.”

He led her to the next office and tapped on the open door. “Uncle Dan, if you're not too busy, we've got ourselves a big problem, and we'd like to talk to you about it.”

Power tends to corrupt…

—Lord Acton, letter to
    Bishop Creighton, 1887

 

 

 

24

S
O YOU SEE,” Patrick concluded, “it's lookin' more and more like there's some funny business goin' on, and Hilda and me, we don't see as we can do much to get to the bottom of that. But what with you bein' on the County Council, and a friend to Mayor Fogarty, and all, we reckoned you might take a look-see.”

Daniel Malloy's face had been growing redder and redder as Patrick told his story. now he slammed his fist down on the desk. Hilda jumped.

“By God!” he shouted. “You'll be forgivin' me for my language, Hilda, darlin'. But I'll get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do! The
Tribune'
s been hintin' for years at dirty doin's in the police force, only on account of the chief's an Irishman. If they get hold of this business, they'll go to town with it, whether it's true or it isn't. Myself, I've been thinkin' the police were a lazy bunch o' slackers, but no worse. I never really believed what was bein' said about Applegate, but maybe it's true! I know for meself that ed Fogarty's none too pleased with the job they're doin', either. I'm goin' over there this minute to talk to him, and you're comin' with me, Patrick. And Hilda, I'd be obliged if you'd come, too. His Honor has a lot o' respect for the brains you carry around in that pretty head o' yours, and so've I.”

Hilda opened her mouth to protest that she was not suitably dressed for calling on the mayor, and then shut it again. Mayor Fogarty had met her often enough in the days when she wore a maid's uniform. He was not a man to judge a person by her clothes.

Dan Malloy was one of the men who was always welcome in the mayor's office. The Honorable Edward Fogarty greeted them all with smiles and handshakes and a courtly bow to Hilda. “My belated congratulations on your marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh. You're a fortunate man, Patrick, my lad. A wife as bright as she is beautiful is a rare jewel. Sit down, sit down, my dear.” He solicitously held a chair for Hilda, who pondered the change in status that her marriage had brought about. She wasn't sure, actually, that she liked it. She was the same person who, a few months ago, would have curtseyed to the mayor; now he was bowing to her. Why should marriage create such a change? Marriage, moreover, to a man who had been a fireman for years before becoming, overnight, a partner to his uncle and thus a wealthy businessman. She shook her head.