Indigo Christmas (6 page)

Hilda thought about that. “You might have to cook a meal. I think Mrs. O'Rourke will not leave Norah.”

“I've cooked many a meal in my time, child. I've not forgotten how, nor have I got so grand I can't turn a hand to help when it's needed.”

“Then I can—or wait. I have forgotten what day it is. So much has happened.”

“Friday. December second.”

“Then Erik will be in school. But he will be free at dinnertime—what you call lunch-time—and I can talk to him then. He will know which boys might be talking about this. And meanwhile I can go and talk to the boys at the Oliver Hotel. They hear people talk. Thank you, Aunt Molly!”

Hilda hugged Molly and went to put on some old clothes, a cloak her mother had made for her years ago, and her rubber overshoes. For it would never do to call on bellboys in fine clothes and riding in a carriage. She would dress like Hilda Johansson, the servant, and she would walk on her own two feet.

The weather was changing. There was a softness in the air, a heaviness that meant rain soon. The snow had changed to slush underfoot, and dirty gray slush at that, and dead brown oak leaves, pulled off the trees by the weight of the snow, lay in sodden piles. one fell off as Hilda passed under a tree and slid down her neck.

New snow, Hilda had always thought, was beautiful. old snow, especially in a city, was nothing but a nuisance. As she started to cross Colfax Avenue (named after the South Bend resident and one-time vice President of the United States, the late Schuyler Colfax), a carriage passed close by her. The horses' hooves splashed slush, and worse, up onto her skirt. Hilda pursed her lips in disgust, but she hadn't been wet through, and the grime would contribute to the impression she wished to convey.

Hilda knew several of the bellboys well. one named Andy— Hilda had never heard his surname—was a special friend of Erik's. Andy was often to be found outside the hotel sweeping the sidewalk or shoveling a path or helping a guest into or out of a carriage. Today, though, he was nowhere to be seen.

Hilda paused. Her old clothes suddenly seemed like not such a good idea, particularly now that they were splashed with muck. She had no wish to go into South Bend's most elegant hotel smelling like a stable-hand. She approached the front door and stopped to peer through the glass panes.

The door opened. “Yes, miss?” said a uniformed doorman. He was new since the last time Hilda had called at the hotel, and he obviously didn't know her. His tone was just this side of rude. He reminded Hilda of every condescending butler she had ever known. She drew herself up and glared at the man.

“I am Mrs. Cavanaugh,” she said, her accent as American as she could make it. “I wish to speak to one of your bellboys— Andy, I believe is his name. I would rather not come inside, since a bad-mannered coachman allowed his horses to ruin my skirt a moment ago.”

Her manner caused the doorman to thaw a degree or two. “I'm sorry, miss—madam. We could have it cleaned for you if you are a guest of the hotel.”

“It is no matter. I wore my oldest clothes because of the weather. And I am not a guest of the hotel. I live only a few blocks away.” She nodded her head toward the west, in the direction of the best neighborhood in town, at which the doorman's eyebrows rose. “I will come in only as far as the bellboys' office, if you will be good enough to send for Andy.”

If the doorman shook his head at this eccentric young woman, he did it out of her sight. She looked like a beggar, but talked like a lady. Why a lady would want to talk privately to a bellboy he couldn't imagine, but if she lived in that neighborhood, she was a person to be treated courteously. He nodded gravely and showed Hilda into the tiny room the bellboys called their office.

It was lined with hooks where the boys hung their jackets and caps. They were not allowed to wear the jackets over their uniforms, even when they were assisting guests outside, because the jackets were often shabby. The boys made little money, unless guests were uncommonly generous with tips, and even then almost all the earnings went to help their families. From the looks of the garments hanging on the hooks, Hilda thought the families must be in need of a good deal of help. The poor, lately, were even poorer than usual—and with Christmas coming.

“Oh,” said Andy in surprise when he skidded into the room after a few minutes, natty in his uniform with its round hat. “It's you, Miss Hilda. His nibs said as there was a lady to see me, name of Cavanaugh.”

“My name is Cavanaugh now, Andy,” Hilda reminded him with a smile. “Surely Erik told you I am married.”

“Oh. Yes, miss—madam. Sorry, madam. I forgot.”

“‘Miss' will be best, Andy. I am—I am in
disguise
.” She whispered the last word conspiratorially.

Andy opened his eyes wide. “Are you on somebody's trail, miss?”

“In a way. It is difficult, because I do not know very much yet. Do you remember the barn fire a few weeks ago, Andy? In early November, it was, south of town.”

The boy screwed up his face in concentration. “I don't think so, miss. only—was that the one where somebody burned to death?”

“It was. A hired man named Jenkins.”

“Burned alive! That'd be a terrible way to die,” said Andy soberly. “Almost anything'd be better'n that.”

“He maybe did not know what was happening to him,” said Hilda gently. “Patrick says when people die in a fire, they breathe in the smoke first and it makes them unconscious. So do not worry too much. But have you heard anyone talking about the fire or the man who was killed?”

“Just the newsboys. They say—I mean the paper says—it was maybe a murder. Miss Hilda! Is that what you're tryin' to find out about?”

“Yes, but do not talk so loud!”

“Sorry, miss. But nobody can't hardly hear what we say in here. So you want me to ask around, like I did before?”

Andy and the other bellboys had gathered information for Hilda once before, very successfully.

Hilda smiled. “You can read, can you not?”

Andy drew himself up. “ 'Course I can read! I'm not stupid!” “I know that you are smart,” said Hilda a shade reprovingly. “But you went to school for only a little time, before your father—had his troubles.” Hilda had heard from Erik about Andy's father. out of work, the man had a year or two ago taken to drink and gambling, nearly destroying the family before a job pulled him out of his despondency. Andy's wages, meager as they were, had helped keep the family afloat. Hilda had a good deal of respect for Andy. “Is he doing better now?”

“Yes, miss.” Andy didn't sound too sure. “Papa's got a pretty good job, but there's a lot of men losin' their jobs these days, so we never know… but anyway, see, I
like
to read. So I taught myself, sort of. People leave magazines around, see, and newspapers, and when things are slow I read 'em. And there's a dictionary in the lounge, so if I don't know a word I look it up. I can read 'most anything!”

“Have you ever read stories about a man, a detective, named Sherlock Holmes?”

“Oh,
yes
, miss! They're really good. kind of hard to read, some of them, and maybe not as good as Sexton Blake, but real exciting! I reckon I could figger things out just as good as them if I really tried.”

“I think you could, too, Andy. That is why I want you and your friends to be my Baker Street Irregulars.”

Andy's face lit up. “Just like in the stories! Yes,
ma'am
! Are you going to pay us a shilling each for an errand? What's a shilling, anyway?”

“Money in England. I do not know how much. Yes, I will give you money. Five cents every time you tell me something useful, and ten cents if you must run an errand.”

“Ooh! I can maybe buy some stuff for my little brothers and my sisters, for Christmas! I'm your man, all right. Whatcha want us to do?”

“Listen and look. Report back everything you hear about the fire. I want to know when it started, how it started, who was there at the time—everything you can learn. And if someone seems to know something, see if you can ask them a few questions. But you must not—”

“I know, miss. not make 'em suspicious, not give anything away—”

“And especially do not put yourself in danger, yourself or the other boys.”

“I know, miss,” Andy repeated. “And I've got an idea. We all know some of the boys workin' in the big houses. Is it okay if we ask them to be on the lookout, too?”

“If you think they can be trusted not to—” Hilda tried to remember a phrase she had learned recently “—to release the cat from the sack.”

Andy giggled. “Let the cat out o' the bag, I reckon you mean, miss. Don't worry. We'll be careful.”

“Good.”

A bell rang shrilly in the small room. Andy jumped up. “I gotta go, miss.”

“Just one other thing, Andy.” She glanced again at the thin, patched jackets hanging on the wall and made up her mind. “How would you and the other boys like to go to a party? A Christmas party, with presents?”

“For real, miss?” The boy looked skeptical.

“For real. I promise.”

“I reckon we'd like that fine. I ain't never been to a party.”

“I
have
never been, Andy.” The bell shrilled again. “Go, then, and I will be back soon to tell you all about it, and to collect your information.”

Andy saluted and ran off, and Hilda was left to wonder what she had gotten herself into. A Christmas party! For she did not know how many boys! And she had promised Andy, who had known far too many broken promises in his short life.

Oh! She could make it a project for the Boys' Club!

Of course the Boys' Club did not yet exist, but Hilda refused to worry about that. She would go to—no, she would telephone to Mrs. Elbel and agree to work with her, and then mention a Christmas party. It was the kind of thing wealthy ladies liked to do, give things to the poor. especially at Christmas time, the wealthy began to think about charity. It was a pity, in Hilda's opinion, that they did not think more about the poor at other times of the year. of course, it wasn't nice to think about starving children, about women dying of overwork, about men driven to drink, to crime, even to suicide by sheer despair. no. Much more pleasant to plan a party and play Lady Bountiful and then go back to one's own comfortable home. Well, she, Hilda, would see to it that the club was not allowed to die once Christmas was over.

Boys like Andy and hundreds of others shouldn't have to work. They should go to school. Many of them, like Andy, were smart and hard-working. They deserved a chance to make something of themselves, and she, Hilda Johansson Cavanaugh, intended to help see that they got it. There was little she could do by herself, even now that she had some money at her disposal, but with the help of the wealthy and influential ladies of the town, who knew what they might accomplish?

She had read through the years in those forbidden newspapers about boys' clubs in other cities, and of a place in Chicago called Hull House, where poor women and their children were helped, but not with handouts. The women were taught to make the most of what they had, were taught useful trades, how to look after their children properly, how to help themselves. And the women who ran Hull House were mostly wealthy, but they lived there, in a terrible neighborhood, helping to make it better for everyone.

And, Hilda thought she remembered, they had founded a boys' club. If she could find out how they had done it, she might be able to use some of the ideas.

Full of plans, she hurried home to change her filthy skirt and go about her next duties.

A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother.

—Mark Twain
    letter to Annie Webster, 1876

 

 

 

7

W
HEN SHE WALKED in the door, Hilda encountered fist a heart-rending scream and then a pale, trembling, desperate young man who rushed to her and clutched at her arm.

“Hilda!” Sean cried. “Do somethin'! She's dyin', Norah's dyin', and they won't let me go to her.”

“Do not be silly!” Hilda snapped, unnerved herself. “She is not dying. She is having a baby. Here.” She reached in her pocket for her purse. “Here is a dollar. Go out and buy Norah the most flowers you can get for that. It will be a gift for her when the baby is born. Go!”

She pushed him out the door, closed it on his protests, and sighed with relief. That disposed of Sean, for a time at least. The nearest florist was only a few blocks away, but they didn't have a big selection. Sean would probably have to go all the way to the best florist in town, South Bend Floral, which was at least two miles south. If the snow had still been falling, Hilda would have taken pity on him and sent him in the carriage. On this warmish day, though, the walk would do him good and keep him out of the house for hours.

There had been no more screams from upstairs. Hilda ran up the stairs and tapped at the bedroom door. “Aunt Molly? Mrs. O'Rourke? It is me, Hilda. How is Norah?”

The door opened and Molly slipped out. “Norah's doing well enough. She's a bit run down, I think, but she'll be fine. Don't worry too much about the screams. She's suffering more from fear than pain at this stage. A person doesn't know what to expect with the fist one. After that—well, I wouldn't say you get used to it, but at least you
know
. It looks like the baby may take its own sweet time. not in any rush to greet the world, this one. We'll send for the doctor when things start hurrying up a bit. Sean's been at us to send for him right away. Driving us all distracted, he is, scared Norah's going to die. Silly boy.”

Hilda nodded. “I have sent him away. To buy flowers for Norah, I said, but really only to make him leave.”

“Good for you. Men are nothing but a nuisance at a time like this. Can't stand knowing the result of what they've done,” Molly added tartly. “Take their own pleasure and never think of the pain later for their poor wives.”