Indigo Christmas (30 page)

“Yes, Erik,” said Hilda with scarcely controlled impatience. “And what did you learn?”

“But it's important, that it's the coachman who told him, because it means it must be true, see.”

“No,” said Hilda, “I do not see. You have not told me.”

“You won't give me a chance! So I was talking to this boy who knows the boy who—”

“Yes, we have had all that. Erik if you do not tell me, I will leave. It is cold standing here.”

“You can sit,” said Erik with a cheeky grin. He tugged over a bale of hay.

“Erik…” she said dangerously.

“He said the horse came home lathered that day.”

“Who said? What horse? What day? Erik, make sense!”

 “Well, you said you wanted me to hurry up and tell you.”

 Hilda stood and brushed hay off her skirt, and Erik capitulated.

“Okay, I'll tell it all. The day of the fire, the Townsends' coachman said Mrs. Townsend took out the Izzer, drove it herself, he said.”

Hilda sat down again and frowned. “Why did she do that?”

 “Dunno, but I guess she does it a lot. The coachman doesn't like her. Says she's a stubborn woman and high-hat.”

Hilda made a face. “She can be. I know her a little. Go on.”

 “Anyway, the coachman doesn't like it when she takes out the buggy, because she isn't very patient with horses. And that day it was almost night when she came back with the buggy, and he said that horse had been driven so hard it was lathered with sweat, even though it was a cold day.”

“Hmm. Where she did go with the buggy?”

 “Dunno. Dunno any more.”

“But what does it have to do with the fire?”

“Dunno. You said you wanted to know about anything unusual that happened that day.”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you, Erik.”

“Well, you don't have to sound so happy about it!” he grumbled, picking up the brush again and beginning to work through Donner's mane.

Hilda sighed. “It is one more thing that does not make sense. I am tired of things that do not make sense. I want things to fit!”

Erik shrugged. “Can't do anything about that. And I s'pose you're forgettin' all about the Christmas party, what with all the other things you're tryin' to do.”

“Of course I do not forget! We are working very hard, the other ladies and I, to make a good party. There will be many presents, but if you will not tell me about my present from Sven, I will not tell you about the ones for the party. And there will be much food. Mrs. Clem is looking after the food herself, and she knows how boys eat, so it will be good. Now, I go home, and then to see Sven and see if he can come skating with me. Do you have to work all afternoon?”

“No! Just till Mike comes to work. Where're you going?”

“Leeper Park, I think, if it is not too crowded.”

“I'll come as soon as I can! Will you stop at home and bring my skates, so I don't have to waste all that time?”

“I will,
lillebrorsan
. Don't brush all the hair off that horse.” She left before he could finish his protest about being called “little brother.”

Man may work from sun to sun
But woman's work is never done.

—Anonymous

 

 

 

30

S
UNDAY WAS AS, usual, a day to be endured. It was the Cavanaugh family's turn to serve dinner, so Hilda wore her politest face and a gown that wasn't overly extravagant and tried her best to participate in the table conversation. It wasn't easy. The Cavanaughs either treated her with painful courtesy or ignored her altogether. on the whole, she could cope more easily with being ignored. The food was strange, too. Mrs. Cavanaugh wasn't a bad cook, but she relied a good deal on potatoes.

Hilda was just choking down a bite of rather flavorless boiled potato when Patrick's brother Brian turned to her. “I haven't heard when the police are goin' to let poor Sean O'Neill out of jail. Do you know anything about that, by chance?”

Hilda was sure she didn't imagine the sarcasm in his voice. A lump rose in her throat. She took a sip of water to wash down the last of the potato, which had turned to dust in her mouth. “I do not know what the police are doing,” she said, in perfect truth. “I hope they are working hard. Sean is innocent, and they must prove it soon, for the sake of Norah and the baby.”

“And I suppose you'd be above doin' anything about it yourself, now that you're a fine lady and all?” This time the sarcasm was unmistakable.

“Brian!” roared Patrick in fury.

Hilda ignored him. “I do what I can, Brian,” she said, trying to stay calm. “It is not easy to find out the truth.”

“Not even for the girl with the best brain in town?” taunted Brian.

Hilda reached for Patrick's hand and grasped it hard, lest he explode. “Not even for her,” she said with a forced smile. “But if I knew who she was, I would ask her for help. Myself, I am nearly out of ideas. Mrs. Cavanaugh, is there another biscuit? They are very good.”

That changed the subject—that, and Patrick's kick at his brother under the table. On the way home, Patrick fumed about his family as Hilda had done the week before, about hers.

“Downright rude, he was!” he grumbled. “ I don't know why Ma lets him get by with it.”

Hilda was tired. “every Sunday it is the same. My family is rude to you, or yours is rude to me. They will stop one day, when we have been married a long time and they have resigned themselves. Anyway, Brian did not say anything I have not thought. I should have been able to find the truth by now.”

“Because you're the smartest girl in town,” Patrick said, nodding in agreement. “Leave it for the day, darlin'. It's Sunday.”

For once she did as he suggested. She even napped for a little while in the afternoon, after checking on Norah and Fiona, and spent the evening peacefully in front of the fire finishing her Christmas list. The sky clouded over and the temperature rose throughout the day. A light snow was falling by the time Hilda and Patrick went early to bed—but not early to sleep. There were times when Hilda was very, very glad she had not been brought up as a “lady” who was not supposed to enjoy the intimacies of marriage. Hilda enjoyed them very much indeed.

The next morning, still drugged with pleasure, she rolled over and reached out for Patrick, only to find the other side of the bed cold and empty. Oh, yes, Monday. Patrick's meeting. And much to do.

For despite her attempts to follow Aunt Molly's suggestion and stop thinking about Sean and the fire, no ideas had come to her open, receptive mind. Hilda was, as she had once heard Mrs. Clem say, completely flummoxed. Perhaps the best thing to do was to go and talk again to Andy. He might have learned some new bits of information that would lead her in a better direction. Or in any direction, she thought, yawning.

She got up, crossed the cold floor quickly, and looked out the window. Snow, but not heavy snow. Just big, pretty flakes falling slowly. She could get around in that easily enough. She might not even take the carriage, though it was nice to know she had one at her disposal if she wanted it. She rang for Eileen and jumped back into bed. What a luxury to wait until the room was warm before she had to dress!

“Eileen,” she said thoughtfully when the little maid came into the room with a tray of coffee and a bucketful of coals, “we have not had time for lessons of late. I do not mean to neglect them, but there has been much to think about.”

“ 'Sall right, ma'am. I've been run off me feet, what with that nurse, and the new baby and all. I take that book you gave me up to bed at night, though, and sometimes try to read a little before I go to sleep.”

“Good. After Christmas, when things are maybe quieter, I will start teaching you some arithmetic. I have always been good with numbers.”

Eileen sighed. “Yes, ma'am,” she said despondently, and began to build up the fire.

“Ah, but you must be good at arithmetic if you want to be a cook. There is a great deal of mathematics in cookery. Or so my mama and my sisters tell me.”

“Then you ought to be better at cooking than you are, ma'am, bein' as you're so good with numbers,” said Eileen, and then looked a little scared. “If you don't mind my sayin' so.”

“You are quite right, Eileen. I should be. And one day I will be, when I can take time for lessons. Now I must have a bath. I will not need your help with dressing, and I will come down for breakfast.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll run your bath, shall I?”

“Please. And Eileen, how is Mrs. O'Neill today?”

“Oh, ma'am, she's that cheerful and bright-lookin', nobody'd think her husband was lyin' there in jail. It's wonderful how she's made up her mind to stay lively for the sake of the baby. Who's cheerin' up herself, and gainin' weight. Nurse says she'll have her fat as a little pink pig before she's done.”

Hilda went to her bath with mixed feelings about Norah's improvement. “Staying lively” was all very well, but the next time Mrs. Murphy visited, she was going to know something was up. After breakfast, Hilda decided, she must go and see Norah and talk to her.

Norah apparently thought so, too. When Eileen served Hilda's breakfast, she brought a message. “That nurse has been down to warm Fiona's bottle,” the maid said as she put porridge and hot toast on the table, and checked to make sure there was enough coffee and cream and sugar and butter and jam. “She says Mrs. O'Neill wants to see you when you've finished your breakfast. Says she's all excited about somethin', and Nurse had to be real firm to make her stay in bed.” Eileen snickered. “I'll bet Mrs. O'Neill's sorry she got nurse's back up. I wouldn't want her bein' ‘real firm' with me.”

“The nurse is doing what she needs to do,” said Hilda reprovingly. Privately she agreed with Eileen. It would not be much fun to be on the wrong side of nurse Pickerell's tongue.

Norah was indeed excited. When Hilda went into the room her friend was sitting up in the rocking chair, wrapped up in shawls and very close to the fire, but out of bed. When Hilda came in she stood up, scattering shawls over the floor.

“Now, now, none of that,” said the nurse, who was folding diapers. “The doctor has said you might sit up for a bit, but he said nothing about standing and running around the room.”

Norah rolled her eyes. “And who said I'm runnin' around anywhere?” She added something under her breath. Hilda didn't quite catch it, but she could guess its import.

“You had better sit down,” she said hastily. “You are doing well, and I do not want you to take a turn for the worse.”

“Don't want me on your hands forever, is that it?” But Norah sat, and the smile playing around her eyes took the sting away from the remark. “You took your time about getting up here.”

“I was eating breakfast. What is so important, that I must hurry?”

“I've thought of somethin', that's what's so important. Some-thin' you never thought of, for all your fancy brains.” Norah tilted her head to one side, an impudent look on her face.

It was a look that Hilda knew well, and hadn't seen for weeks. “If you are well enough to insult me, you are getting better. See, I will sit and humbly listen to what you have thought with
your
fancy brain.”

“The day you're humble is the day we'll need to take you out of church feet first,” said Norah. The nurse made a tut-tutting noise in the background, but Norah paid no attention. “Now listen. You've gone all over the place talkin' to people about the fire, and askin' who knows what, and you've been gettin' nowhere, am I right?”

Hilda sighed and nodded. “I have learned things, but I cannot put them together to make a story.”

“Well, if I didn't know you'd throw me out in the snow, I'd call you a dumb Swede. And me a stupid Irishwoman, as well. For why didn't we either of us think to talk to the men who were there?”

“I have talked to the firemen,” began Hilda, frowning, but Norah interrupted her.

“Not the firemen, numskull. The men who were with Sean, buildin' Barry's cousin's barn. The Irishmen!”

“But—but—do they know anything? Did they see anything?”

“We don't know that till we ask, do we? Hilda Johansson, you should have thought to do that a week ago!”

Hilda stood up and began to pace. “Yes! You are right, Norah! oh, it is stupid we have been, stupid, both of us. You I can excuse. You have been ill, and worried, and have a new baby to care for, but I!”

“You with your marv'lous brain,” put in Norah.

“Yes, you may laugh at me. Norah, it is a brilliant idea you have had. I will go
now
to talk to them.” She headed for the door.

“Mebbe,” said Norah, “you'd want me first to tell you who they are and where to find them?”