Crimson Snow

by Jeanne Dams

  “Oh, yes.” The woman consulted a large book that looked like a ledger. “I’m afraid you can’t see him.”

  “Oh—but—can you tell me if he is better?”

  “I’m sorry. We can discuss patients only with their families.”

  Hilda was upset and her temper was rising. She had not walked all this way to be turned out without any information. “I wish to speak to his doctor, then.”

  “He’s busy, and he’ll only tell you the same thing. We can’t—”

  “Why, Hilda! Have you come to ask about Williams?”

  It was Mrs. George, clad in furs and wearing a corsage of violets. She looked very feminine in these stark surroundings, and very rich. The rules would surely not apply to such as her.

  “Oh, madam, they will not tell me about him! Do you know? Is he—?”

  She could not continue. Mrs. George laid a hand on her arm. “I’ve been up to see him. He’s very weak, of course, but his fever has broken and the doctors think he’s on the mend.”

  “Oh, madam—” And then she was in tears, and never afterwards could she have told anyone why she cried.

  OFFICERS GRASPING AT STRAWS AND MYSTERY

  IS NO NEARER SOLVED THAN AT VERY FIRST

  —South Bend Tribune

  February 6, 1904

  18

  IT WASN’T EVEN MIDMORNING YET when Hilda and Mrs. Studebaker parted at the hospital, Mrs. Studebaker climbing into her carriage and Hilda walking down Main Street back toward the center of town. The next thing was to get a report from Erik, if she could find him.

  As it turned out, there was no trouble about that. Her path took her right past the Oliver Hotel and on impulse she went inside. Andy was in the lobby idling against a pillar. He snapped to attention when he saw Hilda, and beckoned to her.

  “Me an’ Erik and the boys’ve found out some stuff,” he whispered, mindful of the hotel traffic bustling about them in the lobby. “I can’t talk about it now, though. I’m on duty.”

  “Where can I find Erik?”

  Andy looked vastly disappointed. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  Hilda liked boys. She smiled. “I will let Erik tell me his part, and then I will come back and you can tell me your part. When are you relieved from duty?”

  “I get a half hour off for lunch most days, around twelve.”

  She made a quick decision. Mrs. Sullivan was probably not expecting her back at any particular time for lunch, and she had money, lots of money, in her pocket. “I will come at twelve and we will eat lunch together, if you would like that. I will treat you, anywhere you like.” It could, she thought, almost count as a legitimate expense. Andy was one of her sources of information. “But do you know where Erik might be?”

  “I think he was going to the fire station. He reckoned he could get in some extra time with the horses, even if there wasn’t any real work for him.”

  Hilda nodded. “I think he loves those horses more than his family.”

  Andy grinned. “He says they try to nip him sometimes, but they never try to boss him.”

  Hilda laughed. “Twelve o’clock. And if you are not ready I will wait.”

  The prospect of a visit to the fire house was pleasing. Of course, Patrick might not be there. But then again, he might. She quickened her steps.

  She was glad, when she got to the stables, to sit down on a bale of hay. She had covered a lot of territory already that morning, and her feet were beginning to protest. The horses whinnied softly as she entered, and Erik’s head popped up over the side of a stall.

  “Ooh! I hoped you’d come. I’ve got a lot to tell you. Me and Andy—”

  “I have already seen Andy,” she said hastily, “and I promised to let him tell me the things he learned. And if you will tell me what you learned, I will know everything.”

  “But that’s not fair.” Erik came out of the stall and pulled up his favorite bucket for a seat. “He found out a lot more than I did, ’cause he had all the bellboys workin’ for him. Anyway we agreed that we would—what did he call it—would pool our information, so everybody’d know everything.”

  Hilda laughed. She found it easy to laugh this morning, or cry. Something in her had been set free, somehow. “Very well, tell me everything.”

  “Well—you know Andy was talkin’ to all the other boys about where Mr. Perkins went while he was in town?”

  “Yes. And did they know?”

  “They knew a lot. See, it’s like you always say about bein’ a maid, how nobody even notices you’re there, and they say all kinds of things?”

  “Yes. Servants are invisible.”

  “Well, it’s the same with bellboys, only worse ’cause they’re kids, and nobody thinks they know nothin’.”

  “Anything,” Hilda corrected. “Hah! Your English is not so wonderful today, is it?”

  Erik grinned, but plowed ahead with his story. “Well, so one of the boys—I think it was Dickie, or maybe Joe—”

  “Never mind which. Go ahead.”

  “It was Joe. I remember now. He got off the same time the man left the hotel, and he followed him.”

  “What day was this?”

  “On the Monday, the first day he was there, the man, I mean. So anyway, Joe didn’t exackly follow him. He was just going the same direction the man was walking, because that’s where he lives, Joe, I mean.”

  Hilda sighed. Erik’s narrative style lacked a certain zest. “Yes, I understand. Go on.”

  “Well, I can’t if you keep interrupting me! So he’s going down the street, Washington Street, and Joe thinks maybe he’s goin’ to visit some of the swells as lives that way. ’Cause he’s dressed fancy and Joe thinks he’s rich, see? So after a few blocks Joe starts followin’ him for real.”

  Hilda frowned. “It would have been dark, if the man only got to the hotel at dinner time.”

  “It was, Joe said, and cold fit to freeze a person solid. And Joe was hungry, too. But he got to thinkin’ it was funny, see, this rich fellow walkin’ all that ways when he could have hired a cab easy. And it was still on the way to Joe’s house, so he just kept up with him. The man was walkin’ fast, he said, but Joe wanted to go fast anyway, bein’ so cold and hungry. But then pretty soon he’d passed the Studebaker place, and then even the Oliver place, and he turned right on LaPorte, goin’ over toward Colfax. And Joe, he lives near Sven, so he shoulda turned left. But he was real curious by this time, ’cause the man was stoppin’ every little while to look behind him, like he thought he was bein’ followed.”

  “He was,” Hilda pointed out logically.

  “Yeah, but Joe doesn’t think he knew that, ’cause Joe, he’s good at sneakin’ along real quiet, and it was dark. Not blinddark, see, ’cause there was a moon and snow, but you know what it’s like in moonlight. You think you can see pretty good, but things look funny and it’s hard to tell what they are. Joe figgered if he just held real still he’d look like a shadow. And it musta worked, too, ’cause the man just kept on goin’. And Hilda, you’ll never guess where he ended up!”

  Erik’s story had caught Hilda’s imagination. She forgot to be impatient, but leaned forward eagerly on her bale of hay. “Where?” she whispered.

  “At Mrs. Schmidt’s roomin’ house! And that’s where—”

  “Where Miss Jacobs lived! What was he doing there?”

  “That’s the most excitin’ part! Joe says the man didn’t do nothin’—”

  “Anything,” Hilda said automatically.

  “—didn’t do anything except stand outside in the bushes and watch the house. Didn’t try to go in, didn’t do noth—anything but hide and watch.”

  Hilda shivered. The stable wasn’t very cold, but the image of that man waiting in the dark, watching—for what? A chance to kill? “How long did he stay there?” she breathed. “All night?”

  Erik shrugged. “Joe don’t—doesn’t know. He was just about dead of cold, and starvin’ too, and he had to go on home.”

  �
�Did he follow the man the next day?”

  “He was off the next day.”

  Hilda made an irritated noise. “That is bad luck. I don’t suppose he told any of the other boys what he’d seen.”

  “Not then. He had to do chores for his ma all day and didn’t see none of his pals.”

  “Erik! Didn’t see any of his friends.”

  Erik shrugged. “He told them when he came back to work on the Wednesday and they was all talkin’—”

  “Were all talking.”

  “—were all talkin’ about how the fella’d done a bunk.”

  Hilda opened her mouth to reprove him about his speech once more, but thought better of it. “And what did they have to say to Joe’s story? The other boys, I mean?”

  “Thought it was funny, like. But none of ’em’d seen him on the Tuesday. ’Course, we ain’t talked to everybody yet, all the boys on all the different shifts.”

  Hilda stood up. She was getting cold. “Well, it is very interesting, what you have told me. I must try to find out why the man did what he did. That may be a way to find out who he is. You have done well, little—my brother. But Erik, you must try not to use so much slang and bad English. You do not want to be a stable boy all your life.”

  “Sure, ’n’ what’s wrong with bein’ a stable boy?” Patrick entered by the side door, from the fire station. “Honest work, an’ no backtalk from them as you’re workin’ with. Bein’ as they can’t talk. How are ye, darlin’ girl?”

  “I am well,” she said primly, but she gave Patrick a dazzling smile.

  “I’m off this afternoon, me girl. I saw you out here and I thought to myself, thought I, why don’t I treat my girl to lunch?”

  “Oh, Patrick! I would like that, but I cannot. I promised to have lunch with Erik’s friend Andy. He is a bellboy at the Oliver, you know, and he may have some information for me.”

  “Can I come?” said Erik instantly.

  “No, you don’t, me lad. You’re needed here. It’s glad we were you came by today, with two of our other lads down sick, but you can’t just up and leave when you please. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m off all day tomorrow, too. The men who’ve been sick have come back to work, and as I’ve been doin’ their shifts, I’ve some extra time comin’ to me. So suppose I take the both of you out tomorrow, and you can eat all you want, Erik.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder. Erik grinned.

  “Yes, Patrick, that will be very nice, but it must be early. I must go to Elkhart tomorrow afternoon for Miss Jacobs’s funeral. It is at three o’clock, and I must take the one-thirty train.”

  “We’ll make it noon sharp, and I’ll see you to the station. I’d go with you, only I didn’t know you were goin’ and I promised me mother I’d paint the kitchen floor for her. Now, if you’re ready, darlin’, I’ll walk you to the hotel.” He held out his arm.

  The moment they were out the door, Hilda said, “Patrick, I must tell you,” at the same moment that Patrick said, “I’ve news, me girl.” They laughed. Hilda said, “You first, Patrick.”

  “I’ve given me month’s notice to the fire department! Uncle Dan’s goin’ to put me to work as soon as I’m free here, and teach me in the meanwhile. There’s an awful lot to learn about the dry goods business, Hilda.”

  “You are smart,” she said, squeezing his arm. “You will learn.”

  “I won’t have a lot of time to see you,” he said a little anxiously. “When I’m not at the station I’ll mostly be at the store.”

  “It is all right, Patrick. We will see each other when we can. I will be busy, too.”

  Patrick stopped. Hilda, holding his arm, had to stop, too. “I wish I could spend more time with you. You know I worry about you gettin’ into this murder business. If I could be with you—”

  “But you cannot.” She tugged him gently into a walk again. “Patrick, I will say what I have never said before. I, too, wish you could be with me. I know there is danger. But I am a sensible person. I will be very careful. Especially because—oh, Patrick, I must tell you! I talked yesterday with Father Faherty.”

  She told him of their conversation. “And it was very silly of me to cry, because now it will all be much easier. It might even be fun,” she added, sounding surprised.

  “Darlin’, of course it’ll be fun! We’ll have a wonderful time at our weddin’s! Have you given your notice yet?”

  “No.” She sobered. “That will not be easy. And Patrick, there is other news. Mr. Williams is better!”

  “And it’s glad I am to hear it! He’s an old buzzard, but he’s mostly been decent to you. When’s he comin’ home?”

  “I do not know. He made the turn for the better only last night. It will not be soon, I think.”

  “No.” Patrick was silent for a few steps, guiding Hilda over the slushy, slippery sidewalk. “I’m thinkin’ of a good date for the weddin’s. Do we want them on the same day, or different?”

  “The same, of course, Patrick. Until my mother thinks we are properly married, she would never let me—I mean, I could not—that is, we could not—” She stopped, blushing.

  Patrick, too, was blushing to the roots of his hair. “Yes, well, so we get married twice on the same day, in the early afternoon, say. Next month, maybe?”

  “Oh, Patrick, how foolish you are! It takes much time to prepare for a wedding. I must have new clothes, and Mama and I must plan the food, and I must make linens for the house. I am not very good at embroidery, but I will try, and Mama will help me. It will take a long time.”

  “How long? Two months?”

  “Six, at least.”

  He stopped once more and took her by the shoulders. “Look here, darlin’ girl. I’ve waited years for you to agree to marry me. If you’re tellin’ me I’ve got to wait six more months for you to make a lot of fancy-work napkins, I’m tellin’ you we’ll buy them. You’re forgettin’ we’ll have enough money to do that.”

  Hilda frowned doubtfully. “But it is a tradition in Sweden. Brides always make their household linens.”

  “We’re not in Sweden, nor yet in Ireland. We’re in America. And you say you’re not so good at it, and I’m bettin’ you don’t like doin’ it, neither.”

  Hilda laughed. They resumed their walk. “I hate it, if you have to know. I hate all sewing.”

  “Well, then. We’ll buy the things, and we’ll be married in February.”

  “That is too soon. There are still clothes, and it is nearly the end of January. March.”

  “We can’t be married in Lent! April?”

  “April.” Hilda considered. “The weather will be better then, and we can have flowers. Daffodils, anyway, maybe tulips if it is late April. Do you know the date of Easter this year?”

  “No, but I’ll find out. And we’ll be married directly after Easter. Never mind about flowers. I keep tellin’ you, we’ll have enough money. We can buy flowers if we have to. So we have the weddin’s, and then we have the party. Where?”

  “That is a trouble,” said Hilda. “Your mother’s house is small. My mother’s house is tiny, and my brother’s is not much better. I do not think both our families could fit into any of them, even if your family would come to my family’s house, or mine to yours. And then there are our friends. I do not know where we can go.”

  “We-ell,” Patrick said, and paused, apparently thinking. Then he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “What do you say, darlin’ girl, we do it all at our own house?”

  “Our own—Patrick, what do you mean?”

  “I mean, Uncle Dan’s givin’ us a house for a weddin’ present! Now what do you think of that?”

  “Oh. Oh!” Hilda stopped. There was a bench nearby. She tugged her arm free of Patrick’s and sat, heedless of the dirty snow here and there on the seat.

  She looked up at Patrick. “It is—I cannot tell you. It is wonderful, but I cannot quite believe it. A house! Where? What is it like? A house of our own.” There was a lump in her throat. She turned away quickl
y and got out her handkerchief, touching it to her eyes.

  “Why are you crying?” asked Patrick, bewildered.

  “Because I am happy,” she said with a sniffle. “And you did not answer my questions.”

  Patrick shook his head and raised his eyes to heaven.

  “Women cry when they are happy,” said Hilda. “You must learn that. You are going to marry one.”

  “Lots I’ll have to learn, I expect,” he said with a grin. “And you, too. Did you think Uncle Dan would just up and buy a house without us havin’ a say in it? He and Aunt Molly want us to come to tea on Sunday to talk about it.”

  Hilda rose and tucked her arm inside Patrick’s again, and they went on their way. Hilda had little to say. She was thinking about the new hat she must somehow obtain between now and Sunday, and about a house, and about her wedding clothes, and about the strange land of America, where a servant to one of the wealthiest families in town was invited to tea in another wealthy household. With a fireman.

  …a young man who was calling on

  her had made himself objectionable.…

  —South Bend Tribune

  January 23, 1904

  19

  SO, ANDY, WHAT HAVE you to tell me?”

  They were seated at a table in the Philadelphia, the elegant candy and ice cream shop. Andy had partaken of a huge lunch and was now blissfully polishing off a chocolate ice cream sundae with nuts on top. Hilda, too full of happiness to be hungry, had toyed with some bread and butter and a cup of tea, and had refused to let Andy talk while he was eating.

  “Well!” He put down his spoon and licked his lips. He raised his arm to wipe his mouth on his sleeve and Hilda quickly handed him a napkin. “What’s that for?”

  She explained. Shamefaced, he used the napkin. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Workin’ at a high-class place like the Oliver, I got to know stuff like that.”

  “Yes. Now go on.”

  “Well, like I was goin’ to say, one of the boys follered Mr. Perkins home on the Monday night, and it was int’resting.” He proceeded to relate the same story Erik had told, with embellishments about Joe’s caution and bravery. Hilda listened politely, pretended she hadn’t heard it before, and showed astonishment in the right places.