Indigo Christmas

by Jeanne Dams

  “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

  WHEN 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.”

  Hilda felt herself blush. She wasn’t yet used to frank talk about the marriage bed. “May I go in and see her?”

  “Of course, my dear. It’ll do her good. Take her mind off the pain and all her other worries, poor child.”

  Norah was lying in bed, flushed, her hair disordered, but reasonably comfortable for the moment. Mrs. O’Rourke rather grudgingly gave up the chair next to the bed. Hilda sat down and asked, “It is not too bad, ja? Aunt Molly says it may be a long time yet.”

  “That’s what they say,” Norah said with a grimace. “Some of the pains are bad, but not comin’ real often yet. Hilda, is Sean all right? He was in an awful state earlier.”

&nb
sp; “I have sent him on an errand to give him something to do. He is worried about you, but Aunt Molly says there is no need. She says you are doing well.”

  “It’s not her that’s hurtin’, is it?” Norah’s face changed. She grabbed Hilda’s hand and squeezed hard, her lips compressed and eyes tight shut. “That one wasn’t so awful,” she said, panting, when it was over.

  Mrs. O’Rourke bustled over and wiped Norah’s forehead. “Now, dearie, I’ve said over and over, you’re not to hold your breath when the pains come. Breathe hard, scream if you want to, but holdin’ your breath don’t do no good.”

  “I’ll try to remember. Hilda, what are you doing to get Sean out of trouble?” “You should not think about that now.”

  “Hilda!” Norah’s voice made it clear she would not put up with being soothed.

  “Oh, very well. I talked to one of the boys. He has heard nothing useful about the fire, but he will ask the other boys, and they will all listen and report back.”

  “Boys! What good will they do?”

  “Norah, you know they are good for hearing things. They are like servants. no one heeds them. People talk in front of them and forget they are there. They will hear useful things and report back to me.”

  “And how do they know what’s useful and what isn’t?” Norah tossed restlessly on the bed.

  “Maybe they will not, but I will. I will take what they tell me and put it together and make a picture. I can do that, Norah. You know I can. I have done it before.”

  “Things were different before.”

  “Yes. It is maybe harder now. But easier, too, because I have more time, and no butler telling me what to do.”

  Norah pursed her lips. “Regular queen bee you are, now.” She might have pursued that theme had she not been seized with another contraction, a bad one this time.

  When it was over, Hilda stood up, flexing her hand behind her back to make sure Norah hadn’t broken a bone with her grip. “I will go now, Norah, to talk to other people. Do not worry. It is not good for the baby. Sean will be all right.”

  That was, she thought as she left the room, the second rash promise she had made in one morning.

  She found Molly in the kitchen preparing a meal, assisted by Eileen. “Yer aunt’s teachin’ me to cook, ma’am,” said the maid with a shy smile. “She says a good cook’s worth her weight in gold, an’ I could get a job anywhere.”

  “What? You want to leave me so soon?” said Hilda mildly, and then, as Eileen looked distressed, “I was making a joke. I am perhaps not very good at jokes in English. I want you to do whatever will be best for you, Eileen. I hope you will learn as much as you can, but of books also.” For in the evenings Hilda usually sat down with Eileen and helped her improve her reading and writing. “I hope maybe you will not have to be a servant all your life.”

  “It’s not so bad, miss, not workin’ for you it isn’t. And Mrs. Malloy’s that nice a lady, she might be me own mother.”

  “She is a wonderful woman,” said Hilda warmly. “And she must be a good cook, for something smells delicious.”

  “It’s only potato soup,” said Molly. “Quick to make, and simple, but warming on a winter day. And there’s ham, and cabbage, and some beans Mrs. O’Rourke put up. I haven’t time to make a cake, but there’s preserved peaches and cream, and I found some ginger cookies in the jar. It’ll all be ready when Patrick comes home for his lunch.”

  “And I’m to cook the cabbage,” said Eileen. “Mrs. Malloy told me just how to cut it up and cook it, and all. And I helped with the soup.”

  “Oh, Aunt Molly, I am so glad you are here! This I could never, never do!”

  “Then it’s time you learned,” said Molly firmly. “Every woman should know how to put together a simple meal, no matter how many servants she has. When this crisis is over, dear, I shall teach you to cook, along with Eileen.”

  Hilda laughed for the first time that day. “Mistress and maid learning together! America is a peculiar country, but very interesting. Aunt Molly, I came to find you because I wonder, do you know if Mrs. Elbel is on the telephone? Because I need to talk to her. I have decided to do as she has asked and help with the Boys’ Club.”

  Molly looked slightly startled. “I’m very glad, dear, but surely it will wait for a little until things are more settled?”

  “No, it cannot wait because I—I have done something foolish. I have promised the boys a Christmas party. And there will be many of them, maybe, and I will need much help—and so you see—”

  Molly saw. “Child, you do have a talent for getting yourself in a pickle.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. “This isn’t a usual time for making telephone calls.”

  “I know, but I will be busy the rest of the day. I must go and see Erik when he is at lunch, and talk to him, and then this afternoon there are other people to see. Oh, and I may be late for dinner—lunch, I mean.”

  “Don’t worry about that, but with everything else on your list for today, would you like me to call Mrs. Elbel for you?”

  “No.” Hilda set her chin. “I must learn to do these things myself.”

  “You’re right about that, child. very well. The number at the Elbels’ is six-three-four. They’re on the Bell system. Mind you don’t let that butler of theirs intimidate you.”

  Hilda quailed inwardly at the word butler, but her Swedish stubbornness prevailed. “I will not. I do not have to obey butlers ever again!”

  She went to the front hall, lifted the earpiece of the instrument on the wall, and firmly turned the crank. “Bell six-three-four, please,” she told the operator, and waited while crackles and pops sounded in her ear. Finally a male voice with an English accent said, “Bell six-three-four, the Elbel residence.”

  “This is Mrs. Cavanaugh calling. I wish to speak to Mrs. Elbel.”

  There was a moment of silence, or rather telephone noise. Then the butler, having registered his disapproval of a call at that hour, spoke the usual formula in somewhat acid tones: “I shall ascertain whether she is at home, madam.”

  Madam. A butler, however reluctantly, had called her madam. And he undoubtedly knew who Mrs. Cavanaugh used to be. Hilda was conscious of a little thrill of pleasure.

  There was a long wait, during which the operator inquired whether the call was completed. Hilda had time to get nervous again before Mrs. Elbel came on the line. “Mrs. Cavanaugh!” She, too, registered surprise. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

  Hilda took a deep breath. “No, Mrs. Elbel. I am sorry to telephone so early, but I will be out the rest of the day, and I did not want to wait to tell you that I think your idea for the Boys’ Club is a very good one, and I would like to help you form it.”

  “Oh! Oh, good. I don’t know that there’s all that much of a hurry about it, but I’m delighted that you—”

  “And I wondered,” Hilda interrupted, “if you had thought of anything we might do for the boys for Christmas. It will be here so soon, and so many of these boys are from very poor families. Do you think it would be possible to do something to make the season happier for them?”

  “I do hope you’re not thinking of giving them money! They would have no idea of how to spend it.”

  Hilda gritted her teeth, thinking of Andy’s wish to buy presents for his family. Not know how to spend it, indeed! Did she think they were all selfish louts? “No, that was not my idea. I do not really know—you have more experience in arranging these things—yoost something festive we might do…” The Swedish accent this time was not an accident. She wanted to make Mrs. Elbel feel superior. She emphasized her almost-lost sing-song cadences as she said, “In our village in Sweden there used to be a gathering, at the church, for all the children. But I do not know what would be the custom here.” Had the hint been broad enough? Too broad?

  “Hmm. Let me see. Perhaps—yes, a party would be just the thing! nothing elaborate, of course, we don’t have time to organize such a thing, but a simple gathering, with some small gifts and a bit o
f food—it will take a great deal of work, of course…”

  “Oh, Mrs. Elbel, that would be yoost the t’ing. What a beautiful idea! I will be pleased to do much of the work. But we will need money. How will we buy presents and food?”

  “That’s no problem. I know many women who will be happy to contribute. But this is a busy time of year. I’m very glad you agreed to do some of the work. Now, Mrs. Cavanaugh, I can send word to several women to have a planning meeting. It had better be early next week; we haven’t any too much time. Can you meet with us on Monday at three o’clock?”

  “I will be happy to do that. At your house?” Hilda knew she should, at this point, offer her own house, but with a mother and probably, by that time, a baby upstairs and an accused man downstairs—no, not a good idea.

  “Yes—no, that won’t do. I’m having a dinner party that night and the florists will be here. I’m sure Mrs. Studebaker won’t mind having us, for I know she wants to be a part of this. We’ll meet at Tippecanoe Place, unless I let you know otherwise.”

  It was the last thing Hilda wanted. Going back to the house where she had been a servant and where her sister Elsa worked even now, back to the butler who had tyrannized her, the family she had served in cap and apron. She was very fond of the widowed Mrs. Clement Studebaker, now usually called Mrs. Clem, but her daughter-in-law, Mrs. George Studebaker, was another story. Hilda swallowed and said the only possible thing. “That will be very nice. Thank you, Mrs. Elbel. Your Christmas party is a very good idea.”

  “Our Christmas party, my dear,” said Mrs. Elbel graciously. “We will all work together, I’m sure. I will see you on Monday. Good-bye.”