by Jeanne Dams
The kitchen was a model of cleanliness, except for the table, where a dusting of flour covered the oilcloth and a rolling pin sat amidst a few scraps of dough. Hilda assessed the situation and made a decision. “I would like a piece of pie. It is very kind of you. But may I ask my—my friend to come in? He drove me here, and he will get very cold waiting.”
“He’s welcome as the day!” Mrs. Miller went to the door. “Yoo-hoo! Come on inside and warm yourself!”
When John had come in and surrendered his coat and hat, he exchanged glances with Hilda, who shrugged slightly. Mrs. Miller didn’t notice. “Those are beautiful horses you’ve got. I’m sorry I can’t ask you to put them in the barn, but our barn burned a while back and the insurance company hasn’t paid us yet, so we haven’t rebuilt.”
“They’ll be all right for a little, what with the sunshine, thank you kindly, ma’am.”
“So you’d be Mr. Cavanaugh, then?”
“No,” said John and Hilda at the same moment. Hilda went on. “I must tell you, Mrs. Miller. Mr. Cavanaugh and I do not own a sleigh, so I borrowed this one from a friend. Bolton is my friend’s coachman.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Miller was clearly puzzled. “But what I don’t quite understand is what you wanted to traipse out here for in the first place, with the snow and all. Is Mr. Miller a friend of yours? Oh, would you like some coffee with your pie?”
“No, thank you,” said Hilda, knowing how most American coffee tasted. She took a deep breath. “No, I have never met Mr. Miller. I hope you do not mind, but I came to ask him some questions about the barn fire. You see, the man who has been accused of setting it is a good friend of mine, and I am sure he did not do it. I thought maybe if I asked Mr. Miller a few questions about it, I might learn something to help my friend.”
“Well, you’d be welcome, I’m sure. He wants to get to the bottom of it, too, so the insurance people will be satisfied and give us our money. But he’s not here right now. Went to town this morning to try to find a new man to hire. He and I’ve been able to keep up with the work so far, it being winter and all, but come the spring planting, he’ll have to have help.”
It was a blow. She had counted heavily on talking to Miller. But perhaps this unexpected wife could help. “Does he have any idea who might have started the fire?”
“Dearie, if he knew, he’d horsewhip him! He’s lost a lot that’ll never be repaid, even when the insurance settles up, not to mention that Jim Jenkins was a good worker, if a mite too fond of the bottle, and didn’t deserve to die that way. The only thing my Walter can think is maybe some tramp went in there and turned over the lantern by accident, and then got scared and ran when the straw caught.”
Hilda frowned. “Do you get tramps out here very often?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I, bein’ as I’ve only lived out here a week or so. Walter says no, hardly ever, except in summer when they maybe want a handout. But there’s not much to give anybody in ovember, except apples. And it’s a long way to walk from the nearest train tracks for an apple. Only he couldn’t think of anything else. Another piece of pie?”
“No, thank you. It was very good, but I cannot eat any more. Is there anyone who—who does not like Mr. Miller? Who would have a reason to want to hurt him?”
“Don’t know as there is. He’s a shy kind of a man, y’see. Keeps pretty much to himself out here, away from town, except for buying supplies and that. We met one day in Harper’s feed store. I worked there then, and he could hardly get himself to say two words to me. He kept coming in, though, and we’d talk a little, and after about a year I got brave and asked him if he’d like to go to the ice cream social at the Methodist church with me. I knew he’d never have the nerve to ask me himself. Well, so we went, and had a real nice time, and after that sometimes he’d take me to a spelling bee or a church social, and once to a barn dance. Took him two more years to work himself up to asking me to marry him! I declare, I was gonna ask him if he didn’t get a move on.” She laughed richly.
Hilda had a sudden idea. “And on the day of the fire—that was your wedding day, was it not?”
“It was. And we’d planned a nice little wedding trip, only he had to come right back out here next day, the minute he heard about the fire.”
“Mrs. Miller,” said Hilda, unable to resist an irrelevant question, “why would Mr. Miller drive to his wedding in a farm wagon, when he owns a buggy? And with his dogs? And why did he not tell the police when they asked him what he was doing on the day of the fire?”
“He doesn’t own a buggy anymore, dear. It got burnt up in the fire. And he’d as soon go without his shirt as without these two mutts.” She rubbed their heads affectionately. “But he didn’t drive us to the church in a wagon. Catch me climbin’ up on one o’ those contraptions in my wedding dress! He drove the wagon to the livery stable and hired a nice little surrey for us. I was right sorry when he had to take it back. As for tellin’ the police, he said to me it was nobody’s business except ours. He’s shy about it, is what I think, gettin’ married at his age. Me, I think it’s grand— and I’m as old as him!”
Great Holiday Furniture Sale…
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South Bend Tribune
December 1904
27
SO THERE, THOUGHT Hilda as John drove her back to town, went another lovely theory. Mr. Miller had been doing nothing shameful, nothing to provide a reason for blackmail. He had been courting. And on the day of the fire, he had been, finally, getting married.
The voluble Mrs. Miller had explained further. She had planned to move out to the farm as soon as they had come back from their “little wedding trip” to niles. But the fire had so disrupted life at the farm that they had decided she should stay where she was, in a respectable boarding house in South Bend, until Mr. Miller could put things to rights. He had been distressed by the accusations of arson and murder, and thought Mrs. Miller had better wait a while longer, but she had put her foot down. “I told him he needed somebody to look after him. He wasn’t eating right, I could tell that, getting thin as a rail, and I could only imagine what the house looked like. So I moved myself in, bag and baggage, and to tell the truth, the place wasn’t too bad. not much cheerfulness to the house, you know, what with a man living here all by himself all those years, but I soon put up my own curtains and put down my own rugs. I’m plannin’ to buy new furniture, too, as soon as that insurance pays up. Wish I could do it now, with the Christmas sales, but when I do, the place is going to look right nice!”
Hilda assured her that it looked nice already, and refusing more pie, set off for home.
“Where to now?” asked John when they were close to home. “I promised Mrs. Clem that I would stop and talk with her about the Christmas party for the boys. This is not a good time, though. It is nearly time for her lunch.”
“She doesn’t eat much when she’s home alone, remember? Usually just a little from a tray in her room. She’d welcome the company, Hilda. She misses you. We all do.”
“But I was only a maid! Why would Mrs. Clem miss me?”
“She doesn’t look at servants the way most people do, Hilda.You ought to know that. We’re people to her. She likes you, always did. She thinks you’re interesting, and she’s happy you’ve done so well for yourself. As for the rest of us—well, life is pretty dull around the place without you to stir things up. normal, comfortable, but dull.”
Hilda didn’t know what to say to that, so she was silent the rest of the way back to Tippecanoe Place.
Mrs. Clem was indeed taking a tray in her room and invited Hilda to join her. Hilda, full of pie, declined anything but a cup of coffee. Mrs. Sullivan, the cook, would, Hilda knew, make it properly. Hilda had taught her herself.
“And are you any closer, my dear, to learning how that poor
man died?” asked Mrs. Clem when Hilda was comfortably settled with her coffee.
“No closer. Further away, even. I thought Mr. Miller—the farmer, you know?—that he maybe had a reason to keep the hired man quiet, blackmail, perhaps. It was Norah who gave me the idea. I had learned that Mr. Miller was not where he said he was on the day of the fire, and Norah thought he was maybe carrying on with a married woman. But today I learned what he was really doing.”
“And that was?” Mrs. Clem leaned forward eagerly, her face pink with excitement.
“He was attending a wedding. His own wedding. He has a new wife.” She told the story.
Mrs. Clem laughed and sat back. “And how old a man is he? “I do not know, but Mrs. Miller is fifty, at least. I believe her when she says it takes Mr. Miller some time to make up his mind to do a thing.”
“Indeed. So that takes care of that.”
“Yes, and I am not sure what to do next. If Mr. Miller had been there today, I had planned to ask him about the mortgage on the farm, to see if there was any way he could profit from the fire. But I could not ask his new wife such a thing, and anyway I do not see how he could make money from a fire. Mrs. Miller says he has lost things that cannot be replaced, and that he is very upset about the death of Mr. Jenkins.”
Mrs. Clem considered for a moment, and then shook her head. “I don’t see any help in that direction, either. Well, for Norah’s sake, and the baby’s, I hope you can see your way out of the woods soon. now, what is happening about the Christmas party?”
Hilda reported on the hall Riggs had reserved for the party, and the growing number of attendees. “So we will need many gifts, not just toys but warm clothing. Do you know what Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Cushing have done about the gifts?”
“Not a lot, I expect. They are probably waiting to know how many would be needed, and for what ages.”
“I thought so. Do you think we have enough money to buy so many? There is the food, too, and I think it should be more than punch and cookies. These boys do not have enough to eat at home, Mrs. Clem. We should have sandwiches for them, too, and not just tea sandwiches, but real ones, with meat. They do not get very much meat.”
Mrs. Clem nodded thoughtfully. “I think if you will give me your list of possible gifts, I will talk to Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Cushing. We can probably find donors for most of them. George gets home on Monday, and he can put a little pressure on South Bend Toy for a wagon or two. They’re expensive, you know, five dollars or more.”
“I know. We cannot give them away like the rest of the toys. It would not be fair. I thought we could have a drawing, and some lucky boys would get them.”
“Better to make them a prize for doing something good. I’ll think about that. Reward for accomplishment is better than reliance on luck, especially as a lesson in life. And shall I take over the planning of the food? I had boys of my own, remember. I know what they like to eat.”
“Yes, please! If you think it will not make Mrs. Brick angry,” she added anxiously.
“Anna Brick is a sensible woman. oh, and speaking of sensible. I had a phone call this morning from Mrs. Townsend, as sweet and pleasant as you could wish. She wanted to know if I thought a game of musical chairs would amuse the smaller boys. Mrs. Witwer is working on finding a pianist for the afternoon. So the entertainment seems to be coming along.”
Hilda nodded. “That is good. There are other details, though—decorations, and the Christmas tree, and other games for the bigger boys. I hope the other ladies are working on those things.”
“Perhaps we should have another committee meeting to make final plans. Let’s see. Today is Friday. The party is a week from tomorrow. I have other obligations on Monday. Tuesday afternoon, here?”
“That will be good.”
“Fine. Then I’ll have Williams telephone everybody. And if you can get that list to me today, we’ll have most of the toys lined up by the time of the meeting.”
It must, thought Hilda as John drove her home, be nice to be the Queen of South Bend and know that everyone would do your bidding.
When Hilda reached home all was serene, on the surface, at least. Patrick had been home for his midday dinner and gone back to the store again. Hilda was glad of that. She wanted time to prepare herself for his displeasure about John Bolton.
She had to face Norah now, though. With leaden feet she climbed the stairway and tapped on Norah’s door.
Norah was in bed with her face to the wall. The nurse, in one corner with the baby in her arms, stood and came to the door. “She’s not asleep,” she said in a low tone. “She won’t talk to you. She won’t do anything. I’ve had to force her medicine down, and I thought she’d spit it right back at me. She won’t even nurse Fiona, and she must, or her milk will go dry. If you think you can do anything, Mrs. Cavanaugh, I wish you’d try. I’m not one to let a patient get the best of me, but this one…” She shook her head.
Hilda made up her mind, and said, rather loudly, “Yes, I will try, but you must leave the room. I am going to tell her a secret I promised to tell no one. I know you can be trusted, but I do not wish to break my word any more than I have to.”
When she went into the room, the lump in the bed hadn’t moved, but it seemed to Hilda to have a certain alert attitude. She seated herself by the side of the bed. “norah, I am going to tell you something I should not. If you say anything to anyone— anyone at all, even your mother—it could harm Sean. Do you understand that?”
There was no response from the lump.
“very well. I am angry with you, Norah. You are being stubborn and foolish. It is your mother who has put this into your head, I think, or I would be very angry. You are safe here, and comfortable, and you and your baby are getting good care. There is no reason for you to refuse to eat, or talk, or do anything like a sensible person. I never thought you were stupid. Always I thought you had a good mind, but now I wonder. Maybe the people who say the Irish are stupid are right, after all.”
The lump stirred. There was a sound remarkably like a snort.
“And there is no reason for you not to trust me. We have been friends for many years now. It hurts me, Norah, it hurts me very much that now you think I will not help you and Sean. I do everything I can, and you lie there and sulk. Eileen says you and your mother are ungrateful, and maybe she is right. or maybe you are just afraid of what I will find out, because you know Sean is guilty after all.”
That did it, finally. Norah rolled over and sat up. “Don’t you dare say that, you—you—Swede! Me mother’s right! I’m gettin’ out of here this minute, and takin’ the babe with me, and I’m findin’ a new name for her as soon as I can think of one!” Then she collapsed onto the pillows in a storm of sobs.
“That is better,” said Hilda calmly. “I thought I could make you lose your temper. When you have finished feeling sorry for yourself, I will tell you what I said I would. It is about Sean, and it will make you happier. But you must promise by all your Catholic saints not to tell anyone at all.”
“What? What about Sean? Is it something good? Tell me this minute!”
“Not until you promise.”
Norah uttered a rich curse and threw a pillow across the room, narrowly missing the water pitcher.
“And do not destroy my property, if you please.”
Norah’s eyes, Hilda had always thought, were beautiful, dark blue with long, long lashes. now they were filled with fury. “All right. I promise. now tell me!”
“By the saints.”
Norah’s breasts heaved as she made the sign of the cross over them. “By all the saints. I swear.”
“Good. The police do not think Sean set the fire.”
“Then why in the name of all that’s holy haven’t they let him go?” Norah’s voice rose to a scream.
“Because he is safer in jail. I will tell you the story if you will lie back and be calm and take your tonic.”
“To the divil with my tonic!”
But Hilda stood wi
th the bottle in her hand and refused to speak a word until Norah allowed a spoonful down her throat. Then she lay back on the pillow Hilda returned to her. “There. now are you satisfied?”
Hilda sighed. “You are not calm, but I suppose that is asking too much. I will tell you all I know.” She sat down beside the bed. “The police think the real murderer has tried to make them believe Sean is guilty. If the murderer knows he has not succeeded, he will maybe try to keep Sean quiet. The best way to do that would be to kill him. So he is being kept in jail for his own safety, while they—and I—try to find the real killer. now. Does that make you feel better?”
“Is this the truth you’re tellin’ me?”
“Norah! Have I ever lied to you?”
“Yes. often.”
Hilda made a face. “Well—but only when it was better that you should not know the truth. This time I tell no lie. The mayor went to the police yesterday and made them understand that the evidence they thought they had against Sean was no good.”
“What evidence? Why did they arrest him? nobody ever tells me anything!”
“We did not want to make you unhappy,” said Hilda reluctantly, “but I expect I will have to tell you now. Yesterday morning the police found Sean’s pocketknife in the ashes of the barn.”
“His knife? The one I gave him? But he’s had that with him, all the time. I’ve seen it every day, ever since his birthday when he got it. He couldn’t have left it in that barn. I can tell that to any policeman who bothers to ask me! What do they think they’re doin’, makin’ up a thing like that?” Norah was sitting bolt upright again, and the fire was back in her eyes.
“They did not make it up, Norah. Someone stole it, we think during the blizzard on Tuesday, and planted it in the ashes. Then they told the police it was there. So the police really did find it, and for a time the police believed—or pretended to believe—that it meant Sean must have dropped it while setting the fire. But I thought that did not make sense, and Patrick thought the same, so he and I and Uncle Dan went to the mayor about it, and he went to the police chief, and the rest is as I told you.”
