Indigo Christmas Page 3

  “Oh, Patrick, I am so glad to see you!” She buried her face in his cold, wet shoulder.

  His mood changed immediately to match hers. “Darlin’, I’m getting you all wet. Let me take off my coat and then tell me what’s wrong. Hello, Aunt Molly. I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “Patrick, dear, come into the parlor. Something very serious has happened, and we need to discuss it.”

  Hilda hung Patrick’s coat and hat and muffler on the elaborate hall rack. Hilda was very proud of that hall rack, with its marble-framed mirror, its shiny brass hooks, its bench seat that opened to store boots and rubbers. Now she scarcely glanced at it, but followed Patrick and Molly into the parlor, where Eileen had lit the gas lamps and built a roaring fire in the grate.

  Patrick dropped down on the plush settee with a little grunt of relief and pulled Hilda down next to him. “This is what I was wantin’ all the way home in the carriage,” he said. “Warmth, comfort, and me darlin’ girl beside me. Now, love, tell me.”

  Already Hilda was less upset. Patrick was here. Things would be all right. “It is Norah,” she said, keeping her hand in his. “She is upstairs.”

  “Not trouble with—she’s not—”

  “No.” Hilda blushed. A forthcoming baby was not a subject she could discuss with her husband. Not yet. “No, she is—in good health, only tired and worried. It is Sean she is worried about, Patrick. He has been arrested, and we fear it may be for murder.”

  The Citizens’ Bank, of North Liberty, this county,

  failed to open its doors this morning.

  —South Bend Tribune

  December 1, 1904

  4

  DIVIL TAKE US!”

  “Patrick!” said Hilda and Molly in unison.

  “Sorry, darlin’. Sorry, Aunt Molly. But ye’re never tellin’ me Sean o’neill killed someone, for I’ll not believe it. Sean’s the only Irishman I’ve ever known without a temper. It’s a joke in the family. Aunt Molly, you know yourself he’ll walk away from a brawl, if he can’t get everyone to calm themselves down.” In his agitation Patrick dropped Hilda’s hand, stood, and began to stride around the room.

  “Sit down, Patrick, dear,” said Molly. She said it very quietly, but Patrick, looking abashed, sat. “We believe as you do. But you know very well that what we believe in the matter is of little consequence. It is what the police believe that is important, and we do not yet know what they are thinking.”

  “Well, then, I’m for findin’ out! I still have friends—”

  “Hush, Patrick,” said Molly urgently. “norah is coming down.”

  Norah entered the room on Eileen’s supporting arm. She was still pale, but composed. She greeted Patrick with a half smile as he rose. “And it’s pleased I am to see you, Patrick.”

  He would have spoken, but Molly got in first. “norah, dear, we’re glad you’re feeling better. now sit, child, and we’ll talk of pleasant things until we’ve had our dinner. Then we will decide how best to solve your problem. Patrick, how was business today?”

  Molly had a gift for making a mountain into a molehill, or at least making her family believe that the transformation was possible. Patrick followed her lead. “Slow today. It’s only to be expected with the weather what it is. And times are hard. Seems we hear every day about another bank failin’. But Christmas is comin’ and things’ll pick up. We’ve got lots of new stock in— Hilda, darlin’, there’s some fine new dress goods, one in a color they call indigo, kind of a purpley-blue that’d go lovely with your eyes. And you haven’t looked at my present I brought you.”

  “I am not sure,” she began in a low tone, with a glance at Norah.

  Norah saw the glance. “open it, Hilda,” she said, with an attempt at interest. “I want to see, too.”

  Hilda was still clutching the small paper-wrapped parcel, so she pulled it open. Lace cascaded into her lap, many yards of exquisite Valenciennes edging. “ooh!” she said. “Look, Norah, how beautiful! There is enough to share. Let me give you some for—for anything you might be making just now. You are so much better at sewing than I am. You could make something very pretty with this.”

  Molly decided the time for euphemism had passed. “It will make a beautiful christening robe, Norah. Unless you have one already?”

  The shadow lifted from Norah’s face for a moment. “I’ve made the robe. Mrs. Hibberd gave me a piece of white silk she didn’t need. But I haven’t trimmed it yet.” She fingered the lace Hilda had dropped in her lap. “But this is too fine-looking. I can’t take such a costly gift.”

  “There is so much,” said Hilda persuasively. “Take what you need, and then we can decide together what is to be done with the rest.”

  Dinner was announced, and though Norah ate little, she tried to take part in the conversation about clothes and the weather and whatever other common, everyday subjects Molly could think to introduce. nevertheless, the atmosphere was strained, and everyone was glad when it was over and they retired with coffee to the drawing room.

  “Now, Norah, dear,” said Molly briskly, “it is time to make some plans. Hilda and Patrick and I have been thinking about what is best to do, and we have some ideas.”

  Hilda looked at her blankly. She had, in fact, no ideas at all.

  “The first thing is to get Sean home to you. That should be easy to do. I fear we can do nothing tonight, but you will be safe and comfortable here, and he will be safe in the jail, if not comfortable. Tomorrow Mr. Malloy will talk to his lawyer, and to the mayor if necessary, and will pay whatever bail is set. That will make everyone feel better.”

  “Do you—will it really be that easy?” asked Norah, unbelieving.

  “I think so, dear. Without offending your modesty, I think I can say it is perfectly plain to anyone that you need him with you now. And since we know he had nothing to do with the poor man’s death, there cannot be any evidence that he did. An upright judge will see that, and will grant him bail.”

  “But—but the billfold—”

  “The billfold may be regarded as evidence of theft, but no more.”

  Patrick, who had heard none of the details, looked baffled. Hilda sketched out the story for him (in the most optimistic terms, for Norah’s sake), but he was very sober when she had finished.

  “We need to find out what the police are thinkin’,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Hilda, nodding sharply. “And that is your job.You have friends in the police. I cannot go to talk to the police anymore. The police station is no place for a lady.” She looked down at her dark green wool gown with something like loathing. “I cannot talk to servants. I can do nothing!”

  She stopped at the hurt look on Patrick’s face. She had not meant to sound so vehement. She and Patrick had never talked about her new social status, or lack of it. And now, with outsiders present, was no time to talk of it, either. She tried to say with a beseeching look that she was sorry, she hadn’t meant to sound discontented, but Patrick wouldn’t look at her.

  Norah saved the situation. “You can think,” she said. “You’ve always said you had the best brains of any of us. Fair sick I got of yer braggin’ about it, but it’s maybe true. You’ve figured yer way out of a lot of pickles, and got others out of ’em, too. I reckon this is a big enough pickle to test them fine brains you claim you’ve got.”

  “But I need to ask questions, and talk to people, and—oh!”

  “Ye’ve thought of somethin’,” said Norah.

  “Yes. Aunt Molly, the boys!”

  A smile spread across Molly’s face. “The boys. Yes.”

  “If ye’d care to tell the rest of us what ye’re talkin’ about,” said Patrick plaintively.

  Hilda turned to him, her face alight. “Mrs. Elbel came here this afternoon to ask me to help do something for immigrant boys. I did not like her very much—I am sorry, Aunt Molly, but she was not polite—and I was going to say no, but now I will go to her and say yes. Boys get everywhere and know everything. They are
like servants—if they are quiet, no one heeds them. Erik will help. The boys will find out things for me, and I will use my brain, and I will solve the problem!”

  Patrick looked at Molly. There were so many ifs in Hilda’s scheme…but when she believed she could do something, it really was rather remarkable how often the thing got done.

  Norah said as much. “I’ve never known how ye do it, but somehow ye do, more often than not. And if ye can pull it off this time, I’ll—I’ll name the baby after you!”

  Hilda began to laugh. The tension had to be released somehow. “Hilda! A fine name for an Irish girl, I do not think. And what if it is a boy?”

  “Then we’ll name him Sean. That’s Irish for John—for your last name. Your old last name, I mean. It’ll please his father, too; he’ll think I’m namin’ the boy after him. And it’ll not be Hilda for a girl. It’ll be Fiona.”

  Hilda frowned.

  “Because,” said Norah, looking at Hilda’s hair, “Fiona means fair. And you’re the fairest girl I ever knew—and fair the other way, too.”

  “And that, child, is a compliment worth having,” said Aunt Molly. “Norah has said you are fair of hair, and just of mind and heart.”

  Just for one moment Hilda wanted to hug her friend, hard, but she felt tears in her own eyes and feared they would overflow at any show of sentiment. And then she might make Norah cry, too. So she sniffed, instead. “It is true that I do not like unfairness. But I do not think my family will understand if I tell them a baby named Fiona is named after me. You are fanciful, Norah, like all the Irish. You will be telling me stories about the Little People next.”

  “Ooh, Hilda, ye make me so mad! Can’t even take a compliment seriously! See if I ever pay you another one!”

  And they were off, bickering amicably until bedtime.

  Aunt Molly left after she had seen Norah tucked into the spare-room bed with a glass of hot milk and a plate of soda crackers in case she woke up hungry. Hilda and Patrick went up to bed, but they were too restless to go to sleep.

  “I hope it does not snow tomorrow,” said Hilda as she buttoned her long-sleeved nightgown. It was beautifully trimmed with lace, as befitted a bride, but was made of good warm wool flannel. Hilda the Swede knew all about cold winters.

  “Why? Do you need to go out?” Shivering, Patrick pulled his nightshirt on over his head and dived into bed.

  “Patrick! You know I must go out.” She unpinned her coronet braids and began to brush her long blond hair. “I must find Erik and talk to him, and call on Mrs. Elbel and tell her I will work with the boys, and talk to some of Erik’s friends, and you— you must talk to the police. And to your fireman friends, too, to learn about the fire and how it started.”

  “I have to go to work, darlin’.”

  “Uncle Dan will let you take some time off. Aunt Molly will tell him all about Norah’s trouble, and he will understand.” She climbed into the big brass bed and pulled the comforter up to her nose.

  “That he will. He’s a good man, Uncle Dan. But Hilda—” Patrick propped himself up on one elbow and turned to Hilda. “Do you think Sean really didn’t take that money?”

  “Oh, Patrick, I want to believe that he did not. But—”

  “Yes. That’s the trouble, isn’t it? I’ll never believe Sean killed a man. Never mind that he’s my cousin. I’ve hundreds of cousins, thousands, maybe, and some of ’em would kill if they had to.” He was silent, both of them thinking of his cousin Clancy, son of Uncle Dan and Aunt Molly, who had abetted a major crime and been virtually exiled from the family.

  “But if some of ’em would, so I know most wouldn’t, and Sean’s one of the wouldn’t crowd. Stealin’, though, that’s another thing. With not much money comin’ in and a new mouth to feed soon…and if he did take that money, he’s in big trouble, no matter what.”

  “I know, Patrick. I have thought of all that.” She yawned in spite of herself. “That is why, in the morning, we must…we will…if it does not snow…” She turned and nestled her head into Patrick’s shoulder. “Tomorrow…”

  Patrick stretched his arm around her, kissed the top of her head, and in minutes was asleep himself.

  Outside the snow fell, gently, silently.

  A grievous burthen was thy birth to me.

  —William Shakespeare

  King Richard III, 1593

  5

  THE SCREAM RESOUNDED throughout the house. Hilda sat bolt upright. “Patrick! What is it?”

  Patrick, still half-asleep, threw back the covers and shivered in the cold. “Don’t know. Nothin’ good. You stay here.”

  Hilda was not about to be left alone. She pulled a robe over her gown and followed him into the hall.

  There were more cries, muffled now, more like sobs. They came from the spare room, where Norah slept. “She’s maybe cryin’ in her sleep,” said Patrick.

  Struck by sudden apprehension, Hilda put out her hand. “Patrick, let me go in. You summon Eileen—and Mrs. O’Rourke. I t’ink maybe—”

  The hallway was pitch dark, but Hilda felt her way to Norah’s door, tapped on it, and went in.

  The draperies weren’t quite closed, and the light reflected from the snow was enough that Hilda could see her friend, sitting up in bed and sobbing.

  Hilda went to her. “Norah, you are not to cry! You know Aunt Molly said—”

  “It’s the baby! It’s comin’, and I think I’m bleedin’, and I’m so scared!”

  Hilda’s throat was suddenly dry, but she kept her head. She had been present at the birth of her younger siblings, and knew something about the matter. “We need light,” she said firmly.

  “Don’t leave me!”

  “Of course not!” Hilda went to the window and pulled the draperies open wide. She found the matches and lit the gas fixture on the wall. “Now let us see.”

  She pulled the covers back and inspected the bed. “There is almost no blood,” she said. “You are all right.”

  “But I felt somethin’ gush out of me—”

  “Yes. It is normal. It means the baby is on the way. We must send for the doctor.”

  Norah lay back down and moaned.

  “Is the pain bad?”

  “No. Just like a bad backache, most of the time. But it’s too soon, Hilda! The doctor said another two weeks—”

  “Doctors do not always know everything, Norah—as you should know, with all your brothers and sisters. Babies come when they will.” Hilda wished fervently that this one hadn’t decided to come just now, but apparently it had, and they must all cope.

  Mrs. O’Rourke bustled in, followed by Eileen, wide-eyed.

  “Now, then, Miss Norah, let’s see what we have here. Excuse me, madam.” The cook, plainly in her element, elbowed Hilda aside and took charge. She prodded Norah’s swollen belly and examined her.

  “I will tell Patrick to phone for the doctor,” said Hilda.

  “There’s no need for that just yet, madam,” said Mrs. O’Rourke with authority, “if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. I’ve had twelve of me own, and helped with as many more, and this one’s not comin’ yet awhile.”

  “But it is maybe two weeks early, and an early baby—” Hilda broke off, not wanting to alarm Norah.

  “’Tis a fine big baby, ready for the world,” said Mrs. O’Rourke. “And the way that snow’s comin’ down, the doctor’d not thank you for callin’ him out of his bed just yet. You go and get some sleep, madam. I can tend to things here. I’ll let you know when it’s time. Eileen, you go down and start boilin’ water.”

  Hilda hesitated. “Norah, will you be all right?”

  Norah had been calmed by Mrs. O’Rourke’s confidence. She nodded. “I’m sorry I woke everybody up in the middle of the night, but—”

  “Now, you can’t be expected to know, not when it’s your first,” said the cook comfortingly. “You rest, Miss Norah. You’ll be workin’ hard enough in a few hours.”

  Hilda squeezed Norah’s hand and left her to th
e cook’s ministrations.

  Patrick was hovering in the hall outside. “It’s the baby, isn’t it? Is it bad? Will she be all right? Should we send for her mother?”

  “Cook says she will do well, and the baby will not come for some time. Patrick, I want some coffee.”

  They went to the kitchen, where Eileen was busy putting large pots of water on to boil. “What’s that for?” Patrick asked.

  “I do not know,” Hilda admitted, “but one boils water, always, when a baby is coming. Eileen, leave some space on the range for a coffee pot, please.”

  She busied herself with grinding coffee and cracking an egg, and then she and Patrick were glad to sit down in the warm kitchen. Outside the snow lay thick on the window sills, but it seemed to have stopped falling.

  “I wonder if someone has told Mrs. Murphy about Sean’s arrest.”

  “Sure to’ve done,” said Patrick. “News travels fast in an Irish family.”

  “Will she know that Norah came here?”

  Patrick wasn’t so sure about that. “Maybe not, unless Norah said where she was goin’ when she left her house.”

  “We should have sent word, Patrick! Herre Gud, but I never thought. If Mrs. Murphy knows, she will be angry, maybe, that Norah came to me instead of to her. And if she does not know, she will be worried. I think we had better ask Mr. O’Rourke to go and get her.”

  “And I think you’re right. I’ll see to it as soon as I’ve had some coffee. It smells good, darlin’, for all I grew up with tea.”

  After Patrick had dispatched a none-too-pleased coachman out into the snow, he came back inside and fell asleep on the settee. Hilda was too restless to sleep, and she needed in any case to be awake to greet Mrs. Murphy when she arrived. She prowled around the parlor, picked up a book and put it down, and built up the fire.

  There was no noise from upstairs. Evidently Mrs. O’Rourke was right, and the urgent part of the business was yet to come. Hilda paced, her thoughts a tangled web of worries. Worry for Norah and her baby. Worry about Sean. Worry on her own account, her uncertainties, her inability to fit into her new position…