Crimson Snow (13 page)

The house was not a large one, nothing like as fine as Uncle Dan's. Hilda found the parlor with no trouble, and sure enough, a young woman with an unmistakably Irish face was dusting the wooden curlicues on the arms of the old-fashioned sofa.

“Excuse me,” said Hilda.

“Oh! I didn't hear you come in. If you was wantin' to board here, you'll have to speak to Mrs. Gibbs. Not but what she has a vacancy at the table, now that…” The maid's speech trailed off.

“No, I do not need a place to board. My name is Hilda Johansson, and I think you must be Kathleen, and I want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“To me? Mrs. O'Leary won't like that.”

“I have spoken to Mrs. O'Leary, if that is the cook. And I hope her cooking is better than her manners!”

Kathleen giggled. “She's a tartar, that one, but she cooks fit for the angels in heaven, and she can stretch a piece of stewing beef farther than anyone in town. It's the only reason Mrs. Gibbs keeps her on. We wouldn't keep a full table here without Mrs. Gibbs puttin' such tasty fare on it.”

“You have many people board here, then?”

“A full table, like I said.” The maid turned to the windows, giving the lace curtains a shake and running her duster idly along the sills. “Only I suppose you heard about what happened to one of the boarders here, such a nice lady.”

“That is why I am here,” said Hilda.

“Ooh!” said Kathleen, waving her duster in agitated fashion. A cloud of dust rose; Hilda coughed. “Sorry, but I just figgered out who you are. You're the one as saved Daniel Malloy's bacon that time!”

“Yes, and now a friend of his has asked me to find out what I can about Miss Jacobs. And I thought you would know a lot about her, so I came to ask you. If you have another duster, I can help while we talk. Then Mrs. O'Leary will not be able to say I kept you from your duties.”

“Oh, she never leaves her kitchen, except when she has to talk to Mrs. Gibbs about food. But take off your things and sit down.”

“Mrs. Gibbs will not mind?”

“She's not home. She's gone out to do some shoppin'. So make yerself comfortable.”

Hilda was glad to rid herself of her outer garments. She sat down and began.

“What kind of person was Miss Jacobs? I know she was a good teacher. My little brother Erik was in her class at Colfax School and loved her.”

“Near everybody loved her,” Kathleen declared. “She was a happy, cheerful sort of person, and treated people right. There's some as treats servants like dirt under their feet, but not her. It was always, ‘Thank you, Kathleen,' and ‘Good evening, Kathleen,' and ‘You look pretty tonight, Kathleen.' Never ordered me about, always said please, never made extra work.”

“Did she have friends here?”

Kathleen nodded vigorously. “There was a lady teacher boarded here that was her special friend, Miss Lewis. She taught at the high school. The two of 'em went about together a lot. Until Christmas, anyway. Then Miss Lewis got sick and had to go home.”

“I had heard that. What is the matter with Miss Lewis?”

The maid picked up her duster and turned to the mantel. “I couldn't say, I'm sure.”

Evidence that the dead girl believed
she had been marked for assault
was given the police today by…a substitute
school teacher.

—South Bend
Tribune
   
January 27, 1904

 

 

12

H
ILDA'S EARS PERKED UP. “Oh, you must have some idea,” she coaxed. “You hear people talk, do you not? Always they talk in front of us maids as if we are not there.”

“I shouldn't say. I don't know if it's true or not.”

“But if you tell me, I can find out. And then if it is not true, you can make sure no one spreads lies about Miss Lewis.” By now Hilda had a good idea of what was coming.

“Well—I know for a fact that she'd gone off her food, from about Thanksgivin' on. She didn't take her breakfast here, o'course, just supper, but even then sometimes, when she smelled the food, she'd turn green and have to leave the room. And her face looked different, just like my sister Brenda when she was first married. And once I heard her and Miss Jacobs arguin' to beat the band. They stopped talkin' when I came in the room, so I know they was talkin' about somethin' real private. But I heard Miss Jacobs say, ‘You didn't ought to do that. He'll do the right thing by you.' And Miss Lewis, she was cryin'.”

“So you think Miss Lewis was going home to have a baby.”

“No, miss.” Kathleen took a deep breath. “What people are sayin' is that she was goin' home to get rid of a baby.”

Hilda was shocked, but not really surprised. These things happened. Proper ladies might not know about them, but women of Hilda's class did. “Do you think that was true?”

“Oh, miss, I don't know what to think!” Now that the terrible secret was out, the maid was eager to talk. “I'd hate to believe it of her. She's a nice lady, Miss Lewis. Not like Miss Jacobs, not as easy-goin'. Miss Jacobs was sort of gentle and kind. Miss Lewis, she's quicker, more pert and saucy-like, with an eye for the gentlemen. She's as pretty a lady as you'd ever want to see, real dark hair done up in poufs, with little curls loose here and there. And a beautiful complexion, all rosy-cheeked, and snappy blue eyes.

“She could have had any man she wanted, I reckon, but I heard her say to Miss Jacobs that they were all too young and silly, that she wanted an older man, or someone from a big city. She's from Indianapolis, you know, and I guess that's a really big city, three, four times the size of South Bend. Miss Lewis sort of turned up her nose at the gentlemen around here.”

“Was there any particular man she rejected?”

“Oh, I don't know as any of 'em had got round to proposin' marriage. They'd call on her—”

“Here? Why not at Mrs. Schmidt's?”

“Well, they'd come here to take her home after supper, see. And in summer they'd maybe take her for an ice cream, or a walk in the park or whatnot, before seein' her home.”

“In summer? She had lived in South Bend longer than Miss Jacobs, then? Because Miss Jacobs came only last fall, is that not right?”

“Yes, Miss Jacobs started at the school then, but Miss Lewis, she'd been teachin' at the high school for three years. She was a little older than Miss Jacobs, but as soon as Miss Jacobs came to town, the two of 'em was thick as thieves.”

“Hmm. And of all Miss Lewis's callers—all the ones you know about, anyway—do you have any idea which of them…?” Hilda, out of delicacy, let the sentence trail off.

“Honest, I don't. I can't imagine her lettin' any of 'em…I mean, she liked walkin' out with 'em, but she didn't like one more than another, and there was nothin' serious. That
I
saw, anyway.”

Hilda filed the information away in her mind, but at first glance it seemed to provide no clue to Miss Jacobs's murderer. She changed tack. “And what about Miss Jacobs? Did she have any particular gentlemen friends, that you knew about?”

“I don't think she had any at all, particular or not. Her friends were other ladies. Oh, and the men who lived here, but they were friends, not nothin' more. Like I said, she was different from Miss Lewis. Miss Jacobs was more serious-like in her ways. Or no, that's not the right word. She was happy and cheerful, but she didn't go about much. I don't think she had very much money. Her clothes was always neat and proper, but not fancy. She liked music. Sometimes she'd stay in the parlor here after supper for a little while and play the organ for people to sing to. Or she'd sing when Mr. Delaney would play his mandolin.”

“Who is Mr. Delaney?”

“Mr. Clay Delaney. He's a teacher at the high school, and he boards here. A very nice gentleman.”

Kathleen smoothed back her hair and looked away. Hilda smiled to herself. So Kathleen had an eye for one of the boarders, did she? Well, that was normal. And Delaney sounded like an Irish name. Very suitable.

Stray thoughts about the problems looming ahead for her and Patrick sought her attention. She brushed them away.

“Did Mr. Delaney like Miss Jacobs?”

“No more than he liked anyone else. He's poor, too. Never even paid much attention to Miss Lewis.” Kathleen spoke with great satisfaction, and then blushed when she caught Hilda's eye.

This time Hilda smiled outright. “You like Mr. Delaney, do you not?”

Kathleen scowled. “I know I'm thinkin' outside me station in life. But a cat can look at a king.”

“At least he is Irish, and you are Irish. That is better than a Swede marrying an Irishman, but I am going to marry Patrick Cavanaugh.”

Kathleen's mouth dropped open, and then she smacked her forehead. “And him me fourth cousin once removed, and I never thought about it bein' you! Well, fancy that!” She looked at Hilda with frank curiosity.

“You wonder what he sees in me,” said Hilda. “I wonder, too, sometimes. I am not at all like a pretty Irish lass. But—” she shrugged “—we go well together. So you see, anything can happen.”

A dreamy look came into Kathleen's eyes.

Hilda saw it and hurried back into questions. “Kathleen, the newspapers say Miss Jacobs acted afraid of someone, or something, the last few days of her life. Do you know anything about that?”

“Now you mention it, miss—”

“You had better call me Hilda, if we are to be cousins.”

“Hilda, then,” said Kathleen with a broad grin, “I did see somethin' like that, though I didn't think nothin' of it at the time. It was about a week before it happened. She had come from school a bit before supper time. School lets out at four, you know, and the teachers are supposed to stay until five at least to get their work done. Sometimes it was a lot later for Miss Jacobs. She worked hard. It's no wonder the kids loved her.

“Anyway, this day—it would have been about the first week of school after the Christmas holidays, and I guess there wasn't quite as much work to do as later—she came in about quarter past five, and supper isn't till six, so she sat in the parlor with some of the other boarders, talkin' and readin' the evenin' papers, and at maybe a quarter to six someone knocked on the door. I was vexed, because I was just rushin' to get to the kitchen and help with the dishin' up, and I was late, and I knew Mrs. O'Leary'd skelp me. But Mrs. Gibbs was upstairs, so I had to answer the door, and it was a man wantin' to know about boardin' here.

“I let him in, o' course, for it was perishin' cold outside, but I had to tell him it was no good, we were full up. So we stood and talked a minute in the hall, and after I'd showed him out, Miss Jacobs came up to me, and bless me if she wasn't tremblin.' ‘Who was that?' she says, all nervous-like. So I says it was just some man, and she wanted to know what he looked like and how old he was, and all. I told her I hadn't noticed, and then I rushed back to the kitchen, and Mrs. O'Leary was in such a state I forgot all about it till I read that in the paper about her bein' scared.”

“Did you really not notice, or did you just say that because you were in a hurry?”

“Well, I don't know, and that's the truth. I've tried and tried to remember anything about him, but all I can say is, he was a man. Well, a gentleman; at least he talked like one.”

“Do you remember what kind of overcoat he had on?”

“After all this time? He had one, or he'd have died of the cold, but all I know is, it was bundled up around him, and no wonder.”

“All bundled up. Did he wear a scarf?”

“I can't remember, I tell you! I've tried till me head aches!”

“Try again,” Hilda insisted. “Close your eyes. Yes, good. Now you are in the hall, and you are late, and Mrs. O'Leary will be angry at you. There is a knock on the door. You do not want to stop and answer it, but you do. Can you see yourself opening the door?”

“Ye-es,” said Kathleen doubtfully.

“Who is at the door?”

Kathleen seemed to stare intently with her closed eyes. “I can't hardly see nothin'. It's nearly six, and it's dark.”

“Is there a lamp in the hall?”

“Yes, and it's lit, for I just lit it myself.”

“So when the man comes in, you can see him.”

Kathleen opened her eyes. “But that's just what I can't do,” she said. “I remember now, he was so bundled up in hat and coat and scarf, I couldn't hardly see his face at all. Only his nose and eyes, and don't ask me what color they was, for I didn't take the time to notice.”

“So you see, you did remember,” said Hilda. “It is a good trick, that, closing the eyes and trying to be back where you were.”

“But it didn't do no good, for I still can't tell you anything about him.”

“You have told me one thing, and it is very important. You have told me that his face could not be seen. Could it be, do you think, that he did not want anyone to see it?”

…the mysterious tall man who disappeared
the morning after the murder
without settling his bill.

—South Bend
Tribune
   
February 5, 1904

 

 

 

13

H
ILDA COULD THINK of no further questions to put to Kathleen, so she left after securing her firm promise to let her, Hilda, know if anything else came to mind or if anything important happened. Hilda was well satisfied with her work so far. She had learned a few things, though she wasn't sure how helpful they would be. She had also established a secure foothold at Mrs. Gibbs's. Kathleen would be a faithful reporter.

The day had warmed a little. Perhaps the January thaw would begin soon. Hilda welcomed the idea of warmer weather, but she hated the thought of the mess. The streets in the part of town where her family lived were not paved, and when the snow and ice melted, the frozen ruts turned into furrows of mud and horse manure. A woman had to raise her skirts high if she were to cross the street without soiling her clothes.