Crimson Snow (19 page)

“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 quickly 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

S
O, 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.

“And did any of the other boys know anything?”

“Not about that. None of 'em saw him on the Tuesday, and then by Wednesday he'd gone. They was all mad at Joe for not tellin' 'em nothin' about his prowlin' around that night, 'cause if they'd'a known, they'd'a been on the lookout for 'im.”

“It is a pity,” Hilda agreed, “but it cannot be helped. What you have told me may help us to discover something about him.”

“Kurt, he found out Perkins left town by the first train on Wednesday morning. The seven-forty-three, it was, to Indianapolis.”

“Then probably he really does live there, not in Fort Wayne. But that is interesting, Andy, because that is before Nellie disappeared. I do not understand that at all.”

“And there's more,” said Andy with a broad grin. “I told you none of the other boys found out nothin'. I didn't tell you what I found out myself, just this mornin'.”

Hilda's attention now was more than polite.

“See, I was at the front when it came in, or I'd never've known.”

“When
what
came in?”

“The money. He paid for his room, after all this time!”

“He walked in and paid?”

“No! I'd've told you first thing if I'd seen him! No, the way it was, see, the mailman comes around ten, ten-thirty—just after you was there this mornin'. He puts all the mail on the front desk, and takes away all the hotel mail. So this mornin' I was right there, not busy, when the mail comes in, and there's such a lot of it, Mr. Brady—he's the day desk clerk—he says for me to help sort it. So I'm puttin' the mail for the hotel guests in one pile and for the hotel in another, and I sees this envelope for Mr. James that says Perkins on the outside.”

“You mean it was from Mr. Perkins?”

“That's what it said. Now, I thinks to myself, if it's the same fella, there ain't no such person. So what's he doin' sendin' letters? I'm curious, see? So I takes it in to Mr. James myself. Which I had no business doin', but Mr. Brady, he was sortin' the guest mail and he didn't notice.”

“Did Mr. James open it while you were there?”

“He didn't want to. He was real snippy. ‘Put it down there, boy,' he says, and points to a pile of stuff on his desk. Well, I wanted to watch him open it, so I says, ‘It's from that Mr. Perkins and it feels like there's a lot in it. Do you reckon it's another one of them messages with no writin'?' I figgered that'd make him mad, see? And it did. He snatches up the letter from my hand and tears open the envelope, and all this money falls out. And he says, ‘I'll be da—' I mean, miss, he says bad words. And he says the ba—the fella paid after all. And he counted it real careful, and there was fifteen dollars. That's
three dollars
more than he owed, miss! So Mr. James, he's not mad anymore, and he reaches in his pocket and gives me fifty cents, and he says that's for pesterin' him until he opened the letter. Fifty cents, miss!” Andy patted his pocket and grinned. “It's me should be takin' you to lunch, miss!”

Hilda matched his grin. “You are rich, Andy. Do not waste it on food. Save it for something you really want.”

“You bet! Ellsworth's has some ice skates for sixty-seven cents, and with this, I have enough. If Ma doesn't need the money, I'm going to buy me a pair.”

Hilda smiled at him fondly and then returned to business. “That is fine, Andy. Now, can you tell me anything else about the letter? Was there a return address on the envelope?”

“Nope, nothin' except the name, Harold Perkins, like I said. I looked special.”

“What about the postmark?”

“It was all smudged. Couldn't make out nothin'. But there was a note inside, besides the money.”

“A note! What did it say?”

“Well, I didn't read it. Mr. James just sort of looked at it and threw it on the desk, and I couldn't see without him noticin'. But he said somethin' about ‘rotten memory,' so I reckon the fella said he forgot to pay.”

“Hmm. Well, I can ask Mr. James. I think perhaps I will ask Patrick to go with me if he can. Mr. James is not a gentleman.”

“No, miss,” said Andy solemnly. “But he can be nice sometimes.” He reached into his pocket, brought out his shiny silver half dollar, and studied it lovingly.

Hilda was thoughtful as she parted with Andy. She wanted to call on Mrs. Schmidt, with whom Miss Jacobs had roomed, but as she walked through the wintry sunshine she mulled over Andy's information. It was, she supposed, good news in a way. At least the Oliver Hotel had its money back. But why did the man—Perkins or whatever his name really was—act so oddly the night he came to town? And why did he leave in such a hurry? And what, if anything, did he have to do with Nellie's disappearance?

On the whole, Hilda was dissatisfied. Because the man could no longer be called a thief, the police would undoubtedly forget about him, and Hilda thought that a very bad idea. Thief or not, he remained a Mysterious Stranger, a character beloved in the annals of Sherlock Holmes (which Hilda read when she had a chance). His behavior needed explaining. She would talk to Patrick about it.