Crimson Snow

by Jeanne Dams

  “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

  HILDA’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’ u
p, 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

  HILDA 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.

  The streets in the downtown area, however, were all paved, and though they had begun to turn slushy, they were navigable. In front of the fine Oliver Hotel they had been shoveled clean, and as Hilda neared the hotel she saw Erik and another boy leaning on shovels, talking.

  “Did you do all this?” she said, when she had crossed the beautifully clean street.

  “Well,” said Erik, “Andy did most of it. I helped, though.”

  “You did a very good job, both of you. It is nice to see you, Andy.” For Andy was an old friend. A year or two older than Erik, he had helped him out of a number of scrapes and a few instances of serious trouble. “But you are not in school? Or no, it is not open.”

  “High school’s open. Just Colfax is closed still. But I’m finished with school,” said Andy. “I’m fifteen. I work here at the hotel now, and for good money, too.” He held his head a little higher, and Hilda realized his jaunty round cap was part of a bellboy’s uniform.

  “But that is fine! Your family must be very proud of you.”

  Andy shuffled his feet. “My ma is.”

  Hilda shot Erik a look. He glowered at her. She nodded. She would ask him later about Andy’s father. So many immigrant families were without one parent, the other lost to disease or accident or, in some cases, to drunkenness or even jail. America was not, for many of her new residents, all that they had hoped.

  Erik spoke. “Hilda, we’ve found out a lot! I was waitin’ for you to come. What took you so long?”

  “I, too, have learned things. But it is too cold out here to talk about them. Andy, is there a place where we could go to talk?”

  “Sure thing! I’ve got an office!”

  He led them into the hotel to a cubicle behind the front desk. Few of the hotel’s luxurious appointments could be seen here, but the floor was of marble and the electric light fixture was shaded with beautiful amber glass.

  Andy pointed to the three wooden chairs taking up most of the space in the tiny room. “See, this is where us bellboys wait until we’re needed. The others are busy now, I guess, and if a bell rings I’ll have to go, but this is mostly a slow time. The guests as was leavin’ early has left, and them that’s leavin’ late are havin’ their breakfast, and nobody much comes in before afternoon. So unless there’s somethin’ else for me to do, like Erik and me just cleaned the street, I’m a gentleman of leisure.” He gestured grandly. “Take a seat.”

  They shed their outer garments and sat. Erik got straight to the point. “Tell her about the man.”

  “Well.” Andy sat down, wrapped his legs around the front legs of the chair, and took a deep breath. “Erik says he’s told you about the guy who skipped out.”

  Hilda frowned.

  “Left without paying,” said Erik impatiently. “Go on, Andy. Get to the good part.”

  “Well, see, I was the one took care of him when he came in. A week ago today, that’d be.”

  “What did he look like?” asked Hilda, interrupting.

  Andy shrugged. “Ordinary. Rich. He had on good clothes.”

  “I don’t mean his clothes. His face, eyes, hair?”

  “Didn’t notice much. Oh, except he had a mustache. Sort of orangey-colored.” He waited for Hilda to ask other questions. She tucked away the satisfying detail of the mustache and nodded for him to go on.

  “Well, he come in just about supper time, but he didn’t want no supper. Not then, anyway. Just wanted to go up to his room. So I took him up in the elevator and carried his valise for him. A good piece of leather, and not worn much. You can tell a lot about customers by their bags. This fella looked rich, like I said. Not just the valise, but a nice suit, nice overcoat, expensive shoes. He’d just had a shine, too, at the station prob’ly.”

  “Which station?” Hilda asked, leaning forward eagerly.

  “Dunno. Coulda been any of ’em. I tried to get him talkin’ some. Mostly if you can get ’em to talk to you, you get a bigger tip, and I reckoned this fella had lots of money to give away. Well, he gave me a quarter, all right, but he didn’t want to talk. So I just figgered he was tired, and maybe if I was the one to take him down again when he left, I’d get more. He was gonna stay a week, so I’d have lots of chances to see him around, tip my hat to him, maybe take messages. Little things like that, we’re supposed to do ’em
anyways, ’cause this is a swell hotel.”

  “Classy,” Erik interpreted in response to Hilda’s furrowed brow. “Elegant.”

  “So you coulda knocked me over with a feather when I went up to his room with a message on Wednesday morning, and he was gone. Bag an’ all. I figgered maybe he was in a hurry, like, and didn’t want to wait for help. Didn’t need it, really, the valise wasn’t real heavy. But it was kinda funny, all the same, ’cause he was on the fourth floor, and mostly people want to take the elevator—and who would’ve run it for him?

  “So that’s why I said somethin’ to the manager, and that’s when I found out the fella’d skipped out. Owed the hotel twelve dollars, ’cause he’d had one o’ the best rooms and he ate dinner here both nights. Well, that’s a lot of money, so the manager, he was riled, and he sent a telegram to the police in Fort Wayne, the fella’s hometown. And come to find out there’s no such address in the town, and no such person!”

  Hilda’s eyes grew big. “But Andy, what—?”

  The bell at the front desk rang in clamorous summons. Someone shouted, “Front!” Andy jumped up.

  “Gotta go. Don’t know where the other boys are. Wait here.” He ran out the door.

  Hilda stood up and began to pace. “Erik, this could be very important! Do the police know about this?”

  Erik shrugged. “I guess they know about the guy skippin’ out and givin’ a made-up name.”

  “And what are they doing about it?”

  He just looked at her.

  “Oh. You would not know, of course. But they should be trying to trace this man!”

  “I guess they are. But they don’t know everything.” Erik had a sly grin on his face.

  “Erik Johansson! Do you mean there is something Andy is hiding from the police? That is very, very serious.”

  “Not hiding exactly. He doesn’t like the police. And they never asked him anything.”

  Hilda remembered Andy’s dislike of the police. It was mutual. When he was a little younger Andy had run with a rowdy gang of boys whom the police tended to blame for most small crimes in the city. Some of the group, Hilda knew, did in fact stoop to petty theft now and again, but most of them were decent kids, immigrants trying to get along in a strange and sometimes hostile environment.