Crimson Snow (16 page)

“So Nelka came home Tuesday night, and on Wednesday, her day off, she helped around the house again. But Wednesday afternoon she said she had to go out. She seemed excited about something, and she told her mother not to worry if she was late getting back. That is the last Mrs. Chudzik has seen of her.”

“Did you ask her about the man at the hotel, the one who left without paying? Did Nellie—Nelka say anything about him?”

“I did ask her. She said that Nelka had talked about a rich man who gave her a big tip, but she said nothing more about him. It was not yet generally known that he had disappeared, you understand, the last time Nelka talked to her mother.”

“And Mrs. Chudzik has heard nothing from Nelka in all that time?”

“She says not. I had the feeling she might not be telling me the truth there, but she insisted. It is certainly true that she is worried and afraid. She is also in desperate need of money for food and other things.”

“Would not the people at her church help her? It would be your church, too, would it not?”

“I have never seen her there. There are two Polish churches. I go to Saint Hedwige's. I will ask her.” The sergeant spoke again to Mrs. Chudzik. His face grew sad as he listened to her reply.

“She says that she and Nelka attend Saint Stanislaus, and they go always to the earliest Mass, where there are few other people, because they are ashamed of their poor clothes. Yesterday she did not go at all, because she has no shoes that will keep out the snow. Nelka had promised to give her enough money to have them repaired when she was paid on Friday.”

Hilda's detective instincts were swamped by pity. She thought for a moment, and then said, “Ask her if Mr. Chudzik, when he was alive, if he worked at Studebaker's.”

The woman's answer did not have to be translated, or not entirely. She nodded emphatically, said,
“Tak”
several times, and added some comments.

Sergeant Lefkowicz said, “Well, you heard. Her husband did work there, and times were good then, she said. They lived in a better house and had enough money. Nelka was only a baby when he died. He was killed when a stack of lumber fell on him at the factory, and ever since, things have been very bad.”

“Does she not get a pension?”

“I asked her. She said she did for a few months. It was only a small amount, but it helped. But then it stopped.”

“She used to live in a better house?”

“Yes—oh. You think that when she moved, the company could not find her?”

“I am almost sure of it. When a man dies working at Studebaker's, they give his widow a small pension, I think forever. I will go to Colonel George and find out, but do not tell her, in case I am wrong. Do tell her I will bring her some food and some better shoes. And I may need to talk to her some more.”

Sergeant Lefkowicz volunteered to see Hilda home, but she refused. It was still quite light outside and she had many things to do.

“It is not safe, Miss Johansson,” he said earnestly. “We do not know who the killer is. He could be anyone, anywhere.”

“I will not stay out late, I promise. And I will never be far from home.”

“Neither was Miss Jacobs. And Nelka—what has become of her?”

“I think you must go to the police station and tell them what you know. But please, do not tell them I was with you. They will tease, and besides, I do not want the newspapers to tell about me. My family would not like it, and neither would Patrick's.”

The sergeant broke into a smile. “Miss Johansson, I have not yet heard the news formally, but may I offer you my congratulations and best wishes? I hope you will both be very happy.”

Hilda, blushing, thanked him and went on her way with lighter feet. He, at least, did not see anything impossible about a Swedish Lutheran marrying an Irish Catholic. Maybe things would work out somehow.

How?
asked a pessimistic voice inside her.

She ignored it.

Her first problem was to get some immediate help for Mrs. Chudzik. The poor woman needed someone to look after her while her daughter was away.
And maybe forever,
said that same nasty voice. Hilda refused to concede that possibility. They would find Nelka. They had to. Meanwhile she would have to go to the church, St. Stanislaus. But not directly. The priest might not speak English.

Hilda wasn't happy having anything to do with Catholic churches, but she did happen to know the priest at St. Patrick's. He was a nice man who had helped Hilda in a previous investigation. Hilda was comfortable talking to him. She would go to St. Patrick's rectory and see what could be done.

The priest, Father Faherty, was in. His housekeeper, who did not approve of Hilda, was a trifle starchy in her attitude, but Hilda took no notice. She had learned that a pleasant smile often infuriated people who did not like her, so she smiled very pleasantly indeed and sat down, without being asked, in the best chair in the visitors' parlor.

Father Faherty came in almost at once, beaming his broad Irish smile. “It's a pleasure to see you again, my dear. Mrs. Riley, bring us some tea, if you will be so good.” He eased himself into a chair close to the fire. “Ahh! That does feel good. I've been in the church, and it's cold enough to freeze the Old Nick himself, I do believe.”

“I think he is not so easily dealt with,” Hilda said primly.

“To be sure, to be sure! But it froze
me
, right enough, and it's glad I'll be of that good hot tea. Now, my dear, forgive an old man for his curiosity, but is it wedding plans you'd be wantin' to discuss with me?”

Hilda's heart skipped a beat. It had never entered her head that this kindly old man, at Patrick's own church, would almost certainly be the one who would marry them. At his altar, in his church, amongst all the idolatrous statues, in an ancient language she didn't know…

For a moment fear paralyzed her and she couldn't speak.

“I'm sorry,” said the priest gently. “I've disturbed you. Forgive me, child. I forgot for a moment that you might be a bit apprehensive about your marriage. I should not have said anything.”

“No—it is all right,” she said faintly. “I am only—we have not yet begun to plan—oh, I do not know what we are to do!”

And she astonished herself by bursting into tears.

When she had cried herself out, the priest smiled gently. “Would you like to wash your face, my dear?”

Hilda was completely demoralized. She allowed herself to be led away by the grim housekeeper to a small bathroom, where she washed her face in cold water and tried to arrange her hair back into some order. When she returned, she felt a little better.

“I did not mean to do that, sir. I do not know why I—”

“I think I know why,” Father Faherty said quietly. “Ah, thank you, Mrs. Riley. I'll pour out. You needn't stay.”

The housekeeper left an almost visible aura of disapproval behind her. The priest ignored it. He poured the tea, added three lumps of sugar and a dollop of milk to Hilda's, and handed it to her with a cookie on the saucer.

“Now then. Drink that while it's hot. You need the warmth and the sugar. You're tired, I think, and upset. Have you become embroiled in this latest tragedy in our community?”

“Yes. I was asked to talk to people. Mr. Barrett thinks that the police suspect him and are not doing enough to find the real killer. He came to me for help. I did not want to do it, but he is a nice man, and he is old. And now I have discovered that there is another girl missing, and—oh! I came to you to see if you could find help for her mother!”

“We'll talk about that in a little while. For now, I want to know about your plans to marry Patrick Cavanaugh. I think you're frightened at the idea of marrying a Catholic, more frightened than you need be. May we talk about it?”

Hilda suddenly felt she could trust this man, even though he represented an alien faith. It all came out: her reluctance to step inside a Catholic church, her fears about what her family would say and do, her dread of being required to abandon her own faith. All the ignorant superstitions she had ever heard came to the fore.

Father Faherty sat and listened and nodded from time to time. When Hilda had poured out all her doubts and worries, he sat back in his chair. “Now, my dear, I must tell you that the Church is not in favor of a marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant.”

“I know that!”

“Yes, but I am required to tell you. Nor is your church in favor of such a marriage. No—” He held up his hand as she began an angry protest. “Let me finish. It is my duty to point out to you the obstacles to such a marriage, but from what you have told me today, I know that you are aware of the problems. I have known you for some time, and so I also believe that you and Patrick will go ahead with this marriage, no matter what I or anyone else says.”

He looked at her steadily. She held his gaze. “Yes, sir. We have decided.”

“And in that case, the Church would far rather you be married according to its laws than in some entirely civil ceremony, or by your own pastor.”

Again Hilda opened her mouth to speak; again he silenced her. “Now, then. I know that you are a Christian. I assume that you have been baptized?”

“Of course!”

“Then I can participate in your wedding. The rule is that you must be married by Patrick's parish priest—by me, in other words—in front of at least two witnesses.” He stopped.

Hilda blinked. “Are those the only rules?” She had expected a much longer list.

The priest nodded. “Almost the only rules. You cannot be married in a Nuptial Mass, of course, since that involves partaking of communion. And you must promise to allow Patrick to continue to go to Mass, and to bring up your children in the Catholic faith. Patrick must promise to do his best to convert you to the Church.”

Hilda frowned. The priest sighed. “Yes, well, he is stubborn, too. We only ask that he do his best.”

“And I do not have to go to your church for the wedding? And I do not have to become a Catholic?”

“No. In fact, if you would care to be married in Patrick's home, that would be a solution to one problem, would it not?”

“It is too small for his family, but I do not know if they would want to come, anyway. Many of them do not like me. I do not even know if my own family will come. They do not all like Patrick.”

“Those, of course, are some of the problems you will face, my dear.”

“I had thought,” she said hesitantly, “if, perhaps, after you married us, I might ask my own—”

“My dear child,” said Father Faherty in a hurry, “if you are about to ask me if your own pastor may also conduct a marriage service for you and Patrick, please don't. For I would be obliged to tell you that such a thing is not permitted. But of course, if I know nothing about it, there is nothing I can do, is there?”

Hilda smiled, dabbed once more at her cheeks with her soggy handkerchief, and sat up straighter. “I understand, sir. I will tell you nothing that you do not want to know. It is not so bad as I feared. I think we can do those things, and my family will not be so angry, nor Patrick's family, neither. I thank you, sir.”

He smiled. “Good. Of course I'll want to talk with you and Patrick together, but I think we've dealt with most of the issues. Now, you mentioned earlier that you needed help for someone?”

“Oh! I am ashamed, sir. I have talked about myself, and I came to ask you for help for Mrs. Chudzik.”

She detailed the circumstances in the Chudzik family. Father Faherty shook his head sadly. “There are all too many cases of such poverty in South Bend. I cannot believe that her priest, Father Marciniak, knows of this. The parish is not wealthy, but I know that the parishioners will do what they can to help this poor woman.”

“I did not go to him, sir, because I do not know if he speaks English, and I do not speak Polish.”

“He speaks some English, but don't disturb yourself, child. I'll see that he hears about this. What can have happened to the daughter? You don't think she has become a victim of the same man who attacked Miss Jacobs!” He made the sign of the cross.

Hilda shook her head wearily. “I do not know what to think. I fear very much for her, but if she were dead, her body would have been found, I think. It has been a week, nearly.”

“There is—I hesitate to say such a dreadful thing, but there is the river.”

“Yes.” There was nothing more to say. Hilda rose. “Please tell Father Marciniak that I will take some food to Mrs. Chudzik, and some better shoes. Mrs. Studebaker will agree to that, I think. And I will try to get her pension back, but I cannot promise that. And then I will try to learn more about who is doing these terrible things.”

“Take time to rest a little now and then, my dear. You're working very hard for other people, but you must also look after yourself. There is Mr. Cavanaugh to think about, remember, and he'll be in a fine taking if you work and worry yourself to a frazzle.”

“I will not become a frazzle,” Hilda assured him. “And thank you, sir. You have been very good to me.”

She curtseyed to him, and the housekeeper, sour-faced, let her out. Hilda returned a cold look. She would show respect to the priest, for he was old and a parson, and he had treated her well. But she would defer to no housekeeper!

The early winter twilight had fallen when Hilda left the rectory. The back drive of Tippecanoe Place was only two blocks away, but she had met danger in that short distance once before. She walked as fast as she dared on the brick sidewalk, frozen and treacherous again now that the sun had set, and tried to look ahead and behind at the same time in the thickening gloom. Tall spruces and firs in front yards cast even darker shadows, tossed furiously in the icy wind that had sprung up.

Her heart stopped when a hand gripped her arm.

…the finger of unjust suspicion pointed toward honest and upright men…