Indigo Christmas (15 page)

When Hilda arrived at Tippecanoe Place precisely at three o'clock, Mr. Williams did not at first recognize the tall, fair, beautiful lady. “Who shall I say is calling, madam?” he asked with a bow.

“And do you not know me in my fine feathers?” asked Hilda demurely.

“Hilda! That is, Mrs.—Mrs. Cavanaugh. I beg your pardon, madam. I—it is your hair, madam. very nice, if I may say so.”

“Thank you.” She could not bring herself to call him “Williams,” and “Mr. Williams” was now inappropriate. She simply smiled and handed him her cloak. The look on his face when he saw her gown was one she hoped she would remember forever.

She wore a pale green velvet gown, made in the latest style with the skirt falling in graceful folds from the natural hip, with no hint of a bustle, but a very slight train. The bodice had lace inserts in rows forming a v, with a lace collar rising almost to her chin. Her matching hat was worn well forward on her piled-high coiffure, giving her the true Gibson Girl look, and the colors of the ensemble set off her pale golden hair admirably.

Williams tried to pull himself together. “You are here to meet with the other ladies, miss—madam? I will show you—that is—”

“The meeting is in the library, yes?” As Hilda well knew, such gatherings at Tippecanoe Place were always held in the library. “Good.” She gave a sharp little nod, making her new coiffure wobble slightly. She cleared her throat. “I will go through, then. There is no need to show
me
the way.” She glided away, the short train of her gown whispering softly on the polished floor of the great hall.

She didn't let him see her take a deep breath. She'd cleared that hurdle. Williams had actually been more embarrassed than she. now for the next challenge.

She ducked into a hidden corner to pin her hat more securely, then lifted her head and sailed into the library.

Several women were already assembled around a table there. Hilda knew almost all of them from her servant days. She had taken these women's cloaks, served them tea, opened doors for them, done a thousand little things the women were, in her opinion, perfectly capable of doing for themselves. She doubted they would recognize her. People never really looked at servants, never saw past the cap and apron to the human being inside.

Mrs. Clement Studebaker was one of those rare people who looked beneath the surface. She recognized Hilda instantly and came to greet her. “My dear, you look perfectly lovely,” she whispered, taking her gloved hand. Hilda began an automatic curtsey, but Mrs. Clem pulled her hand up in a firm grip, and Hilda was able to turn the movement into a half stoop to rearrange her skirts.

“Ladies,” said Mrs. Clem in the sort of quiet voice that some-how manages to command, “this is Mrs. Cavanaugh. Though relatively new to South Bend society, Mrs. Cavanaugh is one of the moving spirits of the effort we have met here to discuss. She is working closely with Mrs. Elbel and Mrs. Malloy.”

Hilda was flooded with gratitude. She had always been fond of Mrs. Clem; now she came close to loving her. With that careful and tactful speech, the gracious old lady had left Hilda's options open. She could reveal as much or as little of her background as she chose.

Hilda also saw, with a good deal of pleasure, the shock on Mrs. Elbel's face. She hadn't recognized Hilda in her new persona. Hilda smiled sweetly at her.

“Mrs. Malloy you know, of course.” Aunt Molly gave her an encouraging smile and the tiniest wink as Mrs. Clem continued with introductions around the room. “Mrs. Brick, Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Witwer, Mrs. Darby, Mrs. Cushing, Mrs. Townsend, and of course Mrs. Elbel. I realize that's very brief, and you'll forget, but we have a good deal to do today, and I'm sure you will get to know all these ladies well as you work together.”

“I believe I can remember the names,” Hilda said, striving to make her English sound as American as possible.

She didn't add that she had known for years who most of these women were. Mrs. Brick was the wife of a prominent local politician, Mrs. Ford the wife of an eminent lawyer. Mrs. Witwer's husband worked as private secretary at Studebaker's, and Mrs. Cushing was married to a prominent pharmacist, now retired. Mrs. Darby, recently married to an up-and-coming young businessman, had been Arlene Martin, one of the prettiest brides of the social season. Mrs. Townsend was the only one she did not know, but she'd ask later. She exchanged a private smile with Mrs. Clem.

“Good! Then please take that seat, between Mrs. Malloy and Mrs. elbel, and I'll turn the meeting over to her.”

Mrs. Elbel was obviously still trying to reconcile the radiant creature in velvet with the former housemaid and the somewhat combative young matron she had met only once, but she stood and cleared her throat. “Yes. Good afternoon, ladies. I'm so pleased you could all come on such short notice, and delighted that the weather improved so as to make it possible for you to get here. As most of you know, Mrs. Malloy and I have formed the idea of an organization whose purpose is to help keep some of the boys of this community off the streets.” She glanced nervously in Hilda's direction. “We are all aware that there are many—er— many families living in less than ideal circumstances in South Bend. They have few resources to devote to their children, some of whom must work rather than going to school, in order to help support their families.”

She cleared her throat again. “Unfortunately, some of these boys have taken other paths. In place of either jobs or education, they spend their time in idleness and worse. Mischief, vandalism, even thievery can be laid at the feet of gangs of roving boys.”

She glanced again at Hilda, on whose face an ominous frown was growing, and hurried on. “I spoke some time ago to Mrs. Malloy about what we might do to find some more wholesome outlet for these boys. She suggested that Mrs. Cavanaugh might be able to help us with some ideas. Mrs. Cavanaugh—er—has some background with—er—boys, since she has several brothers, and is—that is—has some familiarity with the problems created by—er—poverty.”

“Were you associated with Miss Jane Addams before you came to South Bend, Mrs. Cavanaugh?” asked Mrs. Brick, who had an interest in social reform.

“No, Mrs. Brick.” Hilda decided to throw caution to the winds. If she were to accomplish anything, she must be able to educate these women, well meaning but woefully ignorant of the scope of the problem they were trying to deal with. “no, I know only a little of what Miss Addams has tried to do at Hull House, but I believe her way of working is the best. Instead of giving charity to the immigrants she serves, she works with them to make a better life. She teaches them skills and lives among them. I can understand why this is better because, you see, I am an immigrant myself.”

There was a rustle in the room, small movements of shock or disapproval. Hilda lifted her head higher and continued. “I have only recently been married to Mr. Cavanaugh, who can support me very well. Before that I worked, and worked hard, and so does my family still. My youngest brother is a friend to many of the boys you—we—wish to help, and I know them well. I know that they are not idle by choice. They cannot find work in these days when many grown men cannot find work.”

“Then they should go to school and learn a good trade,” said Mrs. Townsend, the one woman in the room whom Hilda did not know. “There's no excuse for them being on the streets making life miserable for decent folks!”

“They cannot—” began Hilda at the same moment that Molly Malloy said, “I don't know that—”

“I am sorry, Aunt Molly. Please go on.”

“I was about to say that I don't know that I'd go quite as far as Mrs. Townsend. I imagine there are some good excuses for these boys. Can you tell us some of them, my dear?”

Hilda was so eager to make her argument that she didn't notice Molly's careful avoidance of the name “Hilda,” which would recall to some of the women exactly who she was. “Yes, I can,” she went ahead. “The boys cannot go to school, or do not want to go, because they have had little or no education before. They are big boys of twelve, thirteen, fourteen years, and they do not want to start with the babies, learning to read, learning their numbers. The other children would make fun of them, and these boys have been made fun of all their lives. They want to make other people respect them, treat them properly, instead of calling them names and thinking they are stupid.”

Her voice grew passionate. “They want to have a better life. That is why they came to America, or their families came—for a better life. But many of them have not found that better life. They have found bitter poverty and poor food and shabby places to live, and then besides, they are treated with contempt because perhaps they cannot speak English well, because they look different, even just because they are poor!”

The ladies were nodding. Two or three touched handkerchiefs to their eyes. Mrs. Townsend sniffed, but not with tears. “Hmph! A good life is for those who earn it. I can't see sympathizing with young hoodlums who can't find anything better to do than break windows and steal and hang around on street corners insulting decent women!”

Aunt Molly laid a gentle hand on Hilda's arm before she could utter her heated reply. “I believe, Mrs. Townsend,” said Molly calmly, “that it is to give them something better to do that we have met here today. I find Mrs. Cavanaugh's insights to be persuasive. of course I, myself, am also an immigrant, though of the generation before my niece's. I, too, have known poverty and near-starvation, have understood the temptation to steal when there was no food in the house, the temptation to scream at those with fine clothes who walked past me holding their skirts away lest they touch my rags.

“When we were first married, Mr. Malloy and I had nothing, but we were fortunate enough to find a place to live where there were jobs to be had. Ladies, I took in washing for some years, and glad to have the work. Mr. Malloy did whatever odd jobs came his way, and we scrimped and saved until there was enough money to start a small business. If we hadn't been able to find work, if our children had been starving—I don't know what we'd have done, but I cannot swear that our children might not have ended up begging on the streets—or worse.”

Mrs. Clem nodded. “Most of us are in the same position, or a similar one. After all, we are all only a few generations away from our European forebears. I have never known real poverty, but my dear late husband certainly did. His father was deeply in debt when the family left Ohio. Indeed, when Mr. Studebaker and I were first married, we were in much the same position as the Malloys. Working hard, living frugally, raising two children in a very small house. But Mr. Studebaker was always able to work. I think if we remember that many of these boys have no living father, and that their mothers often fall ill under the burden of their circumstances, we can begin to understand why the boys need a guiding hand.”

“With a switch in it! Spare the rod, spoil the child.” It was, of course, Mrs. Townsend again, but before she could expand on her theme, Mrs. Brick spoke.

“I believe, Mrs. Elbel, that
most
of us are in favor of your idea of a boys' club. Have you any concrete proposal to make?”

“I hope that we can formulate some plans in the next month or two. However, as Christmas is coming, I did think that a modest party for the boys would be a good start. We could find a hall, perhaps in a church or club, give the boys punch and cookies and perhaps small gifts, and explain to them what we would like to do for activities later in the winter and in the spring. What would you ladies think about that?”

“Excellent idea!” said Mrs. Ford, and the others nodded. Mrs. Townsend, seeing that her opinions did not prevail, said nothing.

“There's a good deal of work to be done, and this is a busy time,” said Mrs. Cushing. “We would need to organize a committee immediately.”

Mrs. Elbel smiled. “Mrs. Cavanaugh has discussed the party idea with me, and has already promised to do much of the work. now, I have made a list of what needs to be done, with copies for all of you. You've all run similar affairs before. Let me pass these out, and then we can set a date and you can tell me which job each of you can take on.”

There was a good deal of polite wrangling about who would do what. The pleasant, attractive jobs like decorating the hall and planning refreshments were snapped up at once. All the women promised dozens of cookies, an easy promise to make because of course their cooks would do the work. The women who were mothers of sons agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to purchase gifts, aware that finding large quantities of inexpensive presents for boys from five to fifteen (the agreed-upon age span) was not going to be an easy task. one or two of the culturally minded ladies promised to arrange for entertainment.

By the end of the meeting, Hilda found herself with the thankless jobs, and with less than two weeks to get them done. The party had been set for Saturday, December seventeenth. She would be responsible for finding a location, preferably free, for making all the arrangements about tables and chairs, and most important and hardest of all, for getting the word out to the boys and providing a count for the refreshments and gifts ladies.