Indigo Christmas by Jeanne Dams Read Free Book Online Page A

rubber overshoes. For it would never do to call on bellboys in fine clothes and riding in a carriage. She would dress like Hilda Johansson, the servant, and she would walk on her own two feet.
    The weather was changing. There was a softness in the air, a heaviness that meant rain soon. The snow had changed to slush underfoot, and dirty gray slush at that, and dead brown oak leaves, pulled off the trees by the weight of the snow, lay in sodden piles. one fell off as Hilda passed under a tree and slid down her neck.
    New snow, Hilda had always thought, was beautiful. old snow, especially in a city, was nothing but a nuisance. As she started to cross Colfax Avenue (named after the South Bend resident and one-time vice President of the United States, the late Schuyler Colfax), a carriage passed close by her. The horses’ hooves splashed slush, and worse, up onto her skirt. Hilda pursed her lips in disgust, but she hadn’t been wet through, and the grime would contribute to the impression she wished to convey.
    Hilda knew several of the bellboys well. one named Andy— Hilda had never heard his surname—was a special friend of Erik’s. Andy was often to be found outside the hotel sweeping the sidewalk or shoveling a path or helping a guest into or out of a carriage. Today, though, he was nowhere to be seen.
    Hilda paused. Her old clothes suddenly seemed like not such a good idea, particularly now that they were splashed with muck. She had no wish to go into South Bend’s most elegant hotel smelling like a stable-hand. She approached the front door and stopped to peer through the glass panes.
    The door opened. “Yes, miss?” said a uniformed doorman. He was new since the last time Hilda had called at the hotel, and he obviously didn’t know her. His tone was just this side of rude. He reminded Hilda of every condescending butler she had ever known. She drew herself up and glared at the man.
    â€œI am Mrs. Cavanaugh,” she said, her accent as American as she could make it. “I wish to speak to one of your bellboys— Andy, I believe is his name. I would rather not come inside, since a bad-mannered coachman allowed his horses to ruin my skirt a moment ago.”
    Her manner caused the doorman to thaw a degree or two. “I’m sorry, miss—madam. We could have it cleaned for you if you are a guest of the hotel.”
    â€œIt is no matter. I wore my oldest clothes because of the weather. And I am not a guest of the hotel. I live only a few blocks away.” She nodded her head toward the west, in the direction of the best neighborhood in town, at which the doorman’s eyebrows rose. “I will come in only as far as the bellboys’ office, if you will be good enough to send for Andy.”
    If the doorman shook his head at this eccentric young woman, he did it out of her sight. She looked like a beggar, but talked like a lady. Why a lady would want to talk privately to a bellboy he couldn’t imagine, but if she lived in that neighborhood, she was a person to be treated courteously. He nodded gravely and showed Hilda into the tiny room the bellboys called their office.
    It was lined with hooks where the boys hung their jackets and caps. They were not allowed to wear the jackets over their uniforms, even when they were assisting guests outside, because the jackets were often shabby. The boys made little money, unless guests were uncommonly generous with tips, and even then almost all the earnings went to help their families. From the looks of the garments hanging on the hooks, Hilda thought the families must be in need of a good deal of help. The poor, lately, were even poorer than usual—and with Christmas coming.
    â€œOh,” said Andy in surprise when he skidded into the room after a few minutes, natty in his uniform with its round hat. “It’s you, Miss Hilda. His nibs said as there was a lady to see me, name of Cavanaugh.”
    â€œMy name is