Murder in Burnt Orange by Jeanne M. Dams Read Free Book Online Page B

sense.”
    â€œDebs wasn’t in favor of that strike, from what I hear, or at least not of the boycott that caused most of the trouble. But the union men organized the boycott anyway, and Debs finally went along with it. It was when the army came in to break it up that the killing started.
    â€œLook, Hilda.” John was very serious now. “These wrecks are different. They’re meant to kill people, and some of the ones who’ve died are train men, union men. I can’t believe Debs would be involved in something like that.”
    â€œBut he is a Socialist. Do not Socialists want to change the government, and do they not believe that violence is the way to change it?”
    â€œSome of them,” admitted John. “But Debs is no anarchist. He just wants a better life for the working man. I still don’t think he would agree to wrecking trains.”
    â€œBut the men in his union—they do not always listen to him. You told me that.”
    And John had to agree.
    Eileen brought in some iced tea, and they spoke of other things. But as he was getting up to leave, Hilda said, “John, talk to people you know. See what they think about the wrecks. What you hear will be rumor, and guesswork, but in all of it there might be some truth.”
    â€œI’ll do that, Hilda. And I’ll give you a report. Maybe it would be better if I sent you a note?”
    Regretfully, Hilda agreed. Her social position was already precarious. Too many visits by John Bolton, and her reputation, too, would be in question.
    Even if she was getting as big as a house.
    * * *
    Of course when Patrick came home he knew all about John’s visit, and he was not pleased.
    â€œWhat’s this I hear about that blasted coachman comin’ to call?” were his first words, after he had given Hilda a perfunctory kiss.
    â€œHow did you know?”
    Hilda knew the moment the words were out of her mouth that they were not what she should have said.
    â€œTryin’ to keep it from me, were you? Now you listen here, me girl—”
    â€œPatrick. You listen to me! Already today your mother has been here to scold me. I do not need a scolding from you, too. John may have some information that will be useful to me. We have agreed that he will not come here again, but—”
    â€œHe shouldn’t have come in the first place! I don’t know what’s got into you, Hilda. People think we don’t know our place, anyway, me but a fireman and you a maid. If you can’t behave like a lady—”
    â€œIt is your aunt who asked me to look into the train wrecks! I cannot do that without talking to people.”
    â€œWell, they don’t have to be people like John Bolton!”
    At that Hilda dissolved in tears and went upstairs to bed. Eileen snubbed Patrick all evening, and after he had poked at his dinner and tried to read, he stomped upstairs himself. Hilda, curled up on the far side of the bed, pretended to be asleep when he came into the room.
    Muttering in the Gaelic he thought he’d forgotten, he turned out the light and went to bed.
    * * *
    Hilda did not come down to breakfast the next morning. It was Saturday, when Patrick did not always go to work, but with Uncle Dan out of town, someone needed to be there to keep an eye on things. Patrick read his newspaper, drank his coffee, and ate his toast quickly, waited on by a stony-faced Eileen. He had no appetite for a real breakfast. He was already repenting his hasty words to Hilda. They had never before had a serious quarrel. Oh, arguments, disagreements, yes—about almost everything, in fact—but those had been fun. This was different. He had been unfair, and he knew it, but he couldn’t make up with her if she was still asleep, could he? For sure, if she was of a mind to be friends again, she could have waked and said something.
    He stalked off to the store, thinking a walk would calm him down. It didn’t. The