Crimson Snow by Jeanne Dams Page A

Cousin Clancy off to New York, and planning to stay there, Mr. Malloy has no son here to carry on the business when he retires. And he is not a young man, and he has always loved Patrick like a son. So he wants him to leave the fire department and come into the business, so he—Patrick, I mean—can take over one day.”
    â€œGlory be to God, you’ll be rich!”
    â€œPatrick will be rich. Well, he will be comfortable, at least. But I—nothing is settled about our marrying. I am still Swedish, and he is still Irish, and our families—”
    â€œNow, you look here!” (It was an unnecessary command. Hilda was studying Norah’s face earnestly.) “How old are you, anyway?”
    Hilda did look down at that. “Twenty-three,” she murmured. It was a fearful age to be unmarried.
    â€œAnd Patrick’s twenty-five. So you’re both old enough to know your own minds, aren’t you?”
    â€œIt is not that we do not know what we want to do. We—”
    â€œI’d say it was,” Norah retorted. “Do you want to please your families? Do you want to live here in the fanciest house in town? Or do you want to grow up and marry the man you love and start a family?”
    â€œOf course I want to marry Patrick!”
    â€œThen it’s time you stopped shilly-shallyin’ and did it! I could see before why you didn’t, with both of you so poor an’ all, and you losin’ your job if you couldn’t live here. But if he’s goin’ to be a partner, you wouldn’t need to work. You could hire servants of your own!”
    â€œNo, I have already decided I would not want to do that. I thought—”
    â€œHilda Johansson, you’re already makin’ plans! You’re goin’ to do it, you know you are! Ooh, I’m so excited!”
    Norah jumped up out of her chair and gave Hilda a hug. But Hilda was not yet ready to stop talking about the matter. “Yes, yes,” she said, extracting herself from Norah’s embrace. “It is exciting to think about. But Norah, I am not sure I would even like marriage. It is true that I—am fond of Patrick. We are happy when we are together, even when we argue—”
    â€œWhich you do every time you say more’n two words to each other,” Norah put in.
    Hilda ignored her. “And I—well, I like it when he kisses me and—but look at you,” she said, hurriedly changing the subject. “You are so tired, and you must hurry home now to cook Sean?s dinner, not to rest. And we never see each other, you and I, and that is not good, not to have time for a friend. I do not think marriage is all fun and kisses.”
    â€œI’m tired because I have to work all day, an’ then go home and work some more. At least until we save a little more money,” said Norah. “And workin’ in other houses isn’t like workin’ here. The work was different here, easier than housemaidin’, and there were lots of people to help, and there was you to talk to. I miss that, too, Hilda. But it won’t be this way forever. Sean’s makin’ good money now, and so am I. Soon we’ll have enough to buy a little house, and then maybe…” Her eyes became dreamy and a becoming blush touched her cheeks.
    â€œYes,” said Hilda gently. She didn’t want to hurt Norah, to destroy her dreams. But she had to talk this out. “Yes. It will be very nice when the babies come. If there are not too many of them, and if they do not come before you can afford to look after them. But Norah, babies have a way of coming when they will. What if you—well, what if one decides to come before you can afford to stop working? And then there are more, and more?”
    She didn?t have to spell it out. She and Norah both knew women, many women, who had grown old before their time bearing child after child, who had known the pain of losing infants