Crimson Snow by Jeanne Dams Page B

to disease, who had drifted from the self-respecting working class into abject poverty because there were too many mouths to feed. Then there were the women who died in childbirth, or the ones who died simply because their bodies had been weakened by pregnancy after pregnancy. Most of these women were immigrants, or of immigrant backgrounds, so Norah and Hilda could both feel as sisters to them.
    It was a bleak picture, but Hilda was a hard-headed Swede who liked to look facts in the face.
    Norah sighed. “Yes, it can happen as you say, but…” She lowered her voice. “There are ways…you don’t have to have babies you don’t want, or can’t afford.”
    â€œBut…” It was Hilda’s turn to blush.
    â€œI can’t—you don’t want to know about these things until you’re married, but believe me. There are ways.”
    â€œI am not a child, Norah! And I do read the newspapers, and sometimes the Ladies’ Home Journal. I know about…things. I know, too, that the Catholic Church does not approve of…of the ways you speak of. And I am not a Catholic, but Patrick is, and you are.”
    â€œWhat the Holy Father doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Norah defiantly.
    Hilda was shocked. “But—you must do as your church says!” Norah stuck out her lower lip. “Hilda, you’ve got to understand somethin’. I’m a good Catholic, and I wouldn’t be anything else, ever. But that doesn’t mean I think I have to do every single tiny thing the Church tells me to. Or not do every tiny thing they forbid, neither. I think the good Lord gave me a mind of my own and meant me to use it. And sometimes the Church makes me so mad I could spit. I never told you—we never told nobody—but a few years ago an uncle of mine hung himself, see.”
    Hilda’s eyes grew wide.
    â€œIt was when times was so bad and he couldn’t find work. And his family was gettin’ poorer and poorer, and he couldn’t figure out a way to feed them. And then he got sick, and he thought he was dyin? anyway, so…” She brushed away a tear. “He didn?t want the family to have to buy medicine and pay doctor’s bills, along with everything else, y’see. He thought he was doin’ the best thing, and we all grieved, but we understood. And then the priest wouldn’t bury him proper, because suicide’s a sin. And that was when I decided the Church wasn’t always right. I was that mad at the priest, I never went to Mass at all for a month. And I decided then and there I’d use me own head to decide what was right and what was wrong. And I don’t think tryin’ not to have babies every year is bad. So there!”
    â€œBut—oh, Norah, I understand, and I am sorry about your uncle, but—if the ways you talk about work so well, why do women sometimes have babies when they shouldn’t? Even when they are not married?”
    â€œHilda!”
    â€œIt happens. You know that it does.”
    â€œYes, well, when people are stupid—” Norah’s face changed. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Hilda, you’re not tryin’ to tell me—”
    â€œI am not!” Hilda was highly indignant. “I am a respectable woman, and Patrick would never ask me to do something I ought not!”
    â€œPatrick’s an Irishman,” said Norah with a small grin. “You might be surprised.”
    â€œI can manage Patrick,” said Hilda shortly. She didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. “But what about his family? And mine?”
    â€œLook, Hilda,” said Norah, serious again. “I’m part of Patrick’s family. Shirttail cousins, true, but still part of the family, and you’re my best friend. Patrick’s Uncle Dan and Aunt Molly think the sun rises and sets on you, you know they do. As for your family, your sisters are a little