Murder in Burnt Orange by Jeanne M. Dams Page B

Studebaker’s can’t sell their stuff, or move it, or get supplies. Then the men lose hours, and wages, and that’s not good for anybody. Me, I’m against unions. They only cause trouble.”
    Hilda was on the verge of replying that unions had their good side, when the front door opened and Sean burst in.
    â€œThere’s been another train wreck! Right down by the plant, and there’s men dead and dyin’, and a fire that’s fixin’ to spread! I’m goin’ back to help, but I wanted you to know. Don’t know when I’ll be home.”
    The door banged. Fiona started to wail. Hilda and Norah looked at each other.
    â€œDo any of your neighbors have a telephone? I must go home.”

7
    Marriage is like life in this—that it is a field of battle, and not a bed of roses.
    â€”Robert Louis Stevenson, Virginibus Puerisque, 1881
    There was no need to telephone for O’Rourke. The carriage was rattling down the street toward Norah’s house as Hilda stepped out the door, and—oh, Herre Gud, Patrick was in it.
    He was nearly speechless with rage and fear. Nearly. Unfortunately, not quite.
    â€œAnd what d’you think you’re doin’, sneakin’ out like this? And with the wreckers right here, right here , not two blocks away, and a fire startin’ and maybe goin’ to spread to these houses... What were you thinkin’ ?”
    â€œI did not know there would be a train wreck, Patrick. Please help me into the carriage; I cannot get in by myself.” Hilda was trying hard to keep hold of her temper. Patrick had a certain amount of good sense on his side, and besides, Hilda was genuinely frightened. She could see the smoke rising near the factory, a black cloud that was growing by the moment. “Let us go home—please, Patrick.”
    â€œYou’re goin’ home.” He jumped down and gave her a hand up. “I’m goin’ to the fire to help.”
    Only then did Hilda notice that her husband was in his old fire-fighting gear, his helmet under his arm. She started to voice the thought that the carriage should first deliver him to the fire scene and then come back for her, but the look on his face changed her mind. “Yes, Patrick. Be careful.”
    He turned away without another word and started to run in the direction of the smoke.
    By the time Hilda reached home, tears of frustration were forming in her eyes. If only she could have gone with Patrick, have stayed at the scene of the accident—if accident it was. She might have seen something, someone, heard talk, might have been able to make some sense of what was happening. But no, she had left like a good wife and expectant mother, had gone back to where she and the baby were safe, while Patrick had gone to a place where he was certainly not safe. Train men were not the only ones who had been killed in the fires following wrecks.
    There should, thought Hilda drearily as she climbed the steps to the porch, also be rules for expectant fathers.
    Eileen met her at the door. “Oh, Miss Hilda, ma’am, I was that worried about you! When we heard about the wreck, so close to the factory, we was all afeared the fire might spread to those houses. You’d best come upstairs and have a lie-down. You know you didn’t ought to be runnin’ around like this, with wrecks and fires and all!”
    Hilda allowed herself to be cosseted. She hated to admit it, but she was tired. A baby was such a nuisance!
    And then she thought of little Fiona, soft and warm and trusting in her arms. Maybe, after all, there was something to be said for babies. At least once they got themselves born.
    But what had her exhausting little trip gained her? Nearly nothing. Norah’s advice about how to handle Patrick, while sound, had, as things turned out, been useless, though maybe she could use it on another occasion. As for information, she had already known that most Studebaker