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

workers were perfectly content not to be unionized. Her own brother Sven told her that, frequently. A deeply conservative man, and the valued foreman of the paint shop, he had little use for unions, regarding them as disruptive and liable to cause far more harm than good.
    Hilda thought about the fire. If it spread to the factory it could destroy wagons and carriages in production. It might even damage or destroy some of the motorcars Studebaker was now selling in increasing numbers. If it got as far as the paint shop—she didn’t want to think about that. Surely Sven would not be there. He would be out fighting the fire, for if it reached the paint shop, everything would go up like an explosion. Workers—no, they would get out safely. They had to!
    But it could spread to the company houses, the workers’ houses. They were nice enough houses, though small, but they were built of wood. They would burn like tinder.
    Not like this house. Hilda deliberately made herself relax and think about this good, safe house. This house was built of stone. It would last a long time, a home for her child, and for that child’s children, and theirs....
    When Patrick came home in the middle of the afternoon, tired, reeking of smoke, and ravenous, he found Hilda sound asleep. The sight of her lying in bed in her shift, her hair curling damply on her forehead, her cheeks flushed, made Patrick forget everything else—his weariness, his hunger, his anger. Heedless of the soot clinging to his garments, he sat on the bed and stroked her forehead. “Darlin’ girl,” he murmured.
    â€œMmm.” Hilda opened her eyes. “Patrick! You are safe!”
    â€œThat I am, darlin’. The fire’s not out, quite, but it’s under control.”
    Hilda yawned widely and woke more fully. “And you have brought most of it home with you! Look at what you have done to the sheets!”
    â€œI’ll have a bath in a minute, but first...” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and then touched the sooty mark he had left there. “There. That’s to remember me by. Is there anythin’ to eat?”
    Eileen, who had watched all this from the door, torn between approval of his attitude and dismay over the grime he was leaving everywhere, answered. “On the table, Mr. Patrick, as soon as you’ve cleaned up.”
    Hilda, too, was famished, so it was some little time before the two stopped eating long enough for conversation.
    â€œPatrick,” said Hilda, “I am sorry I went out this morning without telling you. It was only to see Norah and Fiona, and I did not think you would mind.” That was not the whole truth, and she had a feeling Patrick knew it, but he, too, was eager to mend their quarrel.
    â€œI let me temper get the better of me, darlin’, but when I heard about the train wreck and the fire, and found out you’d gone to that part of town—well, I got that pothered, and...” He spread his hands in silent apology.
    â€œYes, the wreck. Patrick, did you see anything, hear anything about how such a thing might have happened? Was it an accident?”
    â€œDon’t know. Reckon nobody knows, not yet, at least. One o’ the front cars jumped the track, just as it was gettin’ close to the factory. Carryin’ coal, it was, and should ’a been goin’ a lot slower than it was, the way I hear it. Anyway, it tipped over and spilled the coal all over the track, and then o’ course the rest of the cars behind it tipped, too, and the weight of it all brought the engine down, and that’s what started the fire. The engineer and the fireman were killed, and the brakeman’s bad hurt. He was thrown off when the cars jumped the track.”
    Hilda knew the brakeman walked along the tops of the cars to set the brakes. “But—is there not a law about automatic brakes? I am sure I read something in the newspaper that said the driver,