Crimson Snow Read Online Free Page A

said again. “You will frighten the horses.”
    â€œHuh! They’re never scared of me.” He lowered his voice, all the same. His love for the horses was deep.
    â€œThen sit, little one, and let me tell you everything.” She gestured toward the bucket. Erik put it upside down on the floor again and sat, though with rebellion implicit in every line of his body.
    Hilda stayed on her feet. “That is better. I must tell you, first, that your teacher died long before you knew she was missing. Yesterday evening, the police think. So you see, I could have done nothing even if I had gone with you this morning.”
    Erik played with a piece of straw and looked at the floor.
    â€œI am sorry, little one. It is a terrible thing.”
    â€œI am not little,” said Erik, still looking at the floor. “I’m thirteen, and I’m almost as big as you.”
    â€œYes. I will have to think of a new way to talk to you.” She didn’t smile, but her voice was warm.
    Erik looked at her, his face set hard. “Don’t laugh at me.”
    â€œI did not laugh, little—my brother. It is not a time to laugh.” “I liked my teacher.” He sniffled and ran his sleeve across his face again. “And she liked me. She was teaching me to read and write English, really good, and she didn’t think I was stupid. She was the best teacher in the whole world, and somebody’s killed her, and I want you to find out who!” His voice cracked on the last word, and that embarrassment was, finally, too much. He broke down in sobs.
    Hilda knelt beside him and held him. In a year, perhaps in a few months, as Erik grew to man’s estate, he would no longer allow her embraces. They embarrassed him now, if there was an audience. Here, with only the horses to see, she could still ease his hurt as she had his baby troubles.
    When his storm seemed nearly to have blown over, and his stiffening showed that his self-consciousness was taking hold, Hilda walked over to one of the horses and stroked its velvety nose. The horse whinnied softly. It seemed to Hilda that he questioned her about his young friend’s distress. She murmured reassurances in Swedish. If they reached Erik’s ears as well, they would do no harm.
    When she could hear no more sobs, she turned to Erik and fished in her pocket for a clean handkerchief. Erik never remembered about things like handkerchiefs.
    He blew his nose and stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket. Hilda reached into her petticoat again and pulled out the bag of sourballs. “Here. I bought these for you.”
    Erik took them suspiciously. “Candy won’t make up for—” “That is not why I give it to you. No, it is not enough, but it is something, and it will make you feel better. And if you will give me one, I would like to feel better, too.”
    It is difficult to talk with a lump of hard candy in one’s mouth. Hilda pulled up another bucket and the two of them sat in a silence broken by the snufflings and stampings of the horses in the stable and the traffic sounds of a bustling city outside. Someone had a sleigh out; its harness bells jingled merrily. Farther away, probably on Michigan Street, the horn of one of the new electric buggies sounded. The horses stirred uneasily. They knew what that sound meant, and they didn’t like those uncanny machines that moved by themselves.
    The silence was companionable, but Hilda and Erik grew cold, sitting still. The stable, though heated somewhat by the bodies of the horses, was certainly not warm. Erik was the first to stand. He moved to one of the stalls and began to curry the horse.
    Â â€œWhat are you going to do about it?” he asked, a challenge in his voice.
    That was the question Hilda had feared. She swallowed hard.
    â€œErik, I cannot do anything. The police—”
    â€œHuh!”
    The syllable summed up Erik’s opinion of the South Bend