An Uncertain Dream (12 page)
This didn’t seem the time to admit she’d not maintained a close watch on the economy of the United States. There would be sufficient time to discuss unpleasant topics in the days to come. For now, she wanted to hear news of the other Priddle House residents, Fiona’s piano lessons, and Mrs. Priddle’s vegetable garden.
Fred’s excitement mounted each time he entered Chicago’s Uhlich Hall and took his place among the throng of convention delegates. By all accounts, there were more than four hundred men, and a few women, who had come to Chicago to represent their fellow workers at the convention, and he didn’t doubt that estimation. The floor had teemed with people and excitement since the first day of the gathering. Hoping to maintain sympathy for the striking workers, Jennie Curtis, a Pullman seamstress who worked in the Embroidery Department, had been called forward to speak to the gathered delegates.
In a choked voice she had explained that her father had worked for the car works for thirteen years, and at the time of his death, he had owed sixty dollars on the flat he rented from the company. The crowd became enraged when she went on to explain that the Pullman Company had deducted the back rent from her five-dollar-a-week paycheck. Bit by bit, they had extracted the back rent from her paltry wages. At the conclusion of her speech, the audience erupted in anger. What kind of a company would charge the dead!
But today was even more exciting, for this was the day that the rest of the Pullman delegation would take their places at the podium. Even Fred would speak to the crowd. His heart thumped like a forge hammer each time he thought of standing before the attendees. Wending his way among the throng, he pushed his way toward the front of the meeting hall. Mr. Debs had sent word they should gather near the steps leading to the stage ten minutes early. Fred didn’t want to be late.
‘‘Fred! Good to see you.’’ Matthew Clayborn reached forward and clasped Fred’s hand. ‘‘I hear you’re going to be one of the presenters this morning.’’ He pointed to the pencil and notepad in his left hand. ‘‘I plan to take down every word. You may see yourself quoted in the paper tomorrow.’’
Fred shook his head and laughed. ‘‘Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?’’ He ducked his head closer. ‘‘To tell you the truth, I’m shaking in my shoes right now. Any advice?’’
‘‘I’m afraid not, my friend. I’ve never spoken to this many people at once. One good thing: you know they’re on your side. It’s not as though you’ll be getting up to speak to a group of capitalists.’’
While the two of them talked, the other speakers joined Fred, and soon they were standing on the stage in front of the crowd. He looked into the sea of faces and uttered a silent prayer that he would say exactly the right words when his time to speak arrived.
Several men gave impassioned speeches regarding the town and the company for which they’d labored many years, and Thomas Heathcoate told of receiving wages that didn’t cover his rental fees while company stockholders continued to receive their tidy dividends like clockwork. ‘‘In the dead of winter when ice formed on any standing water inside our homes, these men sat in their warm homes and offices with their hands open to take even more money from us. While our children go without food, they add additional funds to their already bulging bank accounts. I ask each one of you—are we to continue laboring under such conditions? I say no!’’
The room echoed with shouts of agreement. After Mr. Heathcoate’s impassioned speech, Fred was motioned to the podium. How he wished he could have spoken earlier. He gulped a mouthful of dry air and walked to the dais.
When the room had nearly quieted, he said, ‘‘I am Fred DeVault, another Pullman employee.’’ His confidence began to increase as he told of his work with the union and his belief that together they could make a difference for all who would follow in their footsteps. There was a thunder of applause when he finished his speech, yet he couldn’t remember all of what he’d said. Like the sea of faces staring at him, his speech had become a blur.
He stepped back with those who had already spoken. There would be one final speaker from the Pullman contingency before Eugene Debs took the podium. The delegates had grown increasingly impassioned, and when Joseph Jensen stood before them and spoke of his son who had frozen to death during the past winter, the room turned eerily silent. Joseph used the moment to advantage and lifted his fist high in the air. ‘‘Don’t let my son’s death be in vain. We call upon all members of the American Railway Union to stand with us at this difficult time. Do not desert us, for we all stand prepared to give our present and future allegiance to the brotherhood.’’
Then Mr. Jensen and the Pullman employees who had previously spoken descended the stairs and sat down while Mr. Debs took to the platform. The moment he stepped forward, a hush fell over the room.
He seemed to study the men and women who stood before him. Most worked for western and midwestern railroads, and the majority had been forced to take recent wage cuts. The discontent of the workers had created a sense of sympathy for the plight of the striking Pullman workers.
‘‘Greetings, union members! I’m proud to stand before you this morning. I have listened to those who have made heartfelt pleas for your loyalty to their cause. You all know that I stand against the mistreatment of workers that has occurred in Pullman.’’ He waited until the cheers subsided.
Fred anxiously awaited what would follow. He was certain Mr. Debs would call for an immediate boycott, asking railway workers to refuse to handle Pullman cars, but when the founder of the American Railway Union continued, he called for calm. To those who shouted for a boycott, he countered, ‘‘We must proceed with caution. If all else fails, we will consider a boycott, but for now I believe we should make another attempt to negotiate with the Pullman officials.’’
Murmurs filled the hall, but Mr. Debs silenced the crowd. ‘‘We want no one in this great nation ever to say that we failed to explore every possible means of settling our grievances in a conciliatory manner.’’
The newspaper reporters were gathered at the front of the auditorium, feverishly jotting down each word that was said. Mr. Debs had insisted that all meetings be open to the press and the public, for he wanted the union to escape any hint of conspiracy. He believed citizens would maintain sympathy as long as they were well informed. By permitting entry to reporters, Mr. Debs intended to see that the latest union news was reported.
Under his direction, a committee of six delegates and six Pullman strikers, including Thomas Heathcoate as well as Fred, was sent to meet with Mr. Howard and other members of management.
‘‘You’ll give me the scoop once you’ve met with Mr. Howard and the others, won’t you?’’ Matthew asked immediately following the announcement.
‘‘Yes, of course. You can come along with us and wait outside if you like, but I don’t think you’ll be getting a scoop.’’ Fred looked above Matthew’s head at the group of reporters gathering behind him. ‘‘With all these newspapers represented, I doubt any one reporter will gain more information than any other. We committee members will be besieged by reporters the minute we walk out of that room.’’
Matthew laughed. ‘‘Well,
you
must talk to me first.’’
‘‘I’ll try,’’ Fred agreed.
Disappointment abounded when the men returned to meet with Mr. Debs late the following day. Twice they had attempted to meet with Mr. Howard and other members of management; twice they’d been turned away. The second time they were told they should not return. The company would never arbitrate.
‘‘They say there is nothing to negotiate. They’ve not moved one inch from their original position,’’ Mr. Heathcoate told Mr. Debs. ‘‘
Now
what are we to do?’’
Mr. Debs rubbed his palm across his balding pate and dropped back in his chair. Distress shone in his eyes. ‘‘I feared this would happen, but I had hoped for some sign of capitulation. If the locals agree, we have no choice but to move forward with the boycott.’’ A ripple of excitement permeated the room.
Matthew was standing outside the room when Fred reappeared and gave him the news. After jotting down his notes, Matthew looked at Fred. ‘‘When? Do they know when the boycott will take place?’’
‘‘Not exactly. Mr. Debs thought we should have a final decision by the twentieth if the local unions are in agreement with the boycott. Then a notice of intention will be served upon Mr. Howard, since he’s the spokesman for the company.’’
‘‘One can only wonder when George Pullman will reappear,’’ Matthew mused.
Though Mr. Pullman’s reappearance was of interest to those writing the news, the union members knew it would matter little. Mr. Howard remained at the helm to deliver the company owner’s messages for him. Mr. Pullman’s return would change nothing.
Charlotte had forgotten the challenge of sharing a bedroom; however, since her return to Priddle House, she’d quickly become reacquainted with the inconvenience of cramped quarters and diminished privacy. But adjusting to life in Priddle House hadn’t proved as difficult as learning the economy had taken a severe downward plummet since her departure. Mrs. Priddle had been quick to caution Charlotte that life in Chicago would likely prove a challenge.
During the Panic of 1893, the city had been fortunate to have a plethora of tourists attending the World’s Columbian Exposition, which helped boost their economy. In fact, for much of Chicago it had appeared as if the economy continued to boom while the rest of the country suffered. However, once the exposition had ended in October of 1893, the depression had crept into the city like an animal stalking fresh prey. At a time when Charlotte had hoped to start a new life, the news disheartened her.
The older woman tapped Charlotte on the shoulder and motioned toward the kitchen. ‘‘Come along and have a cup of tea while Morgan is asleep. We need to talk.’’
The house was unusually quiet, for the other members of the household were either working in the garden or completing household duties upstairs. Charlotte followed along and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘‘It seems we’ve done nothing but talk since my return,’’ she said with a wan smile.
Mrs. Priddle nodded her head. ‘‘That’s true enough, my dear. We’ve had much to discuss, but we do need to make plans for the future now that you’ve been with us for a couple of days.’’
‘‘I plan to seek work but thought it best to wait until—’’
‘‘I didn’t expect you to locate employment the moment you arrived, Charlotte.’’ Mrs. Priddle poured the boiling water into the teapot and placed the vessel on the table to steep while she removed cups and saucers from the cupboard. Tucking a wisp of hair behind one ear, she settled in a chair opposite Charlotte. ‘‘I wondered if you had stopped by Mr. Ashton’s office before you came here.’’
The question surprised her. She’d given no thought to Mr. Ashton since her departure for England last year. ‘‘Why, no, I haven’t. Is he no longer sending any funds to assist you?’’
‘‘He continues to do so, but he was tardy last month. I imagine he’s busy with all this strike business. Still, he shouldn’t neglect his other business—don’t you agree?’’
‘‘Absolutely. I would think he could produce an accounting of the funds. We must find out how much remains in the account since, from all that you’ve told me, I may discover Mr. Field isn’t in need of another employee. I shall pay Mr. Ashton a visit tomorrow.’’ Charlotte poured tea into their cups. ‘‘What of my friend Olivia? Has she come to see you?’’
‘‘Indeed, she has. Both she and Ellen Ashton have paid us visits. They are lovely young ladies. Miss Mott has been one of the fortunate residents of Pullman. Unlike most of the town’s residents, her position in the hotel has remained intact.’’ Mrs. Priddle stirred a dollop of cream into her tea and took a sip.
‘‘I’m pleased to hear Olivia fares well.’’
‘‘She and Miss Ashton make a point to visit when they know Fiona will be at home. They insist upon hearing the child play a short piano recital each time they arrive. And on one occasion they took Fiona to a restaurant for lunch. She talked about it for days.’’
‘‘I look forward to seeing Olivia again. However, the first thing on my agenda shall be a visit to Mr. Ashton, followed by a visit to Mr. Field.’’
Mrs. Priddle nodded. ‘‘As usual, it seems we have abundant prayer requests for tonight’s Bible study. We must pray that all of the strikers will come to their senses, too. Seems to me these men would help their families more if they simply went back to work. I would think they’d prefer a small amount of money over nothing. They surely know that a strike isn’t going to convince Mr. Pullman to raise their wages.’’
‘‘But you agree they deserve a fair wage, don’t you?’’
‘‘I do, but I remember the altercations back in 1886 when violence erupted at the McCormick Reaper Works. After that incident, a number of people ended up dead and many more severely injured. I don’t want to see that happening again. The men need to sit back and remember God is in control.’’
‘‘That’s true enough, but sometimes God expects His people to take a step forward and help themselves, too, don’t you think?’’ Charlotte took a sip of tea. ‘‘Otherwise, we’d all be sitting around waiting for God to take care of us.’’
‘‘There’s truth in what you say, but if they’re going to help themselves, they need to do it without weapons in their hands. Killing one another isn’t going to resolve their difficulties. It will only create more heartache.’’
Charlotte removed their cups from the table and placed them in the sink. ‘‘You’re absolutely correct, Mrs. Priddle. We must add this matter to our prayer list, also.’’
Early the next morning while Charlotte prepared to leave for Mr. Ashton’s office, Fiona lifted Morgan from his bed and corralled him into one spot long enough to change him out of his nightshirt. The little boy giggled and twisted a handful of Fiona’s light brown hair between his chubby fingers, but his playful antics didn’t deter her from the task at hand. She tickled his tummy and laughed along with him while she continued to maneuver him into his clothing.