An Uncertain Dream (17 page)
Charlotte looped arms with Olivia. ‘‘René ?’’ she whispered.
‘‘I do believe love has begun to blossom between the two of them.’’ Olivia grinned and tugged on Charlotte’s arm. ‘‘We have much to talk about. I am eager to hear about your parents. And Ludie—how is she doing? What about the other servants? Is Chef Mallard still in charge of the kitchen? Let’s go into the dining room. I can hardly wait to hear all the news.’’ She leaned closer. ‘‘And just how do you happen to know Matthew Clayborn?’’
Fred and Matthew retreated to the parlor while the others gathered in the dining room for dessert.
Matthew dropped onto the divan. ‘‘I managed to obtain the services of a messenger boy who is working over at the Rookery. Seems the association has tightened ranks with Mr. Pullman, and they’ve scheduled another meeting for tomorrow morning. They’re permitting Mr. Howard to sit in as an interested party.’’
‘‘What?’’ Fred couldn’t believe his ears. ‘‘That’s outrageous. If the company is to have an
interested party
present, it seems the workers should have one, also.’’
‘‘I couldn’t agree more, but we both know that won’t happen.’’
‘‘Did you hear anything else? Any inkling if they’re going to persuade Mr. Pullman to negotiate?’’
Matthew laughed and shook his head. ‘‘Do you truly believe any of those men will convince George Pullman to bow to their wishes? I’m afraid the managers and Mr. Pullman are going to be working hand in glove throughout this strike. Tomorrow they’ll decide how they will handle the situation should the workers carry through and refuse to couple the Pullman cars. While you are receiving your final orders from Mr. Debs, the General Managers Association will be finalizing their plans to thwart your efforts.’’
Fred buried his face in his hands. Could there be no peaceful solution to this matter? Negotiation seemed such a simple remedy. The men weren’t asking for outrageous sums. They merely wanted a livable hourly rate and rental fees that were commensurate with their wages.
‘‘From all appearances, we’re in this for the long haul. I had prayed that once Mr. Pullman returned, he would see that the men were determined to be heard. I thought he would make some effort to negotiate. Pride and greed—not a pretty picture.’’
Matthew clapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘You’re right, but I suppose Mr. Pullman is thinking the same thing about the workers. No doubt he views the workers as unappreciative and greedy. All of us attempt to rationalize from time to time.’’
‘‘What? You’re taking his side now?’’
‘‘Of course not. But I’m a journalist. I attempt to look at things from every vantage point. It doesn’t mean that I’ve changed my opinion or that my support has wavered.’’ He turned his palms upward and moved his arms up and down. ‘‘I’m weighing the scales, my friend, and they tip heavily in favor of the workers. But that still doesn’t mean you’ll prevail.’’
Matthew’s warning cast a pall of defeat across the room. If they didn’t win this time, the likelihood of future bargaining with the company would probably be forever lost to the workers. And some of the newspapers that favored the Chicago capitalist had been quick to point out that Mr. Pullman had taken on contracts at a loss in order to keep his employees on the job.
Of course, these same newspapers didn’t report that the workers’ pay had been decreased while their rents remained unchanged. Nor did they tell their readers that the stockholders continued to receive their usual large dividends. Fred had gone over these matters in his mind day after day. Thinking on them any longer would change nothing.
Fred stood and signaled for Matthew to follow him. ‘‘Surely the others must be finished with their dessert. Let’s see if they would like to go outdoors and enjoy this fine weather.’’
Olivia peeked out the door, concerned the sun might prove too warm for young Morgan. She waved Charlotte forward. ‘‘What do you think?’’
Charlotte settled Morgan’s sailor cap atop his head. ‘‘He will be fine. The sun is hidden behind a bank of clouds at the moment, and I’m certain we can find enough shade that I needn’t worry over Morgan’s fair complexion.’’
‘‘Can we go, too?’’ the Quinter girls asked in unison, their pigtails bouncing as they twirled in front of Mrs. DeVault.
‘‘I have no objection, but you must first ask your mother.’’
Suzanne was quick to agree, but she and Paul declined the invitation, deciding to remain at home while baby Arthur napped.
‘‘The two of them won’t know how to act having a bit of free time for themselves,’’ Olivia commented as Mrs. DeVault herded the group out the front door.
The girls immediately appointed themselves Morgan’s caretakers, each one grasping one of his chubby hands. He chortled with delight when they pointed out a neighbor’s kitten sitting on the porch railing. By the time they arrived at the park, he could say
kitty-cat
with proficiency, and he continued to repeat the words until the Pullman Band struck the first chords of their Sunday afternoon recital. Captivated, Morgan was soon marching in place beside the girls, the kitten now forgotten.
Fred and Matthew took up residence on a grassy spot near the children, but Chef René and Mrs. DeVault continued to meander, obviously seeking a place closer to the bandstand.
Olivia pointed Charlotte to a nearby bench. ‘‘Now that we are alone, you must tell me all that has happened since your letter telling me that you had arrived safely in England.’’
The two of them settled side by side, and Charlotte briefly related all that had occurred since she’d gone home to England. ‘‘It wasn’t an easy time, but I’m certain I’ve made the proper decision for Morgan.’’
Olivia understood Charlotte’s reasons for permanently relocating in America. Had she stayed in London, both she and Morgan would have been shunned by the English aristocracy, and her social ranking would descend into the chasm that divided nobility from commoners. She would be accepted by neither and despised by most—and so would her son.
Olivia clasped Charlotte’s hand. ‘‘I am very sorry to hear of your father’s death and the difficult circumstances that beset you and your mother. I prayed you would find happiness upon returning to London, but I understand your desire to give Morgan a different kind of life in a new land.’’
The music continued in the background, and Charlotte nodded. ‘‘Yes, although I must admit that the upheaval I find here is somewhat disconcerting. Mrs. Priddle’s account of the poverty that has taken hold here is frightening.’’ She scanned the crowd that continued to gather in the park. ‘‘I cling to the fact that I fervently prayed for God’s direction and believed I was to return to Chicago.’’
Olivia brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. ‘‘Then you must rest in that decision. God has already provided for you. Didn’t you tell me that you have already secured your former position at Marshall Field’s?’’
‘‘Yes, but—’’
‘‘If you believe God directed your path, you must stop questioning your decision. It will only lead to turmoil, and young Morgan is in charge of turmoil,’’ Olivia said, grinning at the little boy, now holding a worm between two fingers. Had it not been for Matthew’s quick intervention, the worm would have become Morgan’s snack. ‘‘Matthew certainly appears to enjoy Morgan.’’
Charlotte maintained a watchful eye on her son and on Matthew. ‘‘Yes. He’s almost too helpful.’’
‘‘How can anyone be too helpful? Most women would be delighted to have a man take interest in their child.’’
Charlotte waved to her son. ‘‘If the interest is genuine. I’m not entirely convinced that’s the case with Mr. Clayborn. I worry he’s sniffing for information every time he asks me a question.’’
Olivia giggled. ‘‘You’re much too suspicious. Matthew is consumed with details of the strike and the American Railway Union convention at the moment. You need not fear that he’s planning to splash your picture across the front page of the
Herald
. Besides, you have nothing to hide.’’
Charlotte arched her brows and fixed Morgan in her sights. ‘‘You forget that Randolph Morgan lives in Chicago.’’
Olivia shook her head. ‘‘Oh!’’ she whispered. ‘‘He’s dead. I should have written and told you, but I thought it was of little importance since you’d returned to London.’’
‘‘Randolph? Dead? But how?’’
‘‘There were a number of wealthy men who suffered huge financial losses when the depression hit. Some weren’t affected much at all. Others, like Randolph, lost a great deal and were unable to face their ruination. From all reports, he took his own life. I saw his obituary in the newspaper and made a few discreet inquiries.’’ She tipped her head closer. ‘‘His wife and daughters now live in New York.’’
‘‘Surely not! Are you certain that isn’t malicious gossip?’’
‘‘No. I inquired of Ellen Ashton, and she confirmed it’s true. His wife’s family resides in New York. I suppose that’s why she moved there.’’
‘‘I’m sure that’s one of the reasons.’’
‘‘And so that she and the children wouldn’t be subjected to the gossip,’’ Olivia added.
‘‘True, but moving to a different city also helps in other ways. If Randolph’s wife had remained in Chicago, each time she heard the front door unlatch, she’d expect to see him walk inside; or when she walked in front of his office building, she’d long to go inside and convince herself he truly wasn’t there.’’ She turned her gaze back toward Olivia. ‘‘It’s difficult to understand, I suppose, but it’s easier for me to be here in Chicago where I don’t think about my father as being dead—at least not as often.’’
Olivia scooted closer. ‘‘Will Randolph’s death be difficult for you to accept in that way?’’
‘‘No. Randolph and I didn’t make any fond memories in Chicago, but I do regret that Morgan will never have an opportunity to meet his father.’’ Olivia appeared surprised by the remark, and Charlotte hastened to explain. ‘‘I didn’t return to Chicago with any intention of making demands upon Randolph, but I had given thought to the fact that perhaps one day, when Morgan is a man, the two of them might meet. Morgan will eventually have questions about his father, and it would have been . . .’’
Olivia squeezed Charlotte’s hand. ‘‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry I had to be the one to deliver the news. It seems you’ve had more than your share of death to deal with in a short time.’’
‘‘The two of you appear as though you’re preparing for a funeral rather than celebrating a reunion,’’ Matthew observed as he and Fred approached. ‘‘Fred and I would be pleased to lend our assistance and help solve any troubles that may be afflicting you lovely ladies.’’
Charlotte forced a smile. ‘‘No difficulties at all.We’re merely discussing acquaintances from our past. Nothing that you’d find of interest.’’
‘‘Well, we’ve managed to solve the world’s problems and thought you ladies might enjoy a walk down to the lake. We might even consider a boat ride. I think Morgan would find that a good deal of fun, don’t you?’’
Charlotte laughed. ‘‘We’ve just completed quite a boat ride. I don’t know if I’m prepared for another just yet.’’
Matthew joined in her laughter. ‘‘I had completely forgotten your recent voyage. Would you prefer to remain here at the park?’’
‘‘I’ll bow to Olivia’s wishes, but I am enjoying the music. The band is even better than when I last heard them play.’’
‘‘They have continued to win awards and are now considered the finest band in the state,’’ Fred said. ‘‘With the strike, they now have more time to perform, and their concerts seem to raise the community spirit.’’
Morgan toddled toward his mother and extended his arm. He uncurled his tiny fingers to reveal a ladybug cupped in his palm. ‘‘Bug.’’
‘‘Indeed it is. Let’s put it on the ground,’’ Charlotte suggested.
Morgan squeezed his fingers together and shook his head. ‘‘Mine.’’
‘‘Come here, Morgan. Let me show you how your bug can fly.’’ Matthew held out his arms, and the boy scampered toward him and opened his hand. With a gentle flick of his finger, Matthew boosted the ladybug into the air. The boy giggled and hurried back to join the girls, who were playing a game of hopscotch.
When the musicians stopped for a brief respite, Olivia glanced toward the bandstand. ‘‘Where are your mother and Chef René? I thought they’d taken a bench near the pavilion.’’
Fred shaded his eyes and scanned the area. ‘‘Perhaps we should take a walk and see if we can locate them.’’
With a loud guffaw, Matthew dropped to the bench alongside Charlotte. ‘‘At their age, I don’t think we need to worry about their whereabouts. I think they’re old enough to take care of themselves. Besides, it’s not as though they’re going to get lost in Pullman. I’d venture a guess that they’re enjoying their time alone.’’
Olivia noted Fred’s frown. ‘‘I’d be happy to accompany you, but I tend to agree with Matthew. Your mother is a grown woman. She’d likely think you’d gone daft if you traipsed after her.’’
Fred folded his arms across his chest and nodded. ‘‘You’re right, but I plan to speak with her tonight. I’m not certain Chef René is the well-intentioned man you believe him to be.’’
‘‘Really, Fred, you’re acting like an overprotective father rather than an adult son. I think you better change your approach before you speak to your mother, or she may toss you out the front door on your ear.’’ Olivia hoped he would heed her advice. She thought Mrs. DeVault and the chef made a fine match.
A short time later the musicians returned to the bandstand. The group of friends walked to the far side of the park, where several children had set up a lemonade stand. Olivia wondered how long it would take before they were told such activity was not permitted in the parks, or anywhere else in Pullman, for that matter. Charlotte and Matthew hurried after Morgan, who was hurtling toward the stand. It seemed his chubby legs couldn’t keep pace with the rest of his body.
‘‘They make an attractive couple, don’t you think?’’ Olivia sat down on a bench a short distance from the lemonade stand.
Fred shook his head. ‘‘You do enjoy matching folks into couples, don’t you?’’
She grinned. ‘‘Why not? Isn’t that what God intended?’’