An Uncertain Dream (22 page)

‘‘Exactly what are your intentions, Mr. Clayborn?’’

‘‘Intentions? To attend church and escort Charlotte—’’

She raised her hand and silenced him. ‘‘I
know
your plans for today. I’m speaking of your long-term intentions toward Miss Spencer.’’

‘‘We’ve only recently met, Mrs. Priddle. Isn’t it a bit early for this discussion?’’

‘‘Not so far as I’m concerned. If she were living in England, you’d be required to answer such an inquiry from her parents. Consider me a protective parent, Mr. Clayborn.’’

Matthew cleared his throat. He knew Priddle House wasn’t a normal boardinghouse. Nevertheless, he thought the older woman’s question intrusive. ‘‘I’d like the opportunity to get to know her better.’’

‘‘For what purpose?’’

Matthew hesitated.
For what purpose?
How did one answer such a question? He had no idea what would satisfy someone like Mrs. Priddle. He could feel the beads of perspiration beginning to form along his upper lip.

‘‘The simple truth will do, Mr. Clayborn. You need not search for the words you think I want to hear.’’

Could she read his mind, too? ‘‘I am attracted to Char— Miss Spencer. I find her company delightful. I enjoy her intelligence and her humor, and I also find Morgan a wonderful little boy. He reminds me a great deal of my sister’s young children.’’ He absently removed a speck of lint from his suit pants. ‘‘Until we have an opportunity to become further acquainted, I can’t speak of my future intentions, Mrs. Priddle. Perhaps one day I will want to marry her. On the other hand, I may find that we are completely unsuited to each other.’’

When she nodded her head, Mrs. Priddle’s hat bobbled like a buoy in rough waters. ‘‘Good. An honest answer.’’ She pointed her index finger in his direction. ‘‘Do not attempt to take advantage of Miss Spencer, or you will be required to answer to me— and to God, Mr. Clayborn.’’

The ominous tone of her voice set Matthew’s teeth on edge. He hadn’t entertained any improper thoughts regarding Charlotte, and Mrs. Priddle’s stern warning annoyed him. Did the woman dislike all men or only him? He wondered if a Mr. Priddle had ever existed or if the woman had merely created the title. For a fleeting moment he considered asking but then decided the idea lacked wisdom.

When Charlotte descended the stairs, he stood and hurried to greet her. He was pleased to see her but even more thankful to escape Mrs. Priddle’s unyielding appraisal.

‘‘I trust you and Mrs. Priddle have had a nice chat?’’

With Mrs. Priddle nearby, he knew he dared not exaggerate the truth. ‘‘We’ve had sufficient time for an informative conversation.’’ He glanced toward the stairway. ‘‘Where is Morgan?’’

‘‘He’ll be down with Fiona. They are like two peas in a pod. One can’t go anywhere without the other, it seems. I don’t know what he’ll do when school resumes in the fall.’’

Mrs. Priddle thumped the floor with the tip of her parasol— three quick raps. This was apparently the signal for everyone to gather on the front porch, for soon the ladies clattered downstairs in rapid succession, with Fiona and Morgan bringing up the rear. They lined up two by two behind Mrs. Priddle, who led their procession to the church.

Matthew leaned to one side, his lips close to Charlotte’s ear. ‘‘We look like a brood of chicks following a mother hen.’’

She giggled and nodded. ‘‘I think the very same thing every Sunday.’’

Morgan soon tired of walking alongside Fiona, so Matthew swooped him up. ‘‘Come on, big fellow. You can ride the rest of the way.’’ Morgan insisted that Fiona remain nearby and Charlotte drew closer to make room for the girl. Matthew didn’t think Mrs. Priddle would approve. But since they brought up the rear, he doubted the older woman could see them unless she had eyes in the back of her head. He relished Charlotte’s propinquity.

Once inside the church, Mrs. Priddle stood at the end of the pew. Using her closed parasol as a baton, she directed the ladies into their assigned spaces. Matthew had intended to take the seat nearest the aisle, with Charlotte to his right, but Mrs. Priddle decided otherwise. She sat to his left with Charlotte to his right. Not a word could pass without a stern look.

At the end of the service, he was uncertain whether he or Morgan had fidgeted more. Mrs. Priddle’s constant surveillance had brought out the worst in him. The moment they stepped outdoors, he hoped they could make an escape.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Priddle had other plans. ‘‘We will all return to Priddle House. Those of you with plans for this afternoon may then depart.’’

‘‘Not what I had hoped for,’’ Matthew whispered on the return.

Gracing him with a warm smile, Charlotte grasped his arm. ‘‘Mrs. Priddle has a penchant for regulation.’’

‘‘I’ve noticed. I hope she doesn’t add any further restrictions to our afternoon.’’

Once they arrived at Priddle House, Charlotte bid Matthew to have a seat in the parlor while she gathered a few necessary items for Morgan.

While he rolled a ball across the floor to Morgan, Mrs. Priddle arrived in the doorway. ‘‘I think I remembered everything. I even packed a small jar of my apple butter. You may retrieve the picnic basket from the kitchen before we leave, Mr. Clayborn.’’

We?
Surely the woman had misspoken. He dared not question the remark; he didn’t want to give her any idea that she would be welcome to join them. She returned down the hallway, and he sighed with relief. Obviously it had been a simple misunderstanding on his part.

Fiona bounded into the room and joined Matthew on the divan. ‘‘I wish we could go to Pullman. I’d like to see Mrs. DeVault and Olivia.’’

Matthew could see the longing in the girl’s eyes. While he knew she understood the reasoning, it didn’t erase her desire. ‘‘Once the trains are back on schedule, I promise we’ll make a trip to Pullman. How’s that?’’

‘‘What’s this about going to Pullman?’’ There was an undeniable sternness in the older woman’s voice. Matthew looked up to see Mrs. Priddle and Charlotte standing in the parlor doorway. ‘‘Attempting to take a train nowadays is hazardous and unreliable.’’

‘‘Yes, I’m aware of that fact. I’ve been covering the strike for the Chicago
Herald
.’’ He leaned forward, picked up Morgan, and settled the child on his lap. ‘‘I explained we wouldn’t make the trip until after the strike and the trains were back on schedule.’’

‘‘Well, I should think so.’’ Mrs. Priddle’s lips formed a tight knot. ‘‘The basket is waiting in the kitchen.’’

With Morgan in one arm, Matthew jumped to his feet. Charlotte reached for the boy, but Morgan immediately yelped in protest. ‘‘He’ll be fine,’’ Matthew said. Moments later he returned with the basket on one arm and Morgan resting on the other. ‘‘I believe we’re ready.’’

‘‘I think the park two blocks to the west would be our best choice,’’ the older woman said.

Matthew snapped to attention at Mrs. Priddle’s remark. ‘‘You plan to join us?’’

‘‘Of course. It’s a lovely day. What else is an old woman supposed to do with her Sunday afternoon?’’

Several suggestions came to mind, but Matthew didn’t mention them. He didn’t think Mrs. Priddle expected a response, and Charlotte appeared content with the arrangement. He wondered if she would ever permit him to escort her without a chaperone.

Fred rolled up his shirtsleeves and edged along the west wall of the empty auditorium. He silently longed for life to return to some semblance of normalcy. That he missed the daily routine he had taken for granted before the strike had begun surprised him. A year ago he had wanted nothing more than to break out of the mold of plodding to work each day with little hope for anything different. And now? After months of preparing to take their stand against George Pullman, he wondered if it would all be for naught. Days ago, news had filtered down that George Pullman and his family had secretly boarded an unmarked car attached to an eastbound train and departed for their retreat in Long Branch, New Jersey. Robert Todd Lincoln, son of the former president and a member of the Pullman Board of Directors, had been placed in charge. With Pullman’s departure from the city, hope for a peaceful resolution diminished in Fred’s mind.

He dropped to the floor, back against the wall, and bent his knees. Resting his arms across his knees, he cradled his head and hoped for a few minutes of sleep. The growing frenzy that seemed to be accomplishing little for the Pullman workers had become wearisome. Discouragement took hold of his thoughts, and he wanted only to sleep. Now there was little doubt that Attorney General Olney would have his way and federal troops would arrive in Chicago. Huge crowds of angry men had gathered at the Rock Island yard in Blue Island over the past several days, and the railroad had demanded protection. On Monday afternoon, the federal marshal of Chicago had attempted to disperse a mob of over two thousand men but failed.

Fred hadn’t been present at Blue Island, but the results of that incident had been swift: a telegraph requesting the immediate dispatch of federal troops to the city of Chicago. Reactions to Attorney General Olney’s request were mixed. The attorney general sat on the board of several affected railroads, and the union thought him tainted by such involvement. Mr. Olney denied his decisions were colored by his ties to the railroad, but along with union leadership, Fred had his doubts. The argument no longer mattered, for on this day of independence, July 4, 1894, a detachment from nearby Fort Sheridan would arrive to take control of the masses.

‘‘What are you doing sleeping when the troops are arriving at the station?’’

Fred lifted his head and looked at Matthew through bloodshot eyes. ‘‘They’ll take control of the town whether I’m present or not.’’

Matthew nudged him with the toe of his shoe. ‘‘Come on, Fred. This isn’t like you. Tired or not, this is history in the making. Nothing like this has ever happened in the United States.’’

‘‘It shouldn’t be happening now, either.’’ The toll of weariness echoed in his words.

His friend grasped him beneath one arm and hoisted him upward. ‘‘That doesn’t change anything. You’ll regret it if you don’t see it with your own eyes.’’ He pulled Fred down the aisle. ‘‘How can you report to the men in Pullman if you sit here sleeping?’’

With a hollow grunt, Fred followed behind Matthew, the crowds swelling as they neared the train station. ‘‘Has the governor made an appearance?’’

‘‘He sent a telegram to the president and said it was an unconstitutional impingement on states’ rights, but Cleveland says the troops are necessary and proper.’’ Matthew continued with a quick stride. ‘‘While you were back at Uhlich Hall sleeping, Debs issued a statement saying the president’s action is yet another confirmation that the federal government has sold out to the capitalists.’’

‘‘Any rebuttal to that?’’

Matthew laughed. ‘‘Of course! There are those who assert that both the mayor and the governor are pandering to the locals in order to ensure reelection next term. They say neither of them is capable of restoring stability to our fair city.’’

As the troops marched through the well-manicured northern limits of the city, children of the well-to-do offered them flowers. But as soldiers continued pouring into the neighborhoods of the workingman and into the slums that surrounded the stockyards, they were greeted with a mixture of angry taunts and the odious stench permeating the area.

‘‘I think President Cleveland is going to be disappointed with the results of his decision,’’ Fred said, observing the anger spreading through the masses.

Instead of a joyous celebration of the holiday, angry chants and threats of violence filled the air.

‘‘They ain’t gonna tell us how to run our town!’’ a man shouted from the crowd.

‘‘Send them soldiers back to Fort Sheridan where they belong!’’ another man demanded.

Matthew yanked Fred aside as a rotten tomato whizzed by his head.

‘‘Thanks. I’d rather not spend the remainder of the day covered with tomato juice.’’

For the rest of the day, the two men milled about the city. Fred watched the unfolding scene in dismay while Matthew jotted notes for another column. Fireworks exploded amidst the intermittent clanging of fire wagons dispatched to extinguish the many fires throughout the city. Fred wiped the perspiration from his forehead and wished his prediction hadn’t proven true.

Pullman, Illinois

Olivia settled on a blanket next to the bench that Mrs. DeVault and Chef René had chosen. It was one that provided the pair a good view of the bandstand in the park for the July Fourth celebration. With Fred in Chicago, Olivia had insisted the chef join Mrs. DeVault for the beginning of the band concert.

To the casual visitor, Olivia supposed the sight of residents sitting on blankets and benches would offer an appearance of normalcy. But since the outbreak of violence at Blue Island, tension had mounted within the town. The company men, who continued to wear the small American flags pinned to their lapels, now walked in pairs and armed with revolvers. Mr. Howard and other supervisors took turns inspecting the shops for possible intruders who could damage equipment or set fires, and the guards at the factory had been ordered to sleep on the premises.

Only yesterday Mr. Howard had requested that Chicago Mayor Hopkins send additional police reinforcements to Pullman. Much to the pleasure of the town’s residents, the mayor had declined and issued a statement that there had been no incidents to warrant such action. Like the other Pullman citizens, Olivia considered the mayor’s denial an affirmation of their civility and had celebrated the news as a small victory.

But when word arrived that federal troops had been scattered throughout Chicago only hours earlier, the celebratory mood of the residents waned. Members of the band continued to play their patriotic marches, but a pall of despair now shrouded the park.

The holiday didn’t ease the shortage of food or the daily difficulties faced by the families, and with too much time on their hands, many of the men disappeared to the saloons in Kensington. ‘‘The holiday celebration isn’t the same this year,’’ Mrs. DeVault remarked.

‘‘At least the children can play their games, non? Even now, they are filled with laughter and are creating special memories.’’