An Uncertain Dream (23 page)
‘‘I suppose that’s true. Laughter is good medicine for the soul.’’
Olivia watched the older couple with a pang of envy. They appeared oblivious to her presence as they spoke in soft words and gazed into each other’s eyes. How she wished Fred would return. Her fear had swelled since hearing of the federal troops’ arrival in Chicago. With the troops and hundreds of armed security guards hired by the General Managers Association now present, she wondered how long it would be before someone would suffer serious injury. Though the evening was warm, the idea of armed men patrolling the streets of Chicago caused a chill. She feared Fred might be in danger if the strike didn’t soon end, yet she understood the need for the union members to remain strong.
An overhead explosion startled her, and Mrs. DeVault leaned over to pat her arm. ‘‘You’re as excited as the children, aren’t you?’’
Olivia forced a smile. If someone stepped into town at this very moment and observed the celebratory scene, they would think all was well with the citizens of Pullman. For a short time the turmoil was masked and life placed on hold by the sounds of music and the explosion of fireworks. Independence Day! Olivia wondered if next year the residents of Pullman would look back upon this day with a sense of accomplishment or a sense of defeat.
Chicago, Illinois
July 6, 1894
Strong fingers squeezed Fred’s shoulder. He swiveled on his chair and glanced up. ‘‘Sit down, Matthew.’’
After signaling the owner of the Good Eats Café to bring him coffee, Matthew slapped his notebook on the table and dropped onto the chair. ‘‘One of the private security guards hired by the General Managers Association tells me they’re being paid $2.50 a day. Quite a wage, huh?’’
Anger quickened Fred’s heartbeat. ‘‘That’s much more than the railroad pays its laborers. How is it they can find the money to pay men to tote weapons but they can’t pay their own workers a livable wage? Who are these men, anyway?’’
‘‘Most I talked to are drifters who arrived for the World’s Fair and stuck around after the fair ended. I don’t think there’s a genuine lawman among them. Half of them probably don’t even know how to load those guns the association has furnished them.’’ He jabbed Fred in the side. ‘‘Maybe I should write a column about them and hope it detracts from last night’s mayhem.’’
Fred slumped in his chair. He had planned to return home this morning, but the events of the previous night made him believe he should reconsider. Thousands had gathered at the union rail yards, many of them petty criminals and hooligans who had no involvement with the railroad or the strike. From all reports, when the soldiers and police became overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, they retreated and never returned to the rail yard.
The mob of vagabonds had succeeded in destroying railroad property valued at over three hundred thousand dollars, and then they’d set fire to buildings in Jackson Park that had been constructed to exhibit the world’s latest inventions and wonders during the Chicago World’s Fair.
‘‘None of this bodes well for the workers, Fred. Even though a few newspaper reports say the workers weren’t involved, the general public thinks otherwise. It makes the strikers appear to be rabble-rousers intent upon destroying the city.’’
Fred shrugged. ‘‘There’s little I can do about it. No matter who is at fault, blame will be placed upon the union and the workers. The public has been swayed by slanted news reports and the inconvenience that the strike has inflicted on them.’’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘‘It’s clear that the arrival of the troops will thwart the boycott—even Mr. Debs has said so. He once again asked Mr. Pullman to arbitrate with the employees, promising to end the boycott in return, but to no avail.’’
Matthew nodded. ‘‘I’m not surprised. Now what?’’
Fred pushed away from the table, his decision now firm in his mind. ‘‘I’m going to go home for a few days. Mr. Debs has called for a meeting on Sunday night at Uhlich Hall. He’s appealing to all organized labor to attend. Until then, I want to return home and see Olivia.’’
At the moment Fred wanted nothing more than to escape the city now dotted with hundreds of canvas military tents. The area surrounding the Illinois Central rail yard near downtown Chicago had taken on the appearance of a sprawling circus, albeit a tent city with performers carrying loaded rifles.
Pullman, Illinois
Olivia stood in the kitchen doorway and peered outside. The sun blinded her and she squinted, uncertain she could trust her eyes. Was that Fred sitting under the oak tree? She pushed open the screen door and cupped her hand across her forehead. It
was
Fred. Without a word to Chef René , she raced pell-mell across the short distance. He had barely made it to his feet when she raced into his arms. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me you were home?’’
He didn’t answer. Instead, he tightened his embrace, lowered his head, and kissed her soundly. ‘‘I’ve missed you so much.’’ Without giving her time to respond, he again pulled her close and permitted his lips to linger over hers.
She allowed herself the luxury of his embrace for a few moments longer before she gently pushed against his chest. ‘‘What will people think?’’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘I’ll be considered quite the little tart, don’t you think?’’
‘‘Is that how you English refer to a woman of questionable conduct? A tart?’’ He hugged her close. ‘‘I rather like tarts— especially the ones you bake,’’ he joked, continuing to hold her in his arms.
She lightly slapped his chest and feigned indignation. ‘‘Chef René will probably come looking for me at any moment. I was so excited to see you, I didn’t tell him I was going outdoors.’’
‘‘Let him come looking. I doubt he’ll blame me for wanting to spend a few minutes with the woman I love after being in harm’s way for the past several days.’’
She clutched his hand. ‘‘The reports we’ve been hearing have frightened me out of my wits. I don’t know what is true and what has been exaggerated. And the newspapers aren’t reliable. They seem to contradict each other with every printing.’’
‘‘In the midst of the turmoil, determining what is true has become nearly impossible. Lies and deceit surround us on every side. The president has succumbed to the wishes of management, claiming the union and the Pullman strikers have formed an illegal trust. The government has joined hands with the capitalists to overthrow our efforts to gain livable wages for the workingman.’’
Olivia tightened her hold. ‘‘You’ve given in to defeat, then?’’
‘‘I don’t want to talk of the strike. I want to speak of something pleasant—like us. I want to spend the evening with you, if you don’t have other plans.’’
She chuckled. ‘‘And if I did have another engagement, would you not expect me to put it aside for you?’’
‘‘I would like to think you would do so, but I would never attempt to force such a headstrong girl as you!’’ He laughed and kissed her cheek.
‘‘First you think me a tart and now I’m headstrong?’’
‘‘I may have called you headstrong, but you’re the one who mentioned tarts,’’ he rebutted.
‘‘Miss Mott!’’ Chef René’s voice bellowed across the open expanse.
Olivia took several backward steps. She waved and smiled brightly. ‘‘Coming.’’ She grabbed Fred’s hand and pulled him along. ‘‘Come with me and say hello. I’m certain he won’t mind if you go downstairs and greet your mother.’’
‘‘They are still seeing each other?’’
Olivia nodded. ‘‘He seems to make your mother very happy.’’
‘‘And
you
make
me
very happy,’’ he said with a broad smile.
Chef René reached forward to shake Fred’s hand. ‘‘Fred! It is good to see you have returned. I was worried our Miss Mott was hugging some strange fellow out in the garden. I am pleased to see it is you.’’ His exaggerated wink was accompanied by a grin. ‘‘Your mother will be pleased you have come home. With all the reports of violence, she has been worried for your safety.’’
‘‘I am a grown man, able to attend to my well-being, but it’s always good to know I have two women here at home concerned for my welfare.’’
‘‘You are indeed fortunate. A woman’s love is a precious gift.’’ The chef ’s words were shaded by an undeniable sincerity. All signs of his earlier joviality had disappeared when he suggested Fred go downstairs and greet his mother. ‘‘She will, no doubt, be reduced to tears when she sees you have returned to her, safe and sound.’’
Fred tilted his head to the side. ‘‘I’ve been only twelve miles to the north. The two of you make it sound as though I’ve been off fighting a war in some distant country.’’
Chef René gave his jacket sleeve a push toward his elbow. ‘‘Yet that’s exactly how it seems when we read the newspapers.’’
Fred gave a quick flip of his hand. ‘‘You can’t believe everything you read, especially in the newspapers. The majority of men involved in the mayhem aren’t union members. Most are vagabonds and hooligans who enjoy brawling and have used our cause as an excuse to create chaos.’’ He glanced toward the steps leading to the lower kitchen.
‘‘My apologies. I am keeping you from your mother, and I have work that must be completed.’’ Chef René immediately turned around and issued several commands to the kitchen boys, who had decided the chef ’s involvement was an excuse for them to relax. ‘‘Like little children you are! The minute I turn my back, you want to play. There are many who would like to have a job in my kitchen.’’ His terse warning sent the youngsters running back to their duties.
Olivia watched Fred cross the kitchen and disappear down the stairs. She patted the chef ’s arm. ‘‘That was very kind of you. I know Mrs. DeVault will be surprised—and pleased.’’
He glanced over his shoulder and then came close to Olivia’s side. ‘‘Do you think your Fred approves of me?’’
Even though she had great difficulty suppressing a smile, Olivia forced herself to remain solemn. ‘‘In what capacity? As my supervisor?’’
‘‘Non! I am asking if he has said anything about me with regard to his mother.’’ He emitted an exasperated sigh. ‘‘Does he object?’’
‘‘I don’t know that I should speak for Fred. If you want his opinion, perhaps you should ask him.’’
‘‘Come, Miss Mott. You can surely give me some inkling.’’
‘‘I think he has been rather surprised by . . . um . . . the situation. Naturally, he doesn’t want his mother to be hurt in any way.’’
He slapped his palm to his forehead. ‘‘He thinks I would do her harm? What kind of man does he think I am?’’
Olivia touched her hand to her heart. ‘‘Not physical harm. He worries you may break her heart.’’
‘‘Oui! He characterizes me as a cad—isn’t that the word the Americans use?’’
Olivia giggled. ‘‘I believe that may be one of them, but you forget, I am English. Perhaps you should ask one of the kitchen boys.’’
He tightened his lips and gave her a disgusted scowl. ‘‘I do not speak of my personal life to the kitchen boys. You know better. And I am not a man who toys with a woman’s emotions. I care very much for Hazel, but I don’t want to create difficulty between a mother and her son.’’
‘‘Have you discussed this with her?’’
‘‘Oui. She says she is an adult and does not need her son’s agreement. Another reason I am concerned your Fred has expressed his disapproval of me.’’
Olivia motioned him to join her on the other side of the kitchen away from two young dishwashers, who were obviously eavesdropping. She didn’t want to mention the discomfort she’d witnessed in Fred’s eyes when the two of them had discussed his mother and Chef René shortly after Mrs. DeVault had taken her position at the hotel. Fred had been less than receptive when Olivia had joked about the older couple being suited to each other.
‘‘Unless you have some plan to ask Mrs. DeVault to marry you right away, I don’t think you should overly concern yourself with Fred’s opinion. With all the tension of the strike and his duties as a delegate to the convention, Fred hasn’t been himself.’’
‘‘So he doesn’t approve?’’
‘‘I didn’t say that.’’ She took a backward step and studied him. ‘‘You aren’t planning a wedding in the near future, are you?’’
An uncomfortable and prolonged silence pervaded the room. The sparkle in his eyes was now gone. ‘‘Non. You may tell your Fred he need not worry. There will be no wedding.’’
Olivia arched her brows. The chef had misinterpreted her comments. She’d simply wanted him to understand he should proceed slowly before proposing to Mrs. DeVault. There was no doubt Fred would need time to accept the idea of his mother’s remarriage. Before she could question him further, shouts erupted in the distance.
The chef signaled one of the kitchen boys. ‘‘Go see who’s causing all that commotion.’’ The boy scurried outdoors and then returned moments later when the shouting continued to escalate.
‘‘There’s about two hundred men trying to force their way into the shop grounds. The watchmen got their riot guns aimed at ’em.’’
Fred rounded the corner at the top of the stairs. ‘‘Any shots fired?’’
Wide-eyed, the boy shook his head. ‘‘Nope. But the men said they was coming back later and they was gonna burn all them palace cars out in the yard northeast of the factory buildings.’’
Fred crossed the kitchen and headed toward the door. ‘‘I’m going to find out who they are and see if I can talk some sense into them.’’
Olivia stepped in front of him. ‘‘Please don’t go out there, Fred. If those men are intent on doing someone harm, you’re the one who will be the object of their anger.’’
Fred motioned to the kitchen boy. ‘‘Did you recognize any of them?’’
The youngster shrugged. ‘‘A few of them, I think, but there’s lots of folks who live in Pullman that I don’t know.’’
Taking hold of her shoulders, Fred gently moved Olivia to the side. ‘‘I’ll be fine. I promise to return once I’ve talked to them.’’
The throng of men had turned and were obviously leaving town. Probably going to Kensington, Fred guessed. He recognized Micah Wilson, one of the men who worked in the carpenter shop. After shouting his name, Fred loped toward the crowd, heading directly toward Micah.
Joining the group, Fred matched Micah’s stride. ‘‘What’s going on?’’