An Uncertain Dream (24 page)
‘‘We was just trying to put a scare in ’em,’’ he said.
The smell of liquor lingered in the air, and Fred wondered if the men had spent the early part of the afternoon at a saloon in Kensington. ‘‘We made a pledge that we wouldn’t turn violent. You men remember that, don’t you?’’ Fred raised his voice above the crowd.
‘‘We need some action out of the company. We can’t go on like this all summer,’’ one of the men shouted.
‘‘Spending the little money you’ve got on liquor and threatening the guards at the factory isn’t going to bring the results you want. Why don’t you all go back home before you regret your actions.’’
The men briefly discussed his suggestion, but in the end only a few broke away from the crowd. The majority, mostly men he’d never seen before, continued walking toward Kensington. Fred stopped when they crossed the boulevard and then turned back toward the hotel. He’d had little influence, but since they’d done no damage at the car works, Fred hoped their angry behavior would be overlooked by management.
Olivia met Fred outside the kitchen upon his return and told him that Mr. Billings, the hotel manager, had rushed to the car works once the crowd dispersed. When he returned to the hotel, he’d been delighted to report that Mr. Howard had wired a demand for troops and deputies to the governor and the United States marshal in Chicago.
‘‘What? Without even waiting to ascertain the details?’’ Fred slapped his hat against his leg, his anger rising. ‘‘What else did he say?’’
‘‘It seems Mr. Howard’s clerk, Mr. Mahafferty, panicked when he saw the mob gathering. He locked the company books in the office vault and phoned Mr. Howard, telling him an invasion was taking place.’’
‘‘Does the man not realize what those exaggerated claims can do? You’d think any intelligent man would use a bit of common sense before making such outrageous statements. An invasion! They didn’t even breach the gates.’’
He could only hope the governor would deny Mr. Howard’s request.
Chicago, Illinois
Matthew watched the smile fade from Charlotte’s face as he approached Priddle House the following Sunday. He had attempted to force a cheery look, but apparently his effort had failed.
‘‘Whatever has happened? You appear distraught.’’ She opened the screen door and bid him come inside.
‘‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel our plans for this afternoon unless you’re willing to accompany me to Pullman.’’ Morgan toddled toward him, and Matthew lifted the boy into his arms. ‘‘Problem is, I don’t know if it would be safe to take Morgan along.’’
Charlotte frowned and motioned him toward the parlor, where Mrs. Priddle had already taken up her post to make certain they wouldn’t be late for church services.
‘‘What’s this? More trouble brewing?’’
Taking a seat opposite Mrs. Priddle, Matthew situated Morgan on his lap. ‘‘I’m beginning to wonder if there’s going to be any end to all of this. A number of riots have occurred at rail yards throughout the city, and I must travel to Pullman to see Fred. A man Fred is acquainted with was shot last night. I doubt he’s aware of the situation.’’
‘‘A man was shot in one of the protests?’’ Charlotte clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘‘How awful!’’
‘‘Unfortunately, several men were shot. The soldiers shot into the crowd, and I understand that innocent bystanders were injured—Fred’s acquaintance among them.’’
‘‘If the shootings occurred in Chicago and you’re traveling to Pullman, why are you concerned for Morgan’s safety, Mr. Clayborn?’’
Mrs. Priddle pursed her lips and folded her hands in her lap while she awaited Matthew’s answer. She reminded him of a tutor quizzing a student.
‘‘I simply can’t vouch for the safety at the railroad station or in Pullman. I wouldn’t want to place a child in harm’s way.’’
‘‘Or a woman?’’ Mrs. Priddle asked with an appraising look.
‘‘I believe Matthew is merely exercising caution where Morgan is concerned, Mrs. Priddle. However, if you think I should remain at home, I’ll bow to your wishes.’’
The remark appeared to satisfy the woman; she shook her head. ‘‘When church services have concluded, you go and make certain your friends in Pullman are faring well. Fiona and I will attend to Morgan.’’
Once they’d formed their line and were headed toward the church, Matthew leaned close to Charlotte. ‘‘Mrs. Priddle makes your decisions for you?’’
‘‘Not all of them. However, I do seek her counsel frequently. I find her to be a very wise woman. Does that bother you?’’
‘‘No. I was merely surprised. I think of you as being independent, so the notion that you would so quickly submit to someone else’s advice surprised me.’’
‘‘I think of myself as independent, too. But I’ve learned from past experience that accepting good advice is one way to help avoid tragic consequences.’’
Matthew grinned. ‘‘A lesson we could all take to heart.’’
The minister had apparently heard of the tragedies that had taken place the previous evening, for he preached about the need for healing and forgiveness. His parting remark was a request for his congregants to do their part in bringing an end to the violence that persisted within the city. Matthew thought the words well-meaning, but he wasn’t certain how the members of the small church could help end the mayhem that had spread throughout the city like a deadly disease.
When he said as much to Mrs. Priddle on their return home, she pointed her parasol toward heaven. ‘‘We can pray, Mr. Clayborn!’’
Charlotte tightened her grasp on Matthew’s arm. ‘‘You see? She
is
very wise.’’
Matthew ruffled Morgan’s hair. ‘‘Take note of how it is, young fellow. To get along well in this world, you must agree with whatever the women in your life say.’’
Charlotte playfully slapped his arm. ‘‘That is not true and you know it! You agree because you know the women are correct.’’ She tipped her head and giggled.
Matthew’s heartbeat quickened at the sound of her laughter. To him, Charlotte Spencer was the loveliest creature God had ever created. And her son—well, he thought young Morgan simply delightful. The introspection surprised him. Though he’d spent many hours thinking about Charlotte and Morgan since he’d first met them, he’d never before considered the possibility that he might be falling in love with this enchanting woman and her child. He had thought her stunning from the first time he’d seen her, but he had considered winning her affections a daunting challenge. Only now did he accept the fact that she had won his heart.
The arrival and departure of trains on a somewhat regular schedule had been the one positive outcome since the arrival of the federal troops in Chicago. And the bustling train station was proof enough that many were taking full advantage of the partially reinstated schedule. Charlotte waited patiently while Matthew purchased their tickets. He had stepped away from the counter to rejoin her when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
‘‘How pleasant to see you, Miss Spencer.’’
Charlotte turned and came face-to-face with Herman Rehn-quist, the offensive supervisor of the fabric and lace section at Marshall Field’s. Her smile faded at the sight of him. He’d proved to be a constant annoyance. Each day he made an excuse to visit her office for some nonsensical reason. When she had consistently refused his invitations to dinner or the theater, he’d made no attempt to hide his irritation. With each rejection, his dark eyes flashed with increasing anger. She was thankful when Matthew returned to her side.
Charlotte clung to Matthew’s arm like a lifeline. ‘‘Has the train arrived?’’ She hoped he would hear the urgency in her voice and rush her out of the train station and away from Mr. Rehnquist.
‘‘No. We have twenty minutes or so.’’ He settled his gaze on Mr. Rehnquist and extended his hand. ‘‘I’m Matthew Clayborn. I don’t believe we’ve met, have we?’’
Charlotte wilted. ‘‘I apologize. This is Mr. Rehnquist. He’s an employee of the store.’’
Mr. Rehnquist shot a look of annoyance in Charlotte’s direction before he grasped Matthew’s hand. ‘‘Herman Rehnquist, supervisor of the Lace and Fabric Department at Marshall Field and Company.’’ With an air of pomposity, he extracted a calling card from his pocket and handed it to Matthew.
Charlotte squeezed Matthew’s arm with a ferocity that immediately captured his attention. ‘‘I believe we need to make some other arrangements before our departure, don’t we?’’ The gentleness of her tone was in direct opposition to her viselike grip, and he stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.
‘‘Yes. If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Rehnquist. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’’ Matthew took a backward step, and Mr. Rehnquist touched the brim of his hat in a farewell gesture.
When they’d reached the platform outside the train station, Matthew arched his brows. ‘‘What was
that
all about?’’
Charlotte quickly detailed Mr. Rehnquist’s unwelcome advances. ‘‘I’ve done my best to discourage him, but it’s done no good.’’
Matthew’s chest swelled. ‘‘Now that he’s met me, perhaps he’ll stop his advances.’’
Charlotte wanted to believe that was true, but she didn’t think a brief meeting in the train depot would deter Herman Rehnquist. The man simply did not take no for an answer. With a glance over her shoulder as she boarded the train, Charlotte spied Mr. Rehnquist standing on the platform watching after them. One look into his dark, beady eyes and a chill coursed down her spine.
By the time they arrived in Pullman, all thoughts of Mr. Rehnquist had fled her mind. From the windows of the train, they could see pointed tops and concave drapings of white canvas amidst the thick foliage of the tree-lined streets. They stepped from the train station and Matthew pointed toward the hotel. ‘‘Troops have camped on the grounds of the hotel.’’
Drawing nearer, Charlotte could barely believe her eyes. White military tents like those she’d observed in Chicago now dotted the hotel lawn, and uniformed men were all about. ‘‘It appears the military has taken command here in Pullman, also, doesn’t it?’’
‘‘Yes. And I doubt that’s sitting well with the residents of Pullman,’’ Matthew said as the two of them continued onward.
When they walked up the steps of the DeVault row house, Charlotte was pleased to see the front door standing open. She could hear the sound of voices drifting from inside, specifically Olivia’s. After seeing the troop encampment, she had wondered if Olivia would be at the hotel. Matthew knocked on the door, and Fred soon greeted them from the hallway.
Dark circles rimmed Fred’s eyes, and Charlotte immediately detected a clipped tension in his voice. The strain of the strike had obviously taken a toll on him. Even Mrs. DeVault’s normal joviality was absent when she offered them a cup of tea. Charlotte didn’t fail to note a look of gloom in the older woman’s eyes when the Quinters excused themselves to go outdoors with the children.
Once the Quinters had left, the five of them settled in the parlor. ‘‘Where is young Morgan?’’ Mrs. DeVault inquired.
Charlotte glanced at Matthew, who took her cue. ‘‘I was concerned for his safety. There were some disturbing incidents that occurred in Chicago late yesterday afternoon, and I thought it best if he didn’t accompany us.’’ Matthew waved in the direction of the hotel. ‘‘I didn’t stop at the newspaper office before church this morning, so I didn’t realize troops were encamped here.’’
Fred quickly explained the action that had precipitated Mr. Howard’s plea for troops. ‘‘There was no need, but federal intervention helps bolster the company’s position. What happened in Chicago?’’ Fred leaned forward and rested his forearms atop his thighs. ‘‘I was planning to return for tonight’s meeting at Uhlich Hall. Has it been called off?’’
‘‘Not to my knowledge, but what with the riots that took place yesterday, who can say? As to what happened—I’m guessing hunger and frustration. Residents from throughout the city descended on various railroad yards and broke open doors of freight cars carrying food. They attempted to carry off sacks of potatoes and huge cuts of meat. From what I’m told, fights broke out, boxcars were overturned, fires were set, and shots were fired.’’
Mrs. DeVault appeared to bow her head in prayer.
‘‘Any railway union members injured?’’ Fred asked.
Matthew shook his head. ‘‘No. From all reports, they continue to heed Mr. Debs’s warnings and stay away, but there were people killed and many injured.’’ He looked into Fred’s eyes and choked out the bad news. ‘‘Your friend Bill Orland was shot.’’
Fred jumped up and sent his chair teetering on two legs. ‘‘
Bill?
He wasn’t involved in the strike. He and his family were getting by quite nicely on his income from the etching business. There would be no reason for him to become caught up in an attempt to steal food. You must be mistaken.’’
Matthew shook his head. ‘‘I wish I were, but his wife is the one who asked that I come and tell you. I told her you’d likely be returning this evening, but she feared with all the rioting, you might decide to remain in Pullman.’’
Although it didn’t appear Fred was listening to him, Matthew explained that he’d seen Bill’s name on the notes of a fellow reporter who’d been covering the incident in which Bill had been injured. ‘‘I recalled you’d stayed with them on occasion since the strike began.’’
Fred buried his face in his hands and shook his head. ‘‘I can’t believe this.’’
‘‘His wife said he’d been asked to come to the Smithton Law Office across town. Someone had recommended Bill’s work, and Mr. Smithton asked if Bill could come to his office with some etchings he’d drawn up. Smithton wanted his wife to take a look at them, too. Seems his route to the law office took him directly into the path of danger.’’
‘‘What a tragedy. Poor Bill was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,’’ Mrs. DeVault said.
‘‘How serious is the injury?’’ Olivia asked.
‘‘The doctor stopped by to talk with Ruth. He told her Bill may recover if infection doesn’t set in. She didn’t appear hopeful. With all the commotion and so many injured in the different skirmishes throughout the city, Mrs. Orland indicated a good deal of time lapsed before Bill finally received medical treatment.’’ Matthew sighed. ‘‘Doesn’t appear things are much better here in Pullman.’’