An Uncertain Dream (34 page)

The train was scheduled to arrive in Chicago at eleven o’clock. Nearly half the day had already passed, and she’d accomplished nothing. Olivia had hoped to see both Fred and Charlotte while in the city, but now she wondered if that would be possible. She should have insisted upon leaving immediately after breakfast.

She leaned her head against the cushioned seat and willed the train to move faster. Although she’d made a list of a few places where she could apply, she hoped Charlotte would provide her with further assistance before beginning her job search.

Leaving the train station in Chicago, she hailed a carriage. ‘‘Marshall Field and Company,’’ she told the driver and braced herself for the ride. The mere remembrance of most of her previous carriage trips through Chicago was enough to set her on edge. It seemed as if the drivers took great pleasure in traveling at breakneck speed.

The driver reined the horses to an abrupt stop that caused her head to tip forward and back in a snapping lunge. She clasped a hand to her bodice, pleased to have arrived at the department store without major injury. The doorman hurried forward to assist her from the carriage, and she grasped his hand in a tight grip while she attempted to gain her balance.

He offered a broad smile and tip of his hat. ‘‘Are you new to our store, ma’am? I don’t believe I recognize you.’’

Olivia tipped her head close. ‘‘I live in Pullman and don’t normally shop in Chicago.’’

‘‘Ah, I see. Well, you’re in for a real treat. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself and come back again and again.’’

His kindness set Olivia at ease. ‘‘I am a friend of Miss Charlotte Spencer. She works for Mr. Field. Might you know her?’’

‘‘Indeed I do. A lovely lady. She holds an important position, you know. Even has her own office.’’ The man pointed toward the upper floors of the building and grinned like a proud parent. ‘‘Up there.’’

A wave of fear washed over Olivia as she stared through the glass doors. How could she possibly locate Charlotte’s office? ‘‘Perhaps you could direct me. I tend to get lost easily, even after visiting the same location several times. And this store, well, it’s enormous, isn’t it?’’

The man squared his shoulders and gave a nod. ‘‘Indeed it is. The finest in all of Chicago—or anywhere else, so far as I’m concerned.’’ He chuckled and stepped closer. ‘‘Of course I’ve never been anywhere but Chicago, but I still think I’m correct.’’ He opened the door and waved Olivia forward. ‘‘Come along. I’ll take you to Miss Spencer’s office.’’

The doorman signaled to another uniformed man to take his place at the front door, and Olivia followed him through the maze of aisles. ‘‘Miss Spencer should be in her office, but if she’s not, you rest easy. We’ll find her. By the way, I’m Joseph Anderson.’’

‘‘I’m Olivia Mott. Miss Spencer and I were traveling companions two years ago when we relocated from London to Chicago.’’

‘‘I did notice you and Miss Spencer share a similar accent. Always nice to have friends living nearby. Now me, I’ve got all my friends and family right here in Chicago—sometimes too many of them,’’ he said and then chortled. ‘‘My wife says you can never have too many relatives, but I’m not sure I agree.’’ He pointed toward the elevator. ‘‘We’re going to Miss Spencer’s office,’’ he told the elevator operator.

The operator closed the folding metal gate with great precision, rotated the dial to the proper position, and then pulled a lever that propelled them upward. The same queasiness she’d experienced while riding the giant Ferris wheel at the Columbian Exposition assailed her. She grasped a thin iron rail along the side of the car.

Mr. Anderson grinned. ‘‘You’ll become accustomed to it after a few times.’’

Olivia didn’t reply. She feared the slightest movement might cause her to lose her breakfast. She’d felt somewhat queasy earlier in the morning, and the carriage ride hadn’t helped. Mr. Anderson cautioned her to wait for a moment after stepping off the elevator so she wouldn’t experience any dizziness. She didn’t tell him she might have need of more than a few moments before she regained her sense of well-being.

He took hold of her arm. ‘‘Right this way.’’

Mr. Anderson didn’t seem to notice her woozy state as he continued to chatter while they walked down the hallway. He knocked on a beautiful carved door. Olivia remembered nothing more until she awakened. Charlotte was staring down at her while holding a wet cloth on her forehead.

‘‘I cannot believe that I swooned in the middle of Marshall Field’s store.’’ Olivia strained to see if anyone else was in the room. ‘‘Mr. Anderson?’’

‘‘He’s returned to his duties at the front door. I told him I was more than able to care for you, although he did want to fetch a doctor.’’

‘‘Did he say if anyone saw me? I am terribly embarrassed. My first visit to your office and I make a fool of myself.’’ Olivia pushed up on her elbows and took in her surroundings. ‘‘And it’s such a beautiful office.’’

Charlotte chuckled. ‘‘You didn’t make a fool of yourself. There were no customers in the area, and Joseph helped me move you to the settee.’’

‘‘This room is as finely furnished as any of the sitting rooms in the Pullman mansion.’’ Olivia recalled the fashionable décor she’d observed while helping plan for one of Mrs. Pullman’s social gatherings two years ago.

‘‘Yes, it’s lovely, but the furnishings belong to Mr. Field, not to me.’’ Charlotte opened the clasp on the watch pinned to her bodice and checked the time. ‘‘Are you feeling well enough to sit up? Once you’re stronger, we should get you something to eat. I don’t want you to faint again. I could have a tray sent up here if you’d rather not visit the tearoom.’’

Olivia removed the cloth from her forehead. ‘‘I’m feeling much better. My stomach wasn’t quite right when I woke up this morning, but I believe I’m fine. I would prefer a visit to the tearoom—if it isn’t outrageously expensive, and if I’m not required to ride the elevator.’’

Charlotte chuckled. ‘‘We can use the stairway instead of the elevator. And your meal will be my treat. I’m entitled to a discount on any purchases. The tearoom shouldn’t be overly crowded at this hour. It’s a bit late for luncheon and early for tea.’’

Olivia’s pulse quickened and she shifted to an upright position. ‘‘What time is it?’’

‘‘There’s no need to shout.’’ Charlotte patted her hand. ‘‘It’s only a little after one o’clock.’’

‘‘One o’clock!’’ Olivia jumped to her feet and then dropped down just as quickly when once again assaulted by her earlier dizziness. ‘‘What is wrong with me? I wonder if I have contracted some sort of illness.’’

‘‘In all likelihood you merely jumped to your feet too quickly after suffering the fainting spell. Take a moment and then try standing again more slowly.’’

Olivia did as Charlotte suggested. With slow, even steps they crossed the distance to the door. When they stepped outside the office, Olivia giggled. ‘‘If anyone saw us, they’d think we were ninety years old. What women our age totter across a room in such a dawdling fashion?’’

‘‘Only those who have suffered a fainting spell prior to attempting to navigate two lengthy staircases.’’ Charlotte tightened her hold on Olivia’s arm when they began their descent. ‘‘Hold the railing with your other hand. If you’re injured, I’ll be taken to task for not insisting on another person to help you.’’

Olivia clutched the rail and focused upon each step. Although she would have much preferred to take in the sights, she feared the slightest glance at the floors below might cause another fainting spell. She inhaled a deep breath when Charlotte announced they had only one additional hallway to traverse before they would arrive at their destination. Charlotte continued to watch her closely until they’d been seated and served their tea. Olivia was struck by how their lives had changed since arriving in this country. She would never have imagined the Lady Charlotte of old lending a helping hand or worried over the welfare of a scullery maid.

‘‘I’m feeling much better now. Thank you for your kindness.’’

‘‘Well, of course. That’s what friends do for one another, isn’t it?’’ Charlotte took a sip of her tea. ‘‘I haven’t yet heard why you happen to be in Chicago on a workday. All of this strike business hasn’t caused you to lose your position at the hotel, has it?’’

‘‘No, but I am seeking other employment.’’

Charlotte arched her brows. ‘‘Why? What’s happened?’’

While Olivia explained Fred’s concerns and his request that she seek employment in Chicago before they set their wedding date, a uniform-clad waiter delivered their food. The china placed in front of her rivaled anything used in Hotel Florence, as did the food. At Charlotte’s suggestion, she’d ordered chicken potpie, a tearoom specialty. The flaky crust equaled the best she had ever tasted.

‘‘Delicious!’’ She dabbed the corner of her mouth with the embroidered linen napkin. ‘‘Perhaps I was simply hungry. I didn’t eat much for breakfast this morning. I wonder if the chef would consider sharing the recipe with me.’’

Charlotte chuckled. ‘‘I think you need to expend your energies on seeking employment rather than a recipe for potpie. Have you developed a plan? Where do you intend to apply? It’s going to be extremely difficult, you know.’’

‘‘Why? I have an excellent letter of reference.’’ She grinned. ‘‘And this one is genuine.’’

The two of them laughed, but Charlotte soon turned sober. ‘‘Even if a position is available in one of the finer restaurants, I’m afraid you’ll meet with resistance.’’

‘‘Once they taste my food and learn of my varied culinary abilities, I hope they will all want to hire me.’’

Charlotte folded her hands together and rested them atop the table. ‘‘You’re deluding yourself if you truly believe what you’re saying. First of all, few women are hired into positions of authority.’’

‘‘But you’ve attained an impressive position. Why should it be any more difficult for me?’’

‘‘This position is one that was created after I had been employed as a clerk in the Accessories Department. I didn’t carry a letter of reference, but even if I had, I don’t believe Mr. Field would have hired me for my current position.’’ Charlotte reached for her cup and took a sip of tea.

‘‘Chef René hired me with no more than a letter—and I couldn’t even cook back then.’’

‘‘Women aren’t easily accepted, especially in positions generally given to men. Granted, folks appear to think it’s acceptable for women to work as maids and housekeepers, or as teachers and the like, but opportunities are few for other positions— especially for married women.’’

Olivia remained silent until the waiter had removed their plates. ‘‘But Chef René hired me!’’

‘‘Of course he did—because the letter I wrote bore the Lan-shire seal. Mr. Pullman didn’t want to insult my father. Otherwise, do you truly believe you would have been selected to work in the hotel? They hadn’t even advertised for an employee. You’re deceiving yourself if you believe otherwise.’’

‘‘Then you’re unwilling to help me?’’ Olivia rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm.

Concern shone in Charlotte’s eyes as she leaned across the small table. ‘‘Are you going to swoon again?’’

‘‘No, of course not, but I need to prepare a list of restaurants where I can apply. I had hoped for your help since I’m unfamiliar with the city.’’

‘‘I didn’t mean to indicate I would not help you. I merely want you to understand the difficulties so that you will be forearmed and won’t be overly disappointed when you are faced with opposition.’’ Charlotte signaled to the waiter and requested a pencil and paper. ‘‘We’ll make a list, and you may still have time to make one or two calls today.’’

Olivia glanced at the clock. Charlotte was correct. No chef would want to be interrupted during the busiest portion of his day. Such a disruption would identify her as a novice of the worst sort. Unfortunately, valuable time had already been frittered away. The likelihood that she would find employment on this day appeared bleak. And how many days would pass before Chef René would agree to another day away from the hotel kitchen? Perhaps if she agreed to work extra hours, he might consider her request.

‘‘These are the two hotels I suggest you visit today. They are the finest hotels and boast exceptional restaurants. You will at least be able to form some idea as to how you will be received.’’ Charlotte jotted down the names and addresses. ‘‘Afterward, come back to the store and we’ll formulate a plan for your next visit.’’ She handed Olivia the paper and grinned. ‘‘Do avoid the elevator upon your return.’’

‘‘I don’t need a warning about that!’’

Moments later the waiter appeared with their bill, and soon Olivia was on her way. She did her best to remain calm. Charlotte had suggested the Grand Pacific Hotel and Palmer House for Olivia’s first attempts. Because she and Charlotte had stayed at the Grand Pacific when they had first arrived in Chicago, Olivia decided she would begin there. She would at least have a small sense of familiarity when walking into the establishment.

Following Charlotte’s instructions to keep her shoulders squared and head held high, Olivia stopped outside the entrance to the Grand Pacific and asked the uniformed doorman for directions to the manager’s office. He was extremely helpful and gave her detailed directions. In her concern to remember all that he’d told her, she’d forgotten to give him a tip and wondered if he would still be on duty when she left. If so, she would slip him a coin on her way out of the hotel.

OFFICE
was stenciled in large gold letters on the door. Below, in slightly smaller letters, was the word
Manager
. She knocked lightly and gulped.

A voice from within bid her enter. Olivia had hoped to hear a woman’s voice, but upon entering was instead greeted by an austere man who appeared old enough to be her grandfather. His look of disdain was enough to cause her voice to tremble.

‘‘Good afternoon. I am Miss Olivia Mott of Pullman.’’

‘‘And you have entered my office for what reason, Miss Mott?’’

She fumbled in her purse and removed the letter of recommendation. ‘‘I have come to apply for a position as a chef in your restaurant. Well, an
assistant
chef—not the head chef, of course.’’