An Uncertain Dream (4 page)
‘‘I haven’t forgotten.’’ She patted his arm. ‘‘And in spite of my friendship with Mr. Clayborn, I still remain an employee of the hotel. God has taken care of me, Chef René . I pray He will continue to do so.’’
‘‘Perhaps God expects people to use their good sense, also. Non?’’ He shooed one of the kitchen boys out of his path as he trundled across the room toward the stove.
‘‘So you
do
believe in God. If I’ve accomplished nothing else, I’ve managed to gain that much information today.’’
‘‘I never said I didn’t believe in God, Miss Mott. I said I had no use for attending church. There is a difference. And I believe you had better accomplish more than that if you wish to maintain your employment. Please go and see that the dining room is in order. I am told we are short of staff.’’
The chef ’s brusque instructions didn’t dampen Olivia’s spirits. His mention of a belief in God had given her hope. He didn’t know it, but she’d been praying for him ever since he’d suffered from heart problems. Rather than circle outside the kitchen, Olivia cut through the carving room. Angry voices emanated from the meeting room where the board of directors were gathered, and she stopped short outside the door.
Flattening herself against the wall, she strained to listen. She couldn’t distinguish the voices, but there was little doubt the men were unhappy with Mr. Pullman.
‘‘The least George could have done was meet with us before he ran off to avoid the press. He’ll have to return and face them eventually, for I suspect there’ll be little progress made in the next three months. Who knows? It could go on longer. If the workers have prepared in advance, it’s going to take more than a couple weeks to wear down their resistance.’’
‘‘The shops must remain closed until we can break the union,’’ someone else commented. ‘‘The board need only follow the same path we have in the past: do nothing until their ability to resist has crumbled. After all, the financial power of the company far surpasses the workers’ limited means.’’
Shouts of ‘‘Hear, hear!’’ were followed by a smattering of applause.
‘‘Mr. Pullman has specifically cautioned against interviews. All requests for information may be directed to me.’’ Olivia recognized Mr. Howard’s voice.
‘‘And what statement will you give them, Samuel?’’
‘‘That the union is solely responsible and the company is indifferent as to length of the strike. Mr. Pullman hopes to minimize any adverse publicity by keeping our comments to a minimum.’’
A platter crashed in the kitchen, and Olivia jumped away from the wall with a start. After a quick glance over her shoulder, she hurried to the dining room. If she didn’t soon return to the kitchen, Chef René would come looking for her.
The appearance of Matthew Clayborn in the park came as no surprise to Fred. In fact, Fred had expected him to arrive the previous evening. No doubt Matthew’s editor hadn’t given him permission to come to Pullman until this morning. And Matthew would have competition for his story, for a number of other Chicago newsmen had already arrived.
‘‘Good to see you. I hoped you’d be assigned to cover the strike.’’ Fred clapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘We want reporters we can depend upon to tell our story accurately.’’
Matthew nodded. ‘‘I can tell you there is sympathy for your cause, but many believe the present business conditions are going to prove the strike a foolish mistake—that you are bound for failure.’’
Fred stiffened at the assessment. ‘‘Would they have us continue to sit here and do nothing? Most families haven’t enough money for food, and they go deeper into debt each month. We’ve tried to convince Mr. Pullman that the rents should be lowered to correspond with the decrease in wages the company has instituted, but he’ll hear nothing of it and says the car works and the town company are independent of one another. He fails to mention he owns both. The man gives with one hand and takes with the other.’’
The two men dropped to the grass, and Matthew jotted notes while Fred related the plight of journeyman mechanics in the Freight-Car Construction Department. ‘‘In the past year, their wages have decreased from fifty-three dollars a month to a little less than fourteen dollars, yet the rent on a single-family house remains the same—nearly sixteen dollars. Money for their rent is withheld from their pay, so they have nothing left, and their debt increases each month.’’ Fred doubled one hand into a fist and jammed it into the palm of the other. ‘‘The whole thing makes my blood boil. If they are two different companies, how can he withhold wages paid by the car works for rent owed to the town company?’’
‘‘You make a valid point. But knowing George Pullman, I’m sure there’s something written in your employment agreement or rental contract whereby you grant permission for the rent to be deducted.’’ Matthew nodded toward the folks who had gathered to listen to the Pullman band playing a rousing tune in Arcade Park. ‘‘At least there’s still a bit of enjoyment to be had in all of this. A model strike in Mr. Pullman’s model town, wouldn’t you say?’’
Fred grinned. ‘‘We’ve discouraged any form of property damage or violence by the workers.’’
‘‘I think that’s wise. For now, the newspapers and the public appear to consider Pullman the rogue. However, there is growing sentiment that the unions are becoming too demanding.’’ Matthew shifted positions and rested against the tree. ‘‘Was it Mr. Ashton who advised the workers to ally with the American Railway Union?’’
‘‘Yes. He said the union was strong, and Mr. Debs explained that all workers, no matter their occupation, qualified for membership since the company operates over twenty miles of rails in the town.’’
Matthew tucked his notebook into his pocket. ‘‘I imagine I’m going to be spending a good deal of time here in Pullman. I’m glad it will give us an opportunity to see each other again, but I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.’’ He glanced toward the hotel. ‘‘What’s become of you and Olivia? The last I spoke with Ellen Ashton, she said the two of you had made amends.’’
Fred laughed. Matthew made it sound as though they’d reached a formal agreement to settle their differences. Then again, in some respects he supposed they had. Not anything formal, of course, but he and Olivia had promised there would be no more lies between them.
‘‘Through all our difficulties, I’ve never stopped caring for Olivia, but there have been problems we’ve had to overcome. I imagine that’s true for most couples.’’
Matthew arched his brows. ‘‘Sounds as though you’re preparing for a serious commitment.’’
‘‘One day, but now isn’t the time. There’s too much upheaval at the moment.’’
‘‘Don’t wait too long or someone may steal her away from you, my friend.’’
Fred clenched his jaw. ‘‘Does that mean you’re interested in Olivia? Because if it does—’’
With his palm turned toward Fred, Matthew stretched his arm forward. ‘‘Whoa! I wasn’t speaking for myself, although I’d be among the first to admit Olivia is a lovely young woman.’’ He chuckled when Fred inched closer. ‘‘I am pleased for both of you. But I’m not sure this strike should be a reason for determining the course of your future with Olivia. In fact, she’s one of the few who remains gainfully employed.’’
‘‘Exactly!’’
‘‘Ah. I sense a bit of pride welling in your chest, Fred.’’ Matthew pulled a blade of grass and tucked it in the corner of his mouth. ‘‘There will be many who wish for a wife who can help support their families in the months to come.’’
‘‘Months?’’ Fred shook his head. ‘‘We’re hoping the company will capitulate before then.’’
‘‘And the company is confident the workers will capitulate long before it must give in. It’s the same with every strike. Unfortunately, history predicts the workers will lose their battle.’’
‘‘Not this time, Matthew. I believe we’re better prepared than those who have gone before us.’’ He spoke with bravado even though his words were filled with a degree of puffery. The winter had been too long and hard, the paychecks too small, or nonexistent, for any of them to be prepared for a long siege. Perhaps his pride had taken hold of him in more ways than one.
A young woman rushed toward the park, frantically waving her handkerchief overhead. ‘‘The Arcade stores are no longer giving credit!’’ she hollered while running toward her husband with wild abandon. ‘‘What will we do? How shall we survive?’’
‘‘How
will
all of you survive, Fred?’’ Matthew pulled the blade of grass from between his lips.
Fred tilted his head. ‘‘I believe we’ll have to seek aid from any charitable group willing to come to our rescue.’’
‘‘I’ll mention your need for help in my news article.’’ Matthew pushed himself to his feet. ‘‘Speaking of my work, I must return to Chicago.’’
Fred could rely upon Matthew to write the truth, and if Matthew’s article should be slanted in one direction or the other, he would steadfastly align with the striking men. The residents of Pullman were going to need all the support they could muster.
London, England
Sunday, May 13, 1894
Lady Charlotte clapped her hands and extended her arms toward her son. ‘‘Come here, Morgan.’’ The toddler giggled and ran to her, his chubby legs carrying him across the nursery in zigzag fashion. His clear blue eyes sparkled with undeniable childish delight.
‘‘You have become such a fine big boy, haven’t you? In three months, we shall celebrate your second birthday with a proper party.’’
He nodded his head, and his blond curls bobbled in wild abandon. ‘‘Paree,’’ he repeated.
She laughed at his attempt to mimic her. ‘‘No. Par
tee
.’’
Rather than participate in a lesson in pronunciation, he picked up his ball and tossed it in the air. All who saw him said young Morgan’s eyes were a near match to her own. Yet Charlotte knew her eyes revealed neither sparkle nor delight, for she had experienced little happiness since her return to London, except for the reunion with Morgan and her parents, of course.
Her father lay dying in his bedchamber, and her mother remained unwilling to accept the doctor’s recent declaration that the Earl of Lanshire didn’t have long for this world. Since her return to England, it seemed Charlotte and her mother had exchanged places within the family. The daughter, once considered headstrong and undisciplined, had gently eased into her role as Morgan’s mother and had been forced into the role of mistress of Lanshire Hall. The servants looked to Lady Charlotte for instruction regarding the care of her father as well as the day-to-day management of the household, while the Countess of Lanshire spent her afternoons visiting with friends or on holiday at their country estates. Rather than concerning herself with the impending death of her husband, the countess worried where the family would vacation during the upcoming summer months.
To make matters worse, Ludie, the servant who had acted as Lady Charlotte’s personal maid from the time she was a young girl, had resigned her post at Lanshire Hall several months before Charlotte’s return to England. Other than one or two of the servants who had remained on staff after Charlotte’s hasty departure to Pullman, Illinois, in 1892, the mansion was now filled with strangers.
Her mother’s sour-faced maid had been assigned to assist Charlotte as well as perform her usual duties for the countess. The woman’s resentment had quickly become evident, and Charlotte soon released the woman from providing her with any further service. Instead, Beatrice, the young girl who helped with Morgan’s care, offered to aid Lady Charlotte with her toilette each day, which seemed rather silly now. Charlotte had, after all, cared for herself during her time at Priddle House, a fact her mother hadn’t believed until she had recently observed Charlotte fashion her own hair.
The countess stepped into the nursery, carrying a light brocade parasol embellished with a flounce of silk, lace, and ribbons. ‘‘I’m off to Hargrove for a visit with the marchioness. Do look in on your father. He appears to be improving quite nicely this morning. I believe he’ll be able to discuss our summer plans by this evening.’’
‘‘Father misses you when you’re off on your daily visits to the country. I wish you’d remain at home with us.’’
‘‘And I wish you’d cease your daily attempts to oppress me with guilt. We both know that he sleeps most of the day. What am I to do? Sit beside his bed and read or embroider?’’ Her mother slapped her gloves on the carved walnut side table. ‘‘I think not! I cannot believe how you have changed, Charlotte. Living among those religious zealots in Chicago has changed you. And not for the better, I might add.’’
‘‘Mrs. Priddle isn’t a religious zealot. She helped me discover what it means to accept Jesus as my Savior and how to lead a Christian life. We studied the same Bible that sits on your bedside table.’’ Charlotte gathered Morgan onto her lap. ‘‘And how can you say I’m not a better person? I have returned to accept responsibility for my child, and I do my best to help you and Father at every turn.’’
Her mother sighed. ‘‘That much is true. And I am most thankful you have returned to England.’’ She leaned forward and tousled Morgan’s curls. ‘‘I haven’t time to continue this discussion. I’m going to be treacherously late.’’ She blew Morgan a kiss and left the room.
Much to Charlotte’s delight, the child mimicked his grandmother. Charlotte kissed his chubby fingers and then released him to play with his ball. She prayed her son would become an honorable man, unlike his father, and that he would never toy with the affections of a woman who loved him.
Her return to Lanshire Hall had renewed Charlotte’s memories of her brief affair with Randolph Morgan. One of George Pullman’s associates, Randolph had visited Lanshire Hall to discuss Mr. Pullman’s business. During the day, Randolph had charmed her father into purchasing stock in George Pullman’s company; during the night, he had charmed Charlotte into his bed. Her subsequent pregnancy had been the reason she had forced Olivia to travel with her to Pullman. How cruel Charlotte had been to the former scullery maid.
‘‘Yet look how far Olivia has come since leaving this place,’’ Charlotte murmured. Using a letter of recommendation forged by Charlotte, Olivia had succeeded in securing a position at Hotel Florence as an assistant chef. When Charlotte discovered Randolph Morgan already had a wife and children, her dreams of a future with him had collapsed around her, and she thought her life had ended. ‘‘What heartache and pain I caused with my foolhardy conduct,’’ she muttered.