A Collar of Jewels

by Pamela Pope

  He walked on, keeping in the shadows beside the wall. The evening sun shed too much light on his problems and exposed another unpleasant truth. His resentment of Ellie was spilling over to affect the way he felt about William, who was the sole reason for this unsatisfactory alliance. Without him there would have been no marriage. To his shame, Max held his son responsible for his fate and could find no great affection for him. Ellie had set the seal on his rejection when she had talked of William tightening the bond.

  He reached Downey’s. Inside, the malty smell of alcohol filled his nostrils and tobacco smoke stung his eyes, but the saloon was quieter than usual. Even the honky-tonk piano was silent. The evening was damp and warm, and a fan revolving close to the ceiling was like a lazy hover-fly.

  ‘Thought you’d be at the meeting,’ the barman said.

  ‘What meeting?’ Max hadn’t been told of one.

  ‘Strike Committee’s gone to the usual place a half hour ago.’

  This was so surprising it aroused suspicion. Max sniffed the air as if to get a scent of what was going on. ‘Thanks for telling me,’ he said.

  ‘Drink, Mr Berman?’

  ‘Later.’

  He left the saloon quickly. The store where meetings were held was not far down the street and he got his feet wet in the gutter having to avoid a group of drunken strikers from the brickyards who jeered at his pace. When he pushed open the door of the store Dan Frencham was at the head of the table addressing the committee, but he stopped in mid-sentence. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘I take it I wasn’t expected,’ Max said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Max. We thought you’d be over at the Market Hall.’ The chairman, a man called Blake, spoke after a pause and he was plainly embarrassed. He cleared his throat. ‘This ain’t gonna be easy. You see, we ain’t happy about the relationship between your wife and George Pullman. Means there’s —’

  ‘My wife severed all contact with her family and with George Pullman when she married me,’ Max interrupted. ‘The fact that he came to our home was pure coincidence and nothing changed as a result of it.’

  ‘All the same, it don’t seem right that a man with your connections should be on the committee. We’ve taken a vote on it and agreed we must ask you to resign.’

  Several of the men looked down at their hands. Others nodded.

  ‘This is infamous,’ Max protested. ‘Haven’t I served you well? I’ve been a member of the ARU longer than any of you and I’ll fight for the rights of the workers with my last breath.’

  ‘It’s the risk,’ said Dan Frencham. ‘Information’s been leaked lately.’

  ‘Not through me, I swear.’

  ‘But who knows what talk there is between man and wife that could be passed on?’

  ‘I never discuss union matters with my wife.’

  The heated exchange went on for some time with Max defending himself so strongly there were several who actually changed sides, but the majority were still of the same mind and the decision stood.

  ‘I’m sorry, Max, we all are,’ Blake concluded. ‘But for the security of all those we represent we must ask you to step down from this committee. You’ve served us well, but there’s real trouble ahead and we need to be sure that every man, and his family, gives solid support.’

  Max did not accept the decision with good grace. His face was white and he spoke between gritted teeth. ‘You’ll be sorry for this, make no mistake.’

  He didn’t return home that night, but went to Mariette Schuman because he was afraid of what he would do if he had to face Ellie while his emotions were so fevered. He couldn’t trust himself not to lay a hand on her.

  *

  The strike continued into June, when the mood changed.

  Neither side gave any ground, the company refusing to go to arbitration and the strikers determined to hold out for their demands whatever the cost. A boycott seemed the only way, though Eugene Debs tried to avoid it, and at a convention on 26 June instructions were given to American Railway Union members not to handle any Pullman sleepers or diners.

  The effect of the boycott was like a prairie fire spreading from the east coast to the west. There were twenty-four railroads centred in Chicago, and most hauled Pullman rolling-stock. The first men who refused to switch Pullman cars were fired, but this provoked a general walk-out and within hours the yards in Chicago became immobilised by jammed trains. To make matters worse, crowds gathered and the Chicago Tribune carried pictures of rampaging mobs.

  Ellie read a report in which the general managers predicted a reign of terror, and her heart jolted at the mention of riot guns. What had started out as a peaceful protest in Pullman was now affecting the whole of America, and she feared for those who had started the strike.

  ‘Why can’t we leave Pullman?’ she asked Max, soon after he had told her of his rejection by the committee.

  ‘Because we need the Strikers’ Relief money,’ he said impatiently. ‘We’ve nothing else to live on.’

  She didn’t know why he was no longer a committee member. Rumours reached her ears about it being to do with her godfather’s visit to Fulton Street, but she couldn’t believe there was any connection, and Max refused to discuss it.

  The money Drew had given to Ellie was gone, and as he didn’t come with any more she was reduced to accepting bread and potatoes from the Relief Committee the same as everyone else. There were queues for the hand-outs which she had to join, but often pointed elbows forced her back, and being the last to receive anything she had to make do with what was left. Privation meant her milk was drying up and William, now three months old, was continually crying with hunger. Max hated it and stayed out for hours. She never knew where he went.

  At the beginning of July there were 50,000 men on strike across the country and the disruption to transport caused further serious problems. No mail was being carried, food became scarce and very expensive, and Chicago was like a city under siege. Newspapers began calling Eugene Debs a dictator and their sympathy with the strikers was evaporating.

  Independence Day on 4 July was marked by violence; in the city there were numerous fires, one huge one disposing of many of the now-deserted Columbian Exposition buildings. Damage to railroad property was estimated at more than 300,000 dollars. The strike was beginning to paralyse the nation, and it looked as if the workers had won, until President Cleveland ordered troop reinforcements to restore order, clear tracks and ride shot-gun on trains into Chicago.

  Pullman company men armed themselves with revolvers and took to walking in pairs. Federal troops made their headquarters at the Florence Hotel, and soldiers camping on the lawn, with Gatling guns pointing down the wide streets in case of trouble, were a sight to chill the hearts of all who lived there.

  Late one night Max brought a man home with him, and after looking in the bedroom to make sure Ellie was asleep he closed the door. The pair settled to a whispered discussion, but Ellie hardly ever slept until Max was with her and she was well aware of what was going on, though she didn’t know the identity of the other man. She tiptoed to the door and put her ear against it, trying to make out the conversation.

  ‘There’ll be mayhem …’ she caught.

  ‘It would demolish the clock tower.’

  ‘… dynamite.’

  Her stomach churned. They were hatching a plot which would do untold damage to the workshops and probably destroy a fleet of Pullman cars. The wickedness of it and the terrible danger petrified Ellie and she longed to rush out and beg Max not to be so foolhardy. Had she done so, his anger would have been equally frightening.

  The two men were talking all night and sometimes there was argument, but just before dawn the visitor left stealthily. Max came to bed but lay there in the pale light with his hands behind his head, and when Ellie turned towards him he looked at her with bleak eyes.

  ‘Things are going too far,’ he said.

  She pleaded with him. ‘Please, Max, don�
��t get too involved. Promise me you won’t take unnecessary risks.’

  ‘I can’t promise anything. I have to do what I think is right.’

  She admired his sense of duty. He had never shirked responsibilities in favour of an easy option, as he had demonstrated when she fell pregnant, but surely in this strike, there was right on both sides? She knew enough about her father’s company to know that there was never total unfairness. In bad times such as this recession, it wasn’t easy to keep paying high wages when there was less money coming in, so something had to give. Surely Mr Pullman was doing what was best for the men he employed, because if he had to pay out too much there would be nothing for new contracts, resulting in even fewer jobs. She had tried to get Max to talk about all this but he had no regard for her opinions.

  Early the next morning, he left home without having had any sleep. His clothes were creased, his hair combed only by his fingers, and two days’ growth of beard made his appearance forbidding. One look at him would put the authorities on their guard and she feared more than ever for his safety.

  By mid-morning she could no longer bear to be alone with her fears. She dressed William, picked up her shopping basket and left the apartment, walking towards the Florence Hotel which had become the hub of daily activity. A marquee for the Illinois First Regiment was like a huge mushroom filling one side of the front lawn, and the usual women and children had congregated to watch the soldiers drill, some calling out friendly comments, some actually flirting with them, others jeering.

  Suddenly the sounds of a riot could be heard coming from the direction of the workshops, raucous hate-filled voices lifting into the tension-filled air. At once the soldiers stopped drilling and primed their rifles. The women turned with a swish of petticoats and set off towards the barrage of shouting, bonnets slipping, skirts hoisted. Ellie went with them, jostling to get to the front of the running crowd. William was like a lead weight against her chest, giving her lungs no room to expand, but she had to keep going. Instinct told her that whatever trouble had erupted, Max was at the centre of it, and she was desperate to reach him.

  Panting, gasping, she crossed 111th Street and saw an ugly mob outside the barricaded workshops entrance. Sentries had been posted there for several days now and no one was admitted without a pass signed by the military or Thomas Wickes. Sure enough Max was in the forefront, but incredibly he was on the inside of the barrier with the company men. The rioters were howling for his blood.

  Ellie pushed forward. ‘What’re they doing?’ she cried.

  ‘That bastard betrayed us,’ a woman yelled. ‘Can’t trust nobody.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Bloody traitor!’ she heard men shouting. ‘Get him!’ they chanted.

  Somewhere behind her, rifles were fired into the air to disperse the crowd and there was further pandemonium. Ellie was crushed against a wall. She couldn’t go forwards or back and it took all her strength to protect William. Her feet were trodden on, her basket was swept away, and she couldn’t escape from the seething mass of people.

  She screamed to her husband. ‘Max! Max, help me!’

  It was the worst thing she could have done. Max Berman’s name on her lips attracted the attention of those nearest, and the women found a new outlet for their inflamed passions.

  ‘She’s the one we should be after! She’s the root of the trouble!’

  ‘George Pullman’s girl.’

  ‘Conrad Harvey’s daughter. Too bloody proud to be one of us.’

  They were like harridans pointing at her and deriding her, but they were not content with words. With cruel vindictiveness, the first blow was aimed at Ellie’s shins and she cried out with pain. Within seconds she was being beaten. Someone snatched the screaming baby from her just before she fell to the ground, and she tried to protect her head with her arms as blows rained on every part of her body.

  She attempted to roll over, groaning and imploring the Holy Mother to protect her. Blood was soaking her clothes and pain blinded her, but she still found her voice. ‘What have I ever done to you? You bitches! Leave me alone.’

  But they had found a scapegoat on whom to vent their anger against the establishment and they wouldn’t let go of their quarry. The last thing she remembered was being kicked in the stomach. She was unconscious when Max scattered the women in a terrible fury, gathered up his wife and carried her to relative safety.

  Nine

  Ellie struggled to open her eyes but her lids were so swollen she couldn’t see enough to make out where she was. The room was dark. Shadowy figures hovered round the bed talking about her, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  She knew Max was there. Love made her aware of his presence in every situation, and because he was there she wasn’t afraid, even though the pain in her body was excruciating. Sometimes she heard a strange language. At others she recognised voices and thought one was her mother’s, but they faded away and she was left with only a roaring in her head.

  Dark curtains were drawn across the window making it seem to be perpetually night, and footsteps were soft so as not to disturb the quietness cocooning her. Water was spooned into her parched mouth a drop at a time by a woman she couldn’t see and she drifted away again into unconsciousness which lasted until the following morning. This time a beam of daylight cut across the room and shone on the righthand door post, illuminating a small mezuzah with a seven-branched candlestick design on it. A silk tallith with knots at each corner hung over a chair. Painfully Ellie tried to work out the significance of these things and a gradual picture built up in her mind of the house where Max’s parents lived. She had been here before, on the night of their wedding.

  A stranger with a black beard, whose worn coat smelt of antiseptic, bathed her forehead with cool water.

  ‘She will never be able to have another child,’ she heard the man say.

  Max’s voice answered. ‘It was a miscarriage. Surely another time …’

  ‘She is lucky to be alive. The damage to her internal organs is extensive and another pregnancy is out of the question.’

  Who were they talking about? Ellie wished they would go away and talk elsewhere.

  The next day the swelling over her eyes had gone down and she awoke fully to see Hedda Berman beside the bed with William in her arms and a small child tugging at her skirt. She smiled through dry lips.

  ‘You’re better,’ Hedda said. ‘We have been very worried about you.’

  Ellie tried to speak but it required all her strength just to murmur one word. ‘Max?’

  ‘Max will come.’

  She knew she must have been very ill for the Bermans to have relented and taken her into their home, yet she could remember little of what had happened to make it necessary. Garbled voices echoed through her head but it was only by the high-pitched tone that she could tell they were angry. Sometimes her body jerked as if she were trying to ward off blows.

  Two days later, when she had recovered enough to be given broth and was alert and questioning, Max told her about the women of Pullman who had beaten her because she was George Pullman’s godchild. He was deeply moved by her suffering, compassionate and full of contrition. Recollection came to her slowly as vivid pictures pieced together until she could remember almost everything.

  ‘Ellie, please forgive me. I couldn’t get to you,’ Max said, his eyes pleading with her. ‘They were like savage animals wanting to tear you apart. It was dreadful.’

  ‘You were going to blow up the clock-tower.’ She remembered him talking through the night to a man he had brought home.

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I was told of the plot and we managed to prevent it — that was what caused the riot. What good would it have done to destroy the workshops? It would mean less work than ever once the strike is won.’

  ‘But that was going against the Strike Committee!’

  ‘I am no longer on the committee,’ he reminded her.


  ‘So they called you a traitor.’ Weak tears welled up. ‘Oh Max, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Dear Ellie, the blame must lie with those who can’t see reason.’ He smoothed the damp hair from her forehead. ‘Rest and get well, and try to put it out of your mind.’

  ‘How can I? I have to go back there.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it when you’re stronger.’ He drew her into his arms very gently so as not to hurt her. ‘It’s my fault you’re lying here injured. I’ve brought you nothing but pain and trouble. You would’ve been better off if we’d never met.’

  ‘Don’t ever say that, Max. You know I couldn’t live without you.’

  ‘You’ve sacrificed your home and the love of your parents …’

  ‘They don’t matter.’ She wouldn’t let him torture himself.

  He cradled her silently for several minutes and she was more contented in his company than she had been for a long time.

  ‘Your mother came to see you while you were still unconscious,’ he said, after a while. ‘She was very upset.’

  ‘And my father?’

  ‘He didn’t come.’

  She brooded over the news after Max had left, happy yet unhappy at the reaction of her parents. She wished Mama would come again, but more than anything she longed for Papa to relent and understand that she had chosen the path her life was to take and had no regrets, even now.

  Sometimes Hedda Berman brought her needlework and sat with Ellie. The curtains were pulled back now and the dark wallpaper didn’t look so depressing, once she could see the pattern of roses trailing across it. One day Hedda put William in her arms while he was sleeping, and the little girl who was always there would curl up on the bed to be near them. She was the most beautiful child Ellie had ever seen, with red-gold curls which shone in the sunlight like a halo round her head. Pale and cherubic, she could have been the model for a painting of the Madonna and Child.