“The company wishes to know at all times whether its employees are loyal. It is said there are spies in every parlor. A man who says something unfavorable about the company at Sunday dinner may find himself dismissed from work on Monday morning.”
“My word, this is too much!” Evangeline was incensed. “Who could live under conditions like these? Why not move to the city where you wouldn’t be watched day and night?”
Bracecote appeared crestfallen. “It wouldn’t help. The common belief is that preference is given to those who live at Pullman. When jobs are available, they are given first to residents.”
“Is that actually the case?” Jane sounded doubtful.
“Perhaps not, but it is the perception and so we remain. Last winter when work was scarce everywhere, the men chose to remain here in case something opened up. Even if it meant going into debt to pay the rent.”
The little group paused again before an ornately landscaped park to their right. Just ahead of them was a building of some four stories. Its size and elaborate Queen Anne architecture suggested it was something other than a residence.
“This must be the Hotel Florence,” Jane said.
“How odd that it shouldn’t be named after Mr. Pullman. Everything else is,” Evangeline added.
Bracecote cleared his throat uncomfortably. “In a way it is. It is named for Mr. Pullman’s favorite daughter.”
“Of course. Why not.” Evangeline rolled her eyes.
Their attention was caught by a group of well-dressed men lounging on the hotel’s wraparound verandah and smoking cigars. This was the first sign of human activity they had seen since stepping off the train.
Evangeline scrutinized the idlers for a few moments. “Do those men work at the factory?”
Bracecote shook his head. “The hotel was built for business associates, management, and clients of the company. Mr. Pullman also maintains a suite there overlooking the car works. None of the laborers are allowed inside.” Their guide laughed deprecatingly. “It is the only place in Pullman that serves liquor.”
Even Jane’s mild features registered surprised at this statement. “Mr. Pullman is afraid his workers might imbibe?”
“The workers imbibe at the thirty-odd saloons in Kensington. It’s a well-worn path.” Bracecote lowered his voice. “Although Mr. Pullman is a temperance advocate, that isn’t the real reason for keeping the workers away. You see, when the town was first constructed, it was something of an attraction. A factory town built along principles of thrift, hard work, cleanliness, and sobriety. People came from all over the world to see it.”
“And they stayed at the hotel?” Evangeline inferred.
“Yes. Tours were arranged for them to view the factory and the town. Many visitors to the Columbian Exposition last year also came here.”
“So, you all became curiosities in Mr. Pullman’s zoological garden but no one was allowed to feed the animals!”
At her words, Bracecote turned pale.
“Engie!” A warning tone crept into Jane’s voice. “We are only here to observe.”
“I suspect the one thing that the town of Pullman has had in abundance is observation,” Evangeline muttered.
Jane quickly changed the subject. “I notice that those gentlemen on the verandah all wear miniature American flags in their lapels while you wear a white ribbon. What is the significance of this?”
Bracecote shifted his stance backward as if dreading the question. “That has become a sore spot for the strikers. We have taken to wearing white ribbons in a show of unity. Anyone who is in sympathy with the workers does the same. The company managers and their friends have adopted the American flag instead to show their support for Mr. Pullman.”
“Suggesting that the strikers are less patriotic than everybody else?” Evangeline asked.
“Exactly,” Bracecote concurred.
“What a lovely sentiment.”
One of the men seated on the verandah railing caught Evangeline’s eye. He flicked some cigar ash into the flower bed below his perch and tipped his hat to her. A languid smile that bore a close resemblance to a sneer hovered on his lips. Evangeline pointedly turned her face away.
The strike chairman ushered his little group past the hotel without acknowledging the contemptuous comments of the group on the porch. They walked along for another block before turning down a side street where they were confronted by red brick row houses on their right and what appeared to be block houses, or tenements, on their left.
“Not all the workers’ homes are in the same style,” Evangeline noted.
“A variety of accommodations have been provided depending on a man’s circumstances,” Bracecote explained. “For example, the tenements are the cheapest. They have the smallest rooms and shared conveniences. It is usually the bachelors and the immigrants who move in there. The workers’ cottages are more spacious. Some have five rooms, and some more.”
“And all of them have running water?” Jane asked.
“From that standpoint, the town of Pullman is a model city. All the buildings have indoor plumbing, gas heat, and the company provides a sewage system and daily garbage pickup. All the streets are paved with macadam and there are wooden sidewalks as well. In addition, the company maintains the flower gardens in the front yards of the cottages.”
The tree-lined street stretching before them with its spring blooms seemed neat and well-tended.
“It is very clean,” Evangeline admitted grudgingly. She paused in mid-stride to study the row of houses to her right. Her two companions regarded her quizzically.
“They’re all connected,” she murmured.
“What, Engie?”
“Each individual unit is built right next to the one beside it. There’s no way to get from the front of the house to the back without walking around the block and going through the alley.”
“That is correct,” assented Bracecote. “Though the alleys are paved and kept sanitary.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a relief.” Evangeline glanced at Jane. “After your battle with city hall last year to get the garbage removed from the alleys around Mast House, this must be quite appealing to you.”
Jane raised an amused eyebrow.
Evangeline continued. “I’m impressed less by the cleanliness of the alleys than by the monotony of the design. Some attempt has been made to vary the units but still... It’s less like a neighborhood than an army barracks. Or worse.”
“Worse?” Jane asked calmly.
“I’m reminded of something Martin Allworthy said a few weeks ago at a dinner party. Jane, you remember Allworthy, don’t you? Pompous sort. His wife donates generously to Mast House. He said that workers are like sheep.”
“Sheep!” Bracecote echoed in disbelief.
“Yes, sheep who presumably need to be confined to keep them from running off in all directions. These row houses must make excellent sheep pens.”
Evangeline marched forward, leaving her shocked companions to catch up. At the end of the block, the row houses gave way to a small square. At the center stood an imposing building.
“This is Market Square,” Bracecote announced. “It contains a grocery, a butcher, and sundry other shops.”
“And the residents of Pullman are allowed to set foot here?” Evangeline strove to keep an edge out of her voice. She did, however, fan herself vigorously with her now wilted train schedule.
“Yes, this was where the families shopped. That is, until they could no longer afford to buy food...” Bracecote trailed off glumly.
“Isn’t there a Relief Committee providing for the strikers now?” Jane offered.
“Yes. A Relief Store has been set up south of here and donations have been generous from around the country. We have gotten everything from flour to chewing tobacco. No luxuries, you understand, but all the basic necessities in abundance.”
“It’s good to know the sympathies of the people are with you,” Evangeline remarked.
“I d
on’t know how we would manage to hold out without their support. This may prove to be a long siege.”
Bracecote steered the ladies down a side street to the right. They walked a bit further and came to a small church of an unusual color.
“What a charming little building!” Evangeline exclaimed.
“It’s called the Greenstone Church but no one uses it much.”
“No one has any inclination to pray in Pullman?” Evangeline laughed.
Bracecote smiled nervously. Evangeline’s direct observations had apparently unsettled him. “It’s because the rent Mr. Pullman charges for the church is so high that no denomination can afford it.”
“Even religion must pay its way,” Evangeline mused. “What an admirable capitalist sentiment.”
Jane steered the topic in another direction. “I was hoping we might see the interior of some of these buildings.”
“Quite right, Miss Eaves. That’s our next destination.” Bracecote led them down another street and then stopped before a row house in the middle of the block. “I’ll take my leave of you here and place you in the care of three lovely girls who can give you a different point of view about life in Pullman.”
Bracecote walked up the stairs and rapped on the door. It was immediately opened by a blond girl of about twenty. She must have been waiting for the visitors. Bobbing a quick curtsy, she gestured for the party to enter.
“Come in, come in. You’re very welcome here, ladies. We’ve been looking out for you all afternoon.”
Bracecote tipped his hat to the girl and shook hands solemnly with the visitors before departing.
Once inside the foyer, Jane and Evangeline were assailed by three young women all talking excitedly at once. Hands were shaken and reshaken and the visitors were ushered into a parlor at the front of the house.
The spokesgirl for the group stepped forward. “My name is Flora, and this is Olivia, and Tess.” The other two bobbed a few more curtsies and giggled. Olivia was plump, short, and wore her hair in ringlets. Tess was angular with quick, darting eyes.
Flora continued. “Please excuse us, but we’ve never entertained anybody important before.” More giggling.
“Oh, I don’t think we’re all that important,” Evangeline winked and took a seat on the sofa by the front window.
The parlor seemed narrow and incommodious by Evangeline’s standards though the newly whitewashed walls helped to brighten it.
“Do all of you live here together?” Jane asked.
“Oh no, this is where Flora lives with her two brothers and mother,” Tess volunteered. “Olivia and me live down the block but all three of us work in the sewing shop at the factory. We got voted as kind of a delegation by the other women strikers—to give you our point of view. Everybody said we talk the most so we should do the most talking.” The other two chortled appreciatively.
Even Jane smiled at their exuberance. “Perhaps I might respectfully ask the delegation to give us a full tour of this house?”
All three girls popped out of their chairs simultaneously as if the furniture had been set on fire. They raced to open the parlor door together, nearly colliding until Flora took command of the situation.
She glared at her companions. “Settle down now! A fine opinion the ladies will have of us. Dashing around like headless chickens!” She placed her hands on her hips. “Now we’re going to do this in an orderly fashion. Olivia, you get those papers we put together on prices in the shop. Tess, you can set the kettle on for tea.” Flora’s scowl evaporated when she turned her attention back to the visitors. “If you ladies will follow me, we can start with the first floor.”
It required little time for the party to tour five rooms. The downstairs consisted of a parlor which took up the front of the house, and a combination dining room and kitchen which took up the entire back. The upstairs arrangement mirrored the floor plan below—a large bedroom at the front of the house and two smaller ones behind. The toilet was installed in a small closet off the upstairs hall. The rooms on the second floor were particularly stifling on this muggy afternoon because the only ventilation came either from the front of the house or the back. The two side walls adjoined neighboring units. A little additional ventilation was afforded by the skylight suspended over the hallway but it wasn’t enough to dispel the oppressive humidity.
“By the standards of Polk Street, this is quite nice,” Jane acknowledged.
“At twice the price, no doubt,” Evangeline retorted under her breath.
The tour continued into the back yard. Each cottage had a green space allotted to it, along with a wood shed and a path leading into the paved alley. Flora and her mother had planted a small vegetable garden though, as Flora explained, “Nothing is coming in yet but we’ll have fresh tomatoes and peas soon enough.”
She then led them into the basement to see the storage space. It was blessedly cool compared to the close air above stairs. When the ladies had recovered from the heat, Flora returned them to the parlor. Olivia greeted them with a nervous smile and, as they seated themselves on the sofa, thrust a sheaf of papers into Evangeline’s hands.
She studied the cryptic columns of words and numbers as Jane read over her shoulder. “1893, a one window drapery, one dollar. 1894, a one window drapery, forty five cents.” The list went on for pages.
Evangeline regarded Olivia quizzically. “How does this all add up?”
Unnerved to be the focus of attention, Olivia began to stutter. “Well... it’s just that I... I...” She took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. “I just put the list together. Let Flora explain.” She flounced down in an armchair, overcome.
Tess backed through the parlor door carrying a tea tray. She set the tray down when she noticed Olivia’s face. “What’s the matter with you?”
“You and Flora explain it.” Olivia stared at her friend accusingly. “I just wrote what you told me.”
The other two girls traded long-suffering looks. Flora and Tess seated themselves on either side of the visitors to explain the significance of the list.
As they started going through the numbers, Olivia jumped up to dispense tea with bread and butter sandwiches. She was about to hand around the plates when Jane stopped her.
“Forgive us but we really can’t accept your hospitality.”
“Why not? What did we do?” Tess asked bluntly.
Evangeline picked up the thread from Jane. “We know you’re out on strike and you must be hard-pressed for food. You shouldn’t waste your necessities on us.”
“No need to worry about that, Miss LeClair,” Flora chimed in. “The strike committee knew you were coming so they voted us extra shares from the Relief Store. Eat hearty.” She nodded to Olivia, who emphatically shoved a plate at Jane.
“Take it, please. We’d feel awful if you didn’t stay to have tea with us.” Olivia’s lower lip was quivering with distress. “Everybody would think we didn’t know how to act around society ladies and that we drove you away with our bad manners.”
Jane accepted without further protest.
Flora, after darting a quick look of exasperation in Olivia’s direction, returned to the matter at hand. She pointed to various items on the paper. “You can see what we made last year compared to this.”
“I see the prices for items but what is your daily wage?” Evangeline asked, bewildered.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Tess offered. “We get paid by the piece mostly. For sewing. Everything in a Pullman Palace railway carriage has some sewing to it. The carpets, the drapes, the upholstery. Even the tablecloths and napkins in the dining car.”
“So these prices for one enclosed section curtain would have been thirty five cents in 1893—”
“And fifteen cents in 1894!” Flora cut in.
“Less than half,” Evangeline murmured.
“Less than half!” Tess echoed angrily.
“It isn’t only the price cuts. We couldn’t make up the hours either.” Olivia finally regained her buoya
ncy and contributed to the conversation. “Sometimes the company would only let us work half the hours we used to because their orders were down and they had nothing for us to do.”
“Half the hours at half your previous rate?” Jane asked.
“That’s right,” Flora affirmed. “In 1893, I could make $2.25 a day which was very good wages for a girl. This year, before the strike I was lucky to make eighty cents a day.”
“Oh, but that’s not the worst of it.” Olivia’s tone had become confidential now. “We don’t dare talk about this out in public but our forewoman is a tyrant.”
“An absolute tartar,” Tess agreed solemnly.
“She has her favorites.” Flora nodded.
“And she gives all the best jobs to them so they can earn the most!” Olivia’s lip was quivering again. “And the rest of us, she grinds us down to nothing. She could be so mean that some girls quit who would still be at the company today if she hadn’t hounded them. If she could make you do a piece of work for twenty five cents less than the going price, she would do it every time.”
Evangeline’s attention traveled from one girl to the next. She noted how heated the conversation had become.
“I’ve seen her cut down prices herself, even below what the supervisors wanted.” Flora had jumped up and was pacing now.
“That’s right.” Tess backed her. “She did it because she thought it would make her stand in better with the company. She was earning her regular $2.25 a day so what did she care if we had enough to live on or not? Just so long as she could save the company a few dollars.”
“At your expense,” Jane offered quietly.
Olivia had started to cry. “That’s right. It all came back on us.” She fumbled in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief. “And some of us that complained got let go so we learned not to complain because nobody in the company would listen.”
Flora walked over to put her arm around Olivia’s shoulder. She gazed earnestly at the visitors. “You understand now why we struck, don’t you? Nobody believed us and there was nothing left for us to do.”
The two ladies exchanged glances of wordless agreement.
“I can’t speak for the multitude,” Jane said, “but you’ve impressed upon us the misery of your situation. In our small way, we’ll try to do what we can.”
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 7
