Fortunately, Mrs. DeVault’s listed Scriptures weren’t scattered throughout the entire Bible, for although many young women her age were familiar with the Bible and its contents, such education had never been a priority in her father’s house. When she finished reading the verses, Olivia slowly closed the cover and rubbed her palm across the leather cover. Had her mother studied the Bible? If she had lived, would she have taught her about eternal life? If her mother had truly believed these verses, they would meet in eternity. The thought was comforting—something she’d never before considered.
Olivia placed the Bible on her bedside table and wondered if she could possibly discover peace through Jesus Christ. Peace would be a wonderful thing, for she had never experienced absolute tranquillity in her life. Surely receiving a gift of such magnitude must be difficult. There had to be more to this issue of forgiveness and eternal life than what was contained in those verses. It sounded wonderful, but it seemed too simple to be true. She’d ask Mrs. DeVault.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With his white hat fluttering in the morning breeze, Chef René waved Olivia onward as she neared the kitchen door, then stepped forward to meet her. ‘‘So? I am anxious to hear a report of your meeting with Mrs. Pullman. Come along and tell me.’’
Olivia followed him into his office. Once they were seated, she spoke of Mrs. Pullman’s pleasure with the menu. Chef René beamed and encouraged her to tell him more. She had nearly concluded her report, but then remembered Mrs. Pullman’s request regarding a theme for the decorations.
Chef René ’s pleasant countenance faded to a frown. ‘‘You discouraged such an idea, did you not? Elegance is the key to beauty—not some ghastly theme.’’ Disgust oozed from his final word.
Olivia squirmed in her chair. ‘‘I suggested flowers and candles, but she became insistent. I didn’t believe I had the right to argue with her choice. So I made several suggestions.’’ She muttered her final remark and bowed her head.
‘‘Never, never suggest ideas for a theme!’’ He dislodged himself from the chair and edged around his desk. Lifting her chin with one finger, he stared into her eyes. ‘‘I am not angry with you, Miss Mott. You did not know. We may still be able to save Mrs. Pullman from herself. I will contact her and suggest she discard such a notion.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Men compete in sports. Unfortunately, women do the same with their teas and dinner parties. Take charge of the kitchen, Miss Mott. I must think.’’
She scampered down the hallway and set to work, but when the chef hadn’t reappeared by midafternoon, her fears mounted. Several discreet inquiries revealed that none of the staff had seen Chef René , and he wasn’t in his office. Though he’d instructed her to take charge, she hadn’t expected him to disappear for the entire day. Had Mrs. Pullman’s request for a theme distressed him so much he had taken to his bed? Surely not!
The supper menu consisted of simple fare, a fact for which she was now grateful. She scurried down the kitchen stairs into the pastry kitchen. Smells of freshly baked loaves wafted through the air to greet her. The crusty loaves of bread and blackberry pies were cooling on the large racks that had been specially designed and installed in the pastry kitchen. A sense of pride welled in her chest when she spotted the pies. The recipe was one she’d found in her mother’s recipe box. After one taste, Chef René had declared Mrs. Mott’s blackberry pie and her strawberry-rhubarb pie would be offered on the hotel’s dessert menu when the fruits were in season.
She reached the top of the stairs with her mind racing, attempting to recall all that needed completion before the evening meal. Bustling around the corner into the kitchen, she ran headlong into Chef René . ‘‘Where have you been?’’ Unfortunately, her words sounded more like an accusation than a question.
The chef ’s eyebrows raised in perfect arches. ‘‘You question my whereabouts? When did you become executive chef of this hotel, Miss Mott?’’
Olivia folded her arms across her waist and bowed her head, wishing she could form her body into a tight knot and make it disappear. ‘‘I apologize. My fear for your well-being caused me to speak out in an abrupt fashion.’’
He rubbed his jaw and contemplated her for a moment. ‘‘Oui. Most often you are soft-spoken and sweet-natured.’’ He wagged his finger back and forth. ‘‘Today you forget. Come outside where we may speak privately.’’
She followed him until they reached the garden by the side entrance of the main kitchen.
He scanned the vicinity as though preparing to tell her a secret. ‘‘I went to visit Mrs. Pullman today, and we have agreed to dispense with a theme for her tea.’’
Olivia’s mouth dropped open. ‘‘You went to—’’
‘‘Oui. With Mr. Pullman’s permission. I took his private train back to Prairie Avenue, and after due consideration, we agreed upon ice sculptures, flowers, candles, and elegance. You, Miss Mott, will once again take charge of the décor.’’
Her spirits sagged. She had been pleased when Mrs. Pullman offered her assistant’s help. Chef René ’s journey to Chicago had done nothing but cause her additional worries. He stared at her expectantly. ‘‘Thank you for your display of confidence in my abilities,’’ she finally said.
He gripped her shoulder warmly. ‘‘You are an excellent protégée, Miss Mott. You will do a fine job. I will prepare the ice carvings for you.’’
She nearly giggled aloud. He’d best prepare them. Otherwise, the tables would be decked with nothing more than a chunk of ice direct from the Pullman icehouse, for she knew nothing of ice carving.
‘‘Supper is well underway?’’ He held her elbow as they walked back to the kitchen.
‘‘Yes. Everything is progressing smoothly.’’
‘‘Then you may depart for the day. You’ve done a fine job, Miss Mott.’’
Olivia basked in the praise while she packed two pieces of pie, a chunk of bread, soup, and two servings of the leftover veal scaloppini into her basket and then headed off toward home. Since she’d have two extra hours of daylight to enjoy, she decided she’d leave the supper basket at home and go visit with Mrs. DeVault before Fred and Albert returned home from work. There would be more than sufficient time to ask her questions in private before the men arrived.
The sound of Morgan’s cries broke Olivia’s peaceful reverie as she neared home. His lusty wails drowned out the chirping birds and any other sound, save the whistling of a train nearing town. She’d grown accustomed to the trains that arrived and departed every half hour beginning at six in the morning and continuing until midnight. Though some considered the schedule a nuisance, others were thankful for the frequent trains back and forth to Chicago.
Morgan’s cries continued. Why doesn’t Charlotte attend to him? The woman’s selfish behavior had been the cause of several arguments, though their disagreements had accomplished little. It was the boy who suffered, yet that fact seemed not to bother Charlotte in the least. Olivia shifted the basket on her arm and arched her shoulders to ease the ache in her back.
‘‘There you are! It’s about time one of you got home.’’ Mrs. Rice rushed out her front door and thrust Morgan toward Olivia. ‘‘Take him. And tell Mrs. Hornsby she owes me more money. I’ve had the lad since one o’clock. He’s wet and he’s hungry.’’
Olivia set the basket on the porch and extended her arms for the baby. ‘‘Where is Charlotte?’’
‘‘Wouldn’t we all like to know the answer to that one. She come over here this mornin’ asking if I’d watch the baby for a couple hours while she dropped off her dresses for alterations at the Arcade. Ain’t seen or heard a word since.’’ She shook her finger under Olivia’s nose. ‘‘And you tell her I ain’t plannin’ to be showing her any kindness in the future. She can take advantage of others, but not me.’’
Adjusting the baby in her left arm, Olivia unlocked the front door and then retrieved the basket with her right hand while Mrs. Rice continued to glower. She didn’t know what the woman expected her to d
o. ‘‘I’ll be sure to relay your message, Mrs. Rice.’’ That said, she entered the house and closed the door. Morgan continued to cry, his tiny face as red as a ripe apple and covered with perspiration.
‘‘There, there,’’ she whispered. ‘‘A clean diaper and something to eat is what you need.’’
Exhausted by his ongoing crying episode, the baby fell asleep while finishing the remains of his bottle. ‘‘Let’s get you into your cradle, young man,’’ she murmured. Passing through the hallway, Olivia noticed an envelope propped against a small vase on the table and bearing her name. Her heart beat faster at the sight. A letter from Charlotte? Still holding the baby, she picked up the missive, went into the parlor, and placed young Morgan on the divan beside her. Her fingers trembling, she removed the folded pages and began to read.
Dear Olivia,
I know you will find my conduct unbefitting a mother, and I can only hope that you will forgive me for my abrupt departure. After learning my parents will soon arrive in this country and plan to visit this very city, I felt no other recourse was available to me. I will not chance encountering them during their visit here. As you can well imagine, they would be humiliated to find their daughter in such circumstances.
Olivia glanced at the baby sleeping soundly at her side. How could Charlotte leave Pullman without her son? She returned her attention to the letter.
I leave young Morgan to your care. I chose to leave on Saturday in the hopes you could make proper arrangements for him on Sunday after church services. Perhaps with proper payment, Mrs. Rice would be willing to assume his care while you are at the hotel. I’ve left money for his expenses in the top drawer of my chest, and I’ve paid Mrs. Logan for milk until the end of the month. I realize the funds won’t last long, but it’s the best I could do for now.
Fondly,
Charlotte
Fondly? Olivia turned the page over, anxious to locate the portion of the letter stating when Charlotte would return, but there was nothing more. She reread a sentence from the last paragraph aloud. ‘‘ ‘I’ve paid Mrs. Logan until the end of the month.’ ’’ It was only the first week of the month. And the tea wasn’t scheduled for another two weeks. Why had she departed so soon? Surely she’d be back to check on the baby’s welfare before then. Wouldn’t she?
Olivia tucked the letter into the envelope and lifted the baby into her arms, her thoughts jumbling to and fro like a frantic hummingbird batting its wings. Perhaps Mrs. DeVault could offer her counsel. She had planned to go and talk to her before this difficulty had been unexpectedly dropped in her lap. She’d take young Morgan with her and seek the older woman’s advice.
First, she’d need a few diapers for the lad. She rounded the corner into the hallway and glanced out the door. Fear clutched her throat, and she fought to take in a breath. She stared across the street, unwilling to look away lest she lose sight of the young hooligan. Finally, when she was about to give up, the thatch of red hair reappeared. For a brief moment she and Eddie stared at each other before he raced down the street. Suddenly remembering the mention of money in Charlotte’s letter, she closed and locked the door before hurrying to check in the bedroom.
Olivia peeked into the envelope just long enough to assure herself of the contents. Obviously Eddie hadn’t been in the house, but she certainly didn’t want money lying about. Should she go to the bank? Like the shops in the Arcade, the bank would be open all evening. Yet she longed to talk with Mrs. DeVault. She could carry the money along with her and, if time permitted, stop at the bank on her way home. But what if Eddie lurked down the street and accosted her along the way? Would he do such a thing? Tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear, she considered the idea. She’d be carrying an infant in her arms. Surely Eddie wouldn’t be so malicious as to risk harming a baby.
Her thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud knock. Eddie? Instinctively she hugged the infant closer to her chest. Silly! Eddie wasn’t going to knock on the front door like a guest arriving for a cup of tea. Still, she peeked through the glass before opening the door.
‘‘Fred!’’ She pulled open the door, grasped his hand, and pulled him inside. ‘‘I’m so happy to see you.’’
A hint of pink colored his neck and crept up into his cheeks as he lurched forward. He grinned and removed his hat to reveal his tousled brown hair. His blue eyes twinkled. ‘‘This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you’d be so pleased to see me.’’
She cringed, embarrassed by her behavior. Fear had caused her to make a fool of herself. She stumbled over her words in her haste to explain Charlotte’s unexpected departure. He led her to the parlor, listening intently while she talked. Overwhelmed by his sympathy and understanding, a stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.
He extended his arms toward the baby. ‘‘Here now, none of that. Let me hold Morgan while you wipe away those tears.’’ With a natural ease, he took the child from her. The baby snuggled close, nearly lost in the crook of Fred’s muscular arm. ‘‘Come, let’s sit down for a minute, and you can gather your thoughts.’’
Olivia swallowed, forcing back her tears. ‘‘To make matters worse, I’m afraid I’ve angered Eddie Calhoun.’’
A frown creased Fred’s handsome features. ‘‘Who is Eddie Calhoun? I’ve never heard of him.’’
Fred occasionally commented or asked a question as the story of Eddie Calhoun and his wayward activities unfolded. When she completed the telling, he shifted the baby onto his shoulder. ‘‘And what kind of message was this Eddie delivering for Mrs. Hornsby? I didn’t realize she had acquaintances in Chicago.’’
Olivia faltered. In her fear and concern, she’d forgotten her list of lies. She’d unwittingly said too much. ‘‘Charlotte didn’t confide the exact mission for which she’d obtained Eddie’s services.’’ Another lie.
He lightly patted Morgan’s back. ‘‘I will discreetly inquire regarding this Eddie. In the meantime, you must be careful to lock the doors.’’ He pointed a warning finger. ‘‘And you should have an escort with you at all times. Martha continues to walk with you each morning?’’
‘‘Yes, but I can’t wait until I have someone to go with me every time I want to leave the house or walk home from work. Martha leaves in the evening before I do, and most of the others reside in other parts of town.’’
He shrugged, and the baby shifted his head on Fred’s shoulder. ‘‘I’ll call at the hotel for you each evening.’’ He tilted his head to the side. ‘‘Unless you prefer Mr. Howard’s company.’’
She laughed. ‘‘I think not. You made the offer, and now I’m going to hold you to your word.’’
He chuckled, and his deep voice caused the baby to stir. Returning young Morgan to the crook of his arm, he glanced at the parlor clock. ‘‘My mother sent me to fetch you. If we don’t soon arrive, she’ll be sending Albert to find me. I will escort you to the bank on the way back home—best we not keep Mother waiting any longer.’’
Apparently Mrs. DeVault had meant what she’d said yesterday. When Olivia hadn’t appeared, she’d sent Fred. She hoped Mrs. DeVault had plenty of time, for Bible questions weren’t the only ones for which Olivia needed answers after today’s events.
Still holding the baby, Fred waited while she locked the door. She scanned the park across the street as they headed off, thankful when she saw only young families and children in the park. No one who remotely resembled Eddie Calhoun. She smiled at Fred’s attentiveness to the baby but quickly looked away when he glanced in her direction. She didn’t want him to catch her staring at him. He would make a fine father one day.
‘‘I’m interested in hearing about your journey to Chicago with Mr. Howard.’’ His jaw tightened as he awaited her response.
‘‘There’s not so much to tell. We met with Mrs. Pullman, and she approved the menu I brought. Then we came home.’’
He raised his eyebrows until they nearly disappeared beneath the brim of his hat. ‘‘He was anxious to immediately return to Pullm
an? Hard to believe.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘I wasn’t feeling well and asked to come home directly after our meeting.’’
‘‘If the weather cooperates, I shall have to take you to Chicago next Sunday after church. We can visit Humboldt or Garfield Park. Perhaps not so fancy an afternoon as you might experience with Mr. Howard, but I believe much more enjoyable.’’ He grinned broadly and winked.
Her stomach fluttered at the gesture and she readily agreed—until she remembered the bundle Fred carried in his arms. ‘‘Oh, but I can’t. I have Morgan to care for now. I had best not make plans for my time away from work.’’
Fred shrugged. ‘‘We’ll manage to arrange something. Who knows? Morgan may enjoy an outing in the park if the weather permits.’’ He grinned down at the baby. ‘‘What do you think, Morgan? Would you like to see the big city?’’
Olivia recalled the noise and hubbub of the city and shivered. ‘‘I’m not certain Chicago is a place for young Morgan.’’
As they approached Market Hall, Olivia admired the selection of blooms one of the flower vendors offered through the open air windows. Her heart tripped in a choppy beat when she spotted Mr. Howard approaching. Please. Turn away. Don’t come any closer. Although she managed to avoid eye contact and pretended not to see him, the silent plea went unheeded.
The man was sprinting across the street, waving his hat overhead and calling her name. Fred stopped as Mr. Howard approached. ‘‘What does he want?’’
Placing a hand atop her hat as a gust of wind coursed down the street, Olivia shrugged. ‘‘I’m certain I don’t know.’’
Fred frowned, obviously unconvinced.
‘‘Mr. Howard?’’ Olivia waited for his response.
‘‘I saw the three of you and wondered . . .’’ His brows furrowed. ‘‘That is, it would be easy to mistake you for a young family out for a stroll.’’ He glanced at Fred and then looked intently at Olivia. She couldn’t decide how to respond. He hadn’t asked a question, yet he obviously expected some reply.
In the Company of Secrets Page 18
