In the Company of Secrets

by Judith Miller

  She tucked the business card into her reticule. Perhaps she’d go and visit Mr. Ashton on her next day off work. Then again, navigating the streets of Chicago seemed a daunting mission. Could she muster the courage to make such a journey on her own? If only Fred could accompany her—she’d feel much safer having his strength to rely upon. She sighed. Her reliance would need to be placed in the Lord, for Fred surely wouldn’t be available.

  When she was slipping her arms into her heavy woolen coat the next evening after work, Chef René approached. ‘‘You have been gloomy all day, Miss Mott.’’ Using his thumb and forefinger, he pulled his lips downward into an exaggerated frown. ‘‘Is there something I can do to cheer you?’’

  For a moment, she considered telling him of Fred’s decision to end their relationship, then decided against it. Chef René would have no answers for her. ‘‘No. Everything is fine, but I truly appreciate your kind offer.’’ His eyes continued to reflect concern, as though he didn’t believe her. She forced a bright smile. ‘‘See? No need to worry.’’

  ‘‘You are not so convincing, Miss Mott, but I’ll not force the subject further. I am here if you need me.’’

  His kindness touched her, and she impulsively kissed his fleshy cheek. ‘‘You’re a kind man, but I promise I won’t tell the rest of the staff.’’

  Unaccustomed to receiving any acclaim from his staff, his cheeks colored at her praise. He waved his hand with bravado. ‘‘Off with you now. And if nothing is amiss, I expect to see you happy and vivacious come tomorrow morning.’’

  ‘‘I’ll do my best.’’ She hurried out the door and toward the DeVaults’. Fred would be at work, and she’d soon discover whether she could remain friends with his mother. She hoped they’d have a few minutes alone before Albert arrived. Not that she minded her cousin’s presence. But Albert’s friendship with Fred ran deep, and he might inadvertently repeat some snippet of conversation.

  With her heart thumping an irregular beat, she approached the front door. What if Mrs. DeVault sent her away? She had to anticipate the woman’s allegiance to be with her son. Still, the woman had specifically said that she still considered Olivia a friend. Olivia knocked and waited.

  Mrs. DeVault opened the front door, a wide smile curving her lips. The erratic beat of Olivia’s heart immediately settled.

  ‘‘Olivia! Come in, my dear. What a pleasant surprise.’’

  She hesitated on the threshold. ‘‘Has Fred told you of our . . . um . . . circumstances?’’

  ‘‘A little, but do come in. No need to warm the outdoors.’’ She grinned and pointed at the hall tree. ‘‘Hang your coat and come join me in the kitchen. I need to make certain my rolls haven’t burned.’’

  Olivia did as the older woman requested. Soon the aroma of the warm yeasty rolls wafted down the hallway. She inhaled and followed the familiar smell into the kitchen. Mrs. DeVault was lifting two baking pans from the oven. The rolls were browned to perfection. ‘‘If Chef René sees those, he may offer you a position in the pastry kitchen.’’

  Mrs. DeVault laughed. ‘‘I’ve no interest, but thank you very much for the compliment. I find it hard enough to keep up with Fred and Albert.’’ She set the pans on a cooling rack and closed the oven door. ‘‘I’m pleased you stopped by, Olivia. I had planned to come see you later this evening, but this is even better. You can join me for supper.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I didn’t want to impose upon you for supper. I had just hoped for a few minutes to talk before Albert arrives home.’’ She removed the rolls from one of the baking pans while Mrs. DeVault busied herself with the other.

  ‘‘No need to concern yourself about Albert. The foreman asked for volunteers to work a few hours overtime, and he offered.’’ She carried the empty pan across the room to a pan of dishwater. ‘‘He’s saving as much money as possible. He’s decided he and Martha are going to need extra funds to furnish their apartment.’’

  The thought of preparing for marriage caused a sudden wave of wistfulness. ‘‘Did Fred explain that he doesn’t plan to call on me in the future?’’

  Mrs. DeVault glanced in her direction. ‘‘He said he’d rather not discuss it any further than to say he doubted whether the two of you would have a future together and that I shouldn’t interfere.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I told him that he’d not dictate my friendships, and he couldn’t dictate the content of my prayers, either.’’ She carried two bowls to the stove and ladled a hearty serving of chicken and noodles into each of the bowls. ‘‘Shall we sit out here in the kitchen?’’

  Olivia quickly agreed. The room was warm and intimate. Mrs. DeVault placed several rolls into a napkin-lined basket and set it between them. She grasped Olivia’s hands in her own before she offered a prayer of thanks for their supper and one for God to straighten out Fred’s thinking.

  After raising her head and releasing Olivia’s hands, she flipped open a napkin and spread it across her lap with a flourish. She offered the warm rolls to Olivia and then buttered one for herself. ‘‘Nothing better than warm bread, don’t you think?’’

  At the moment, Olivia could think of several things— namely, an ongoing relationship with Fred. However, she agreed that warm rolls were one of her favorite foods. ‘‘I didn’t come to tell you all that occurred between Fred and me, but I want you to know I did withhold information from him. Because of my dishonest behavior, our relationship was based upon a foundation of deceit.’’ She stared into her cup of coffee. ‘‘How I wish I could change that, but I can’t. Fred wants a trustworthy woman, and I can’t fault him for that. Even though I believe I’m now trustworthy, he has no way of knowing I’ve truly changed. Do you think he can find it in his heart to ever trust me again?’’

  ‘‘I can’t speak for Fred. But if you continue to show him through your actions and deeds that you have made a permanent change, who can say? Perhaps he will have a change of heart.’’

  Olivia knew the older woman was correct. If she was going to restore Fred’s trust in her, she would need to do more than offer a simple apology and say she had changed. ‘‘All is not lost, I guess, for he did say that he’s forgiven me.’’ She forced a feeble smile.

  Mrs. DeVault patted her hand. ‘‘Don’t despair, Olivia. Give him time. The two of you need to discover whether you’re truly intended for each other. If it’s meant to be, God will redirect your paths. In the meantime, you must not pull away from the Lord. Promise me that you’ll continue to study your Bible and pray.’’

  Olivia traced her fork around the edge of the bowl. ‘‘I promise.’’ Should she ask Mrs. DeVault about the railroad position? Other than Chef René , the woman was the only one who would likely give her forthright advice. Deciding she valued Mrs. DeVault’s opinion more than most anyone else’s, she plunged forward. She explained the little she knew about the job offer and then asked what her friend thought.

  ‘‘Well, it certainly would give you the chance to see some of the country—which is an opportunity offered to few of us. And as the song says, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps if you’re occasionally away from Pullman, Fred will realize how much he misses you.’’ She took another bite of roll and then leaned forward an inch or two. ‘‘But you must first pray about this decision, Olivia. If God directs your steps, then that’s what you should do. If you don’t feel Him nudging you along—don’t take the position.’’

  By the time she departed, Olivia had experienced a rising sense of relief. She’d been assured of Mrs. DeVault’s ongoing friendship, advice, and prayers—sufficient encouragement to buoy her spirits.

  That night she kept her promise and read her Bible. In addition, she uttered prayers throughout the entire evening. She hoped God would lend a listening ear and give her a quick reply. Mr. Howard would expect an answer before many more days passed.

  She fell asleep with a prayer on her lips, and when she awoke the next morning, she continued to pray. The result was not what she’d expected. In place of a simple answer t
o her prayer, she felt an urgent prompting to tell Mr. Howard she had been hired under false pretenses. Olivia considered the folly of such action, but the conviction continued to plague her. If she followed such urging, she would likely find herself without a job. Holding fast to the belief that she would soon receive a simple yes or no, she continued to pray.

  One of the kitchen boys entered the carving room shortly after she arrived. ‘‘Mr. Howard wants you to come to his office at ten o’clock.’’

  She gulped down the knot in her throat and thanked the boy. ‘‘Did he say why?’’

  ‘‘Huh-uh. Am I s’posed to go pick up eggs this morning? Don’t look like we got enough for this afternoon’s baking.’’

  No matter the weather, all of the boys liked to escape from the kitchen for the daily trip to the Market. Not that she blamed them. They could visit with the vendors, who were quick to spread the latest gossip, as well as give their advice on the best bargains. Occasionally they even favored the boys with a few extra eggs or vegetables to take home to their families. Olivia glanced at the schedule posted on the wall. ‘‘Sorry, but you don’t go until Friday. You have trash duty today.’’

  His eyes twinkled a bit. The boys disliked trash duty, but in the late afternoon they enjoyed going outdoors and setting the refuse afire. He hurried off when Chef René bustled into the kitchen.

  The chef assessed her for a moment. ‘‘You were supposed to return in high spirits this morning.’’

  She forced her lips upward and hoped her effort would meet his expectations. ‘‘I have to meet with Mr. Howard at ten o’clock.’’ The chef ’s left eyebrow raised, and she saw the question in his eyes. ‘‘I don’t know what he wants.’’

  Chef René shook his head. ‘‘I’m sure he wants an answer about the position he’s offered you. Have you decided?’’

  ‘‘Not yet. I’m still waiting on an answer.’’

  Now both of his eyebrows arched. ‘‘From?’’

  ‘‘God, of course.’’

  He waved a spoon in the air. ‘‘But of course. Silly of me to ask such a foolish question.’’ Leaning his body across one of the wooden worktables, he looked into her eyes. ‘‘And when are you expecting this answer from God?’’

  She shrugged. ‘‘Any minute now, I hope. But who can tell. He seems to keep a different time schedule than I do.’’

  René shook his head and looked at her as though she were a lunatic. ‘‘God has His own time schedule, Miss Mott, and I suggest you be prepared with an answer for Mr. Howard.’’ With his ample belly resting on the worktable, he swung the spoon like a pendulum. ‘‘Such as yes or no.’’

  Shortly before ten o’clock, Olivia removed her toque and headed toward the door.

  The chef ’s voice followed after her. ‘‘Your answer, Miss Mott?’’

  ‘‘It hasn’t yet arrived.’’

  She could hear his chuckling laughter as she hurried out the kitchen door. All the while, she continued to whisper to God. She stood outside the front doors of the building for a brief moment. ‘‘I really need an answer, God.’’

  The clerk ushered her directly into Mr. Howard’s office. She had hoped for a lengthy wait, one that would give God a little more opportunity to respond, since He seemed to be off duty except for that voice whispering she must reveal the truth.

  ‘‘Good morning, Miss Mott.’’ Mr. Howard greeted her with enthusiasm and motioned her toward a chair near his desk. The clerk closed the door as he exited the room.

  Samuel walked around the desk and perched on the corner nearest to her. ‘‘I was wondering about your decision, Olivia. I know I told you to take your time, but Mr. Pullman is eager to fill the position with a quality employee. Quite frankly, he’s anxious for you to accept the offer.’’

  She listened, but still no answer came from above. Olivia opened her reticule and pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief. Mr. Ashton’s business card fluttered to the floor. Olivia reached to the side of her chair, but Mr. Howard bent forward, swooped up the card, and effectively thwarted her effort. Setting aside all manners, he studied the card and visibly paled.

  His fingers trembled as he handed her the card. ‘‘How did you happen to come by one of Mr. Ashton’s business cards, Miss Mott?’’

  His brash disregard for proper etiquette surprised her, and she wondered at the change in his appearance and demeanor. ‘‘A friend gave it to me.’’

  ‘‘For what purpose? I can’t imagine why anyone would refer you to a lawyer.’’

  She shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know, either, Mr. Howard. However, there is something I must tell you.’’ Without further hesitation, she blurted out the truth.

  His eyes grew wide when she revealed that her letter of recommendation had been a forgery, that she hadn’t possessed any of the necessary requirements for the position of assistant chef. Though she’d expected a barrage of questions, he was stunned into silence. She decided to move forward. ‘‘Under the circumstances, I imagine you will want to withdraw your offer of a new position with the company.’’ She stopped short of mentioning her current position of assistant chef and sent a prayer heavenward.

  Mr. Howard returned to the other side of the desk and assumed a formal posture. His eyes were somber. Gone was his earlier sense of informality. Silence permeated the room for several long minutes. He finally lifted his gaze. ‘‘I can’t imagine why you’ve stepped forward with this information, Miss Mott. I can only assume you feared someone would betray your confidence and decided my personal feelings for you would permit an escape from discipline if you came forward on your own. However, now that the truth has come to the forefront, I am required to set aside my personal feelings and fulfill the duties for which I have been employed.’’

  He rubbed his jaw and stared across the room. ‘‘I’ve had no complaints about your performance from Chef René . And since he is a man who prefers solving his own problems, I doubt he would have mentioned any difficulties. Given your recent performance at Mrs. Pullman’s tea, it appears Chef René has provided you with excellent training. In other words, the company has had the dubious privilege of paying you a generous salary while teaching you the skills you were hired to perform.’’ His eyes softened momentarily. ‘‘Dear Olivia, what am I to do?’’

  Olivia nibbled her lip. She wondered the same thing. What would he do? And if he fired her, what would happen? She’d be just like Eddie—jobless and lacking a recommendation.

  Once again his posture stiffened and the softness disappeared. ‘‘You signed a contract when you were hired, Miss Mott. You may recall that your employment contract contained an oath.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I remember,’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘That contract stated that if you were hired under false pretenses, you would be subject to discharge and repayment of wages.’’ He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers beneath his chin. ‘‘I do care for you, Olivia, and what you have done does not change my personal feelings for you. Still, you must be disciplined for your behavior the same as any other employee. I am not going to discharge you, but you must repay the wages you received during the first four months of your employment.’’

  His words sounded far away, and for a moment she thought she might faint. ‘‘I don’t have any money, Mr. Howard. How can I repay the company?’’

  He tapped his finger on a ledger book. ‘‘We will withhold a percentage of your current pay until you have met your obligation.’’ He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the ceiling. ‘‘I believe we have reached an amicable resolution to this problem.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Howard.’’ She began to stand up, but he waved her back into her chair.

  ‘‘You will begin your new position riding the rails in the near future, Olivia.’’

  She snapped to attention. This hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear. Surely he had misspoken. ‘‘You still want me to take the new position?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely. In fact, I’m even more convinc
ed that you are exactly the person we need to fulfill the duties.’’ He stood and moved back around the desk. ‘‘None of this changes my personal feelings for you, Olivia. I realize there is much more to this story than you have told me. Perhaps one day . . .’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘I believe I’ve said enough.’’

  The moment Mr. Howard dismissed her, Olivia hurried from his office. Deep inside, she had expected him to exonerate her of responsibility for her actions. Instead, he had substantiated Mrs. DeVault’s observation: Transgressions reap consequences. The reduction in wages would prove difficult, yet the decision had been fair. It had been more than fair. Thankfully, Mr. Howard hadn’t discharged her. And God had provided her with an answer. Not the simple yes or no she’d expected, but nonetheless an answer.

  She took comfort in the realization that she had neither betrayed the Earl and Countess of Lanshire, nor had she been required to disclose Lady Charlotte’s identity. In addition, her confession had halted Mr. Howard’s interrogation regarding Mr. Ashton and his business card. Mr. Howard might question her more thoroughly in the future, but if and when that time arrived, she’d trust God for the answers. She’d done what she believed God had required of her. Now she must trust that He would see her through the months ahead. And if Mrs. DeVault was correct, perhaps Fred’s feelings toward her would eventually soften.

  Did absence make the heart grow fonder? She wasn’t certain. But God answered prayers. And if she and Fred were meant for each other, she could do more than hope: she could pray. She would let God see to the rest.

  Recipes

  Because of Olivia’s love of cooking and aspiration to become a chef, I thought it would be fun to present some of the recipes that she prepares or that are mentioned in this book. If you enjoy cooking or baking, you may want to try one or two.