Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  Fred’s enthusiastic desire to help the young men succeed was clear, and Olivia couldn’t help but admire his generous spirit. Even though he’d been unable to secure a glass-etching position—his expertise—for himself, he remained willing to help others achieve their dreams.

  Fred could move from Pullman and likely find employment elsewhere. However, his mother had grown to enjoy the small community of friends and longed to remain in their comfortable flat. Fred wouldn’t deprive his mother of those things. The death of his father years ago had caused them both a great deal of suffering. Back then Fred had vowed to spare his mother any further unhappiness if and whenever he could. Olivia knew he’d not break his word.

  She squeezed his arm. ‘‘From all accounts, you’re making excellent progress.’’

  ‘‘I can’t deny a sense of satisfaction each time one of those fellows masters a new skill.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure that’s what Chef René experienced each time I met with success in the hotel kitchen. I do dislike leaving him alone on the very day he’s returning to work.’’

  Fred laughed. ‘‘He’s not what I’d call alone. He’ll be surrounded by kitchen boys and scullery maids.’’

  She joined in his laughter. ‘‘You’re right on that account. He’ll probably long for peace and quiet by day’s end. Besides, I’m certain Mr. Howard will check on him frequently.’’

  ‘‘Your Mr. Howard does seem to check on the people he cares for, doesn’t he?’’

  She raised her brows. ‘‘He’s not my Mr. Howard. You continue to believe he has feelings for me, don’t you?’’

  He grinned and nodded. ‘‘Absolutely. I had hoped he would give up; then again, he’d be a fool to give up so easily.’’

  Olivia didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed by Fred’s remark. She’d made every attempt to assure him that she neither encouraged nor desired Mr. Howard’s advances, but his position as company agent created difficult situations for her. And the fact that he lived next door to Mr. and Mrs. Barnes didn’t help. Sometimes she thought Mr. Howard purposely waited until she left the house and then hurried outdoors to join her. For a time, she’d even exited through the rear of the house in order to elude him. But Mr. Howard had caught on, or Mrs. Barnes had secretly shared the information with him. The older lady continued to think Olivia and Mr. Howard would make the perfect couple. Unfortunately, Mr. Howard seemed to agree. Olivia had done her very best to squelch his interest, but she’d not been successful.

  Her efforts to convince Fred she had no romantic interest in Mr. Howard had also failed. She tugged on his arm and came to a halt in front of the train station. ‘‘Any interest I have in Mr. Howard is no different from your own. He holds my future with this company in his hands, but he doesn’t hold sway over my personal life. In fact, Mr. Howard isn’t even aware of my travel schedule.’’

  ‘‘What makes you so certain?’’

  ‘‘When I inquired about the length of my journey, he said he had no idea since Mr. Thornberg was in charge of the arrangements.’’

  Fred pulled open the front door of the train depot and followed her inside. Had they not been within hearing distance of the ticket agent and several passengers, she would have continued their discussion, for she wanted to dispel his concerns before leaving. With Fred by her side, she stepped to the ticket counter.

  The agent handed her a ticket. ‘‘Mr. Howard came over last night and paid for your ticket, Miss Mott.’’

  Fred’s eyebrows knit close together. ‘‘I thought you said Mr. Howard was unaware of your travel schedule.’’

  She could hear the doubt in his voice. ‘‘He knew when I was scheduled to depart. He merely arranged for my pass. Other than that, he’s left matters in Mr. Thornberg’s hands.’’ She stuffed the train pass into her purse and stepped toward one of the benches, her heels clicking on the Minton tile floor. ‘‘Come sit down with me.’’ She hoped to use these final moments to set Fred’s mind at rest and make certain there had been no misunderstanding.

  A group of travelers entered the station, and soon the waiting area overflowed with boisterous laughter and conversation. There would be no opportunity for a private talk amid the turmoil. A shrill whistle announced the arriving train, and Fred angled his body forward to look out the far window. He glanced back at her. ‘‘That’s your train. Let’s make our way through this crowd and wait by the side door.’’

  Olivia didn’t hear the approaching footsteps and started at the touch on her shoulder.

  ‘‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’’

  Samuel Howard stood behind her. His glance momentarily shifted toward Fred. Olivia saw Mr. Howard’s eyes darken and his features harden. When he stepped to her side, she noted the leather traveling bag in his hand.

  ‘‘Are you taking this train, also?’’ Olivia’s gaze traveled from the bag upward to his eyes.

  His smile appeared forced. ‘‘Why, of course, Olivia. I’m going with you. And I believe that’s our train.’’ He nodded toward her Gladstone bag. ‘‘I assume that’s yours.’’ Without waiting for an answer, he grasped her arm. ‘‘Come along, Olivia. We don’t want to miss our train.’’

  There had been no opportunity for fond farewells. There hadn’t even been time for a hasty good-bye. Olivia glanced over her shoulder while she hurried alongside Mr. Howard. Fred had stepped outside onto the platform. She couldn’t be certain if it was pain, anger, or perhaps disbelief that now shone in his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Olivia pressed her nose to the train window and scanned the crowd. She needed one last glimpse of Fred. There! He’d moved to the far side of the station. She strained forward and willed him to look in her direction. He turned around, and Olivia’s heart pounded in a jarring rhythm. If only he would look at her, surely he would see her dismay. But he didn’t look up; instead, he trudged back inside the depot. Each time she thought the two of them might heal their scars from the past, something happened and reopened the wounds. And most of those occasions seemed to include Mr. Howard.

  Fred was once again walking away rather than moving toward her. How she longed to run after him, force him to listen, make him aware she’d known nothing of Mr. Howard’s plans to accompany her on the train. But there would be no opportunity for explanations this day.

  Once Mr. Howard settled beside her and the train had departed for Chicago’s Van Buren Street station, Olivia turned toward him. ‘‘I’m somewhat confused, Mr. Howard. When we spoke yesterday, you advised me that I was to meet Mr. Thornberg in Chicago. You even gave me specific instructions where to meet him.’’

  ‘‘And a description so you could easily identify him,’’ Mr. Howard added. ‘‘I received word from Mr. Pullman early this morning that Mr. Thornberg had taken ill and would be unable to accompany you. When I stopped next door this morning, Mrs. Barnes informed me that you had already departed. I believe she said you’d gone to bid Mrs. DeVault good-bye.’’

  Olivia stiffened at his comment. She owed him no explanation, and she’d give him none. ‘‘Am I to assume that you then volunteered your services?’’

  He chuckled softly. ‘‘Mr. Pullman and I agreed that, given the delay already incurred due to Chef René’s medical condition, we didn’t want to postpone your training any longer. There really was no one else available. And, of course, I am pleased to be of service to both Mr. Pullman and to you. I believe you’ll find our journey enjoyable as well as instructive. Not that I’m as well versed as Mr. Thornberg, but I certainly do know the rules.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure you do, Mr. Howard.’’

  He frowned and tapped the notebook he had removed from his pocket. ‘‘The test will be to see how well you learn them. Mr. Pullman has high hopes for you, Olivia. I trust you won’t disappoint him.’’

  Olivia’s primary concern was avoiding the loss of her position as assistant chef at the Hotel Florence rather than preventing Mr. Pullman’s disappointment, but she realized the two
went hand in hand. For that reason, she knew she must do her best.

  Mr. Howard handed her the leather-bound notebook. ‘‘You may use this to keep your notes.’’

  ‘‘Notes?’’ She wasn’t certain she’d have so many fresh ideas that she couldn’t remember them before returning to Pullman.

  ‘‘You will need to keep detailed notes, Olivia.’’ He leaned a bit closer. ‘‘I will refer to you as Olivia while we’re traveling, and you should refer to me as Samuel. That way the employees will think we are . . . uh, related.’’

  ‘‘Why do they need to believe we’re related? What possible difference could it make?’’

  ‘‘Think of this as a type of charade or playacting. We don’t want any of the attendants to suspect that we work for Mr. Pullman. Otherwise, they would likely treat us with more preference, and it wouldn’t be a fair evaluation of the services offered to our customers.’’

  She wasn’t certain that she believed him, and he apparently detected her uncertainty.

  ‘‘Consider the following: Mr. Pullman enters the dining room of the Hotel Florence. Do you not warn the entire staff that you expect them to perform at their very best? Do you not attempt to offer the very best plate of food to him?’’

  Olivia had to admit Mr. Howard was correct. Undoubtedly she would want to impress the company president. On the days when Mr. Pullman arrived at the hotel, she or Chef René made certain the kitchen staff knew of his presence. ‘‘Yes, but he is the—’’

  He held up his index finger. ‘‘And we are his representatives. For that reason alone, the staff will not perform in their usual manner if they know we are on board this train. Trust me. I know what is best.’’

  There wasn’t time for further discussion, for they had reached the Van Buren Street station. Olivia walked alongside Mr. Howard as he approached the ticket counter. She was surprised to see him pay for the tickets. Mr. Pullman issued passes to many of the employees who traveled while performing business for the company. Once she was traveling on her own, she wondered if she would be expected to bear the expense of her train tickets. If so, her wages would quickly diminish. Once they boarded the train, she would inquire.

  ‘‘We’ll be departing from track eight in only a few minutes.’’ With a suitcase in each hand, Mr. Howard led the way.

  She would have been more than content to carry her own baggage, but Mr. Howard insisted. No need to argue, as he wouldn’t listen. Mr. Howard expertly wound his way among the throngs of passengers, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make certain, she assumed, he hadn’t lost her in the crowd. He didn’t allow for the fact that his legs yielded a much longer stride than her own, and by the time they stopped beside one of the dark green railcars, she was out of breath. The Pullman name was stenciled in large gold letters above the windows. She could only hope that they had reached their destination. ‘‘Is this our train?’’

  Mr. Howard nodded. ‘‘There should be a porter and conductor on the platform to load our luggage and help us aboard.’’

  Before she could respond to his assessment, attendants suited in navy blue jackets, pants, and caps marched onto the platform, each of them heading for a specific railcar. A conductor and porter approached them, the conductor rather stern and the porter offering a welcoming smile that revealed an even row of ivory teeth. Olivia smiled in return.

  Mr. Howard appeared unimpressed as he dropped their cases onto the platform. ‘‘It appears service isn’t what it used to be in these Pullman cars.’’

  The porter immediately hustled to Mr. Howard’s side and retrieved their baggage while the conductor offered a profuse apology. ‘‘Reassignment of several employees delayed our ability to arrive on the platform a full hour in advance, sir. I do apologize. This is an uncommon occurrence, but to make up for any inconvenience, we would be pleased to offer you and your traveling companion a complimentary meal in our dining car.’’

  After hearing the conductor’s profuse apologies and receiving an offer of a free meal, Mr. Howard appeared appeased. The conductor punched their tickets for the first portion of their journey and assisted them onto the train. Once seated, Mr. Howard motioned toward Olivia’s bag. ‘‘You need to write this information in your journal, Olivia.’’

  She hadn’t even had an opportunity to absorb her surroundings, but she removed the journal from her purse. With the notebook perched on her lap, she looked at him. ‘‘What am I supposed to write?’’

  He glanced around before leaning closer. ‘‘Didn’t you take note of the men’s names on their uniform badges? You must always take note of employees’ names, Olivia. The porter is Hoover and the conductor is Franklin.’’ When she didn’t move quickly enough, he touched her pencil. ‘‘Write down their names and the fact that they were not present on the platform an hour prior to departure. Also note that when I complained of poor service, we were offered an apology and two free meals for our inconvenience.’’

  After jotting down the information, Olivia closed the journal. ‘‘Will the cost of our meals be deducted from their wages?’’ Olivia certainly didn’t want to eat a free meal at the expense of other employees.

  Mr. Howard shook his head. ‘‘You need not concern yourself over that issue. Was the step properly positioned when you boarded the train?’’

  Olivia bobbed her head. Surely it must have been in the proper position, for she’d not experienced any difficulty. She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t the vaguest notion where the proper position might be.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘‘Have you studied the training manual I gave you last month, Olivia?’’

  ‘‘I’ve read through a portion, but I wouldn’t say I’ve actually studied it.’’ She wilted at the intensity of his gaze. ‘‘To be honest, I haven’t had a great deal of time of late. You may not recall, but my cousin Albert and Martha, who supervises the maids in the hotel—’’

  ‘‘I know who Martha is, Olivia. Get on with your story.’’ He was, quite obviously, annoyed.

  ‘‘Their wedding is approaching—April the twenty-second, to be exact. Martha has requested my assistance with the preparations. I’m to be her attendant, you know.’’

  He arched his brows. ‘‘And?’’

  She fidgeted with the lace collar that circled her neck. The adornment was the only touch of femininity she had added to her navy blue traveling suit. The fabric scratched her neck, and now she wished she had chosen her plain white shirtwaist instead. Mr. Howard’s stare remained unwavering. ‘‘And I’ve been busy helping Martha with her wedding plans, so I haven’t had sufficient time to study the book in detail.’’

  Mr. Howard rested his head against the plush tufted upholstery and tapped his fingers on the armrest. ‘‘I don’t want to appear overbearing on your first day, Olivia, but it seems you don’t have a clear understanding of the importance of this new position.’’ He patted her hand. ‘‘Well, we can’t change past decisions, but we’ll obviously need a more extensive training period. I had scheduled a round trip from Chicago to New York. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe that will prove sufficient.’’

  Her chest caved like a deflated soufflé. The progress she and Martha had made thus far would be of little consequence if she had to remain away from Pullman for an extended period. Olivia’s throat constricted as an unexpected and frightening thought entered her mind. ‘‘We will return prior to the wedding, won’t we?’’

  ‘‘That will depend entirely upon you, Olivia. If you learn quickly, we should be back in Pullman with time to spare. But if you have difficulty comprehending what is expected . . .’’ Mr. Howard’s words trailed off in a silent warning.

  He had located her Achilles’ heel. Whether she wanted to wrestle with learning the rules contained in the inch-thick porter’s manual or not, she would do so. She couldn’t disappoint Arthur and Martha. She’d begin studying right now. While Mr. Howard stopped the porter and asked him a question, Olivia dug in her handbag and removed the manual. She want
ed Mr. Howard to realize she was serious about learning. Maybe then he would reconsider, and they could return home earlier than planned.

  The porter ambled off, and Mr. Howard glanced at her hand. Before she could say a word, he snatched the book from her and shoved it inside his jacket. ‘‘What are you doing?’’ He hissed the words in her direction, anger flashing in his eyes.

  The man’s irrational behavior was disconcerting. ‘‘I was going to study. I thought you wanted me to learn the rules.’’

  ‘‘Not here. Not where the porters and conductors will see you. They’ll know we’re spot—employees. Why else would we have a company manual?’’ He glanced about and removed the book from his jacket. ‘‘Put this away and do not remove it unless you are in the privacy of your berth with the curtain drawn. Do I make myself clear?’’

  She bobbed her head and quickly tucked the book back into her purse. A lump had risen in her throat, but she forced it down. She didn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Howard. And she certainly didn’t want to provoke him further. Rather than look in his direction, she studied the car’s interior, the stained-glass windows inserted above each plain window, the intricate designs carved into the rosewood panels that concealed the upper berths until nighttime descended, and the beautifully etched mirrors. The opulence of the cars gave testimony to Mr. Pullman’s penchant for details and excellence.

  The conductor inched down the aisle checking tickets, and Olivia recalled Mr. Howard’s recent purchase in the train station. ‘‘Will I be expected to purchase tickets when I travel? I had assumed there would be some sort of pass I would carry.’’

  Mr. Howard didn’t appear annoyed by her question. ‘‘When you are traveling, you will be given money to purchase your tickets. Although the company issues passes to certain employees and an occasional customer or friend, a pass would alert the staff that you are either a friend or employee of the Pullman company.’’