Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘I see.’’ She didn’t understand the need for secrecy, for she doubted whether a porter would treat her with more deference with or without a pass, but she didn’t say so. There was little doubt Mr. Howard preferred undisputed acceptance of his explanations.

  They had traveled for nearly half an hour when Mr. Howard tipped his head closer. ‘‘Signal the porter and advise him that you’re experiencing an upset stomach.’’

  Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but after one look at Mr. Howard’s steely eyes, she signaled the Negro porter. The man’s skin shone like fine ebony. He looked first at Mr. Howard, who nodded.

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?’’

  ‘‘Do you have something that might settle an aching stomach?’’

  ‘‘We can’t give out medicine, ma’am, but I’d be pleased to bring you a cup of tea and some dry toast if you think that might help.’’ He offered a look of sympathy.

  Olivia wasn’t certain if she was supposed to agree to the tea, but the warm drink sounded inviting even if her stomach wasn’t upset. ‘‘Thank you. Tea would be most helpful, though I don’t believe I’ll try the toast.’’ With an unwavering smile, the porter rushed off to do her bidding.

  Mr. Howard nodded toward her pocket. ‘‘Check your timepiece to see how long it takes him.’’

  Olivia withdrew the small pocket watch and clicked the tiny hasp. She hadn’t wanted to accept the gift, but Mr. Howard had insisted. He’d said it was imperative she be continually aware of the time. And she supposed that was true. She wouldn’t want to miss a train, but it seemed as if Mr. Pullman should provide the necessary equipment to his employees. She would never be expected to supply her own knives to carve meat in the hotel kitchen. Why should she be expected to purchase a watch? Or, in her case, why should Mr. Howard purchase the item? When she had questioned him, he had shrugged and explained that many employees were required to furnish their own tools.

  The porter returned with her tea. Before she could add cream, Mr. Howard leaned closer. ‘‘Check the time, Olivia. How long did it take him?’’

  ‘‘Seven minutes.’’ She snapped the lid of the watch into place and picked up the cream.

  ‘‘It should take no longer than five. Do make note of that.’’ He glanced at her teacup. ‘‘You may drink your tea before adding the notation to your journal.’’

  The noonday meal proved a prolongation of Mr. Howard’s criticisms. While Olivia thought the service impeccable, Mr. Howard found fault with everything, from the water spot on his spoon to her overfilled cup of tea. ‘‘Beverages should be poured no higher than a half inch from the top of the glass or cup. Make a note.’’

  Those seemed to be his favorite three words. She wondered if she would have any empty pages in the journal by the time they returned to Pullman.

  When seven o’clock arrived and Mr. Howard made no move toward the dining car, Olivia’s stomach growled in protest. ‘‘Will we not be taking the evening meal aboard the train?’’

  He glanced over the top of his book. ‘‘Yes, but I requested the latest service available for our supper.’’ He removed a needlepoint bookmark from the seat and slipped it between the pages of his book. Olivia wondered if his deceased wife had stitched it for him—perhaps a birthday or anniversary gift. She didn’t have time to contemplate the possibility for long. ‘‘You should remember this, Olivia. It’s best to have the porter reserve you a table for the last seating of the day. That way you’ll be able to make certain all menu items remain available, even at the end of the day, a matter that is of great importance to Mr. Pullman.’’ He tapped her journal. ‘‘If you think you might forget, you should make a note to yourself.’’

  ‘‘I feel certain I can remember, Mr. Howard. I can certainly empathize with the chef if a shortage should occur. There are times when no matter how much planning goes into ordering and such, one comes up short. We’ve been known to have an occasional misstep at the hotel, too.’’ She noted the creases between his eyebrows deepen and immediately realized she shouldn’t have offered such information. Upon their return to Pullman, he’d likely take Chef René to task. She wanted to add that it had occurred only once or twice but feared she’d make matters worse.

  Thankfully, the porter arrived several minutes later and announced their table was ready. Olivia hoped all would go well, although Mr. Howard appeared intent upon finding something wrong at every turn. The dining car attendant held her chair and unfolded her napkin, all the while maintaining a broad smile. Olivia thought his face must ache by day’s end. He announced the specials in a crisp, clear tone, inquired what they would like to drink, and handed them each a pristine menu. The water glasses were filled to below the half-inch mark, and there didn’t appear to be any spots on the silverware.

  They completed the meal without incident, and Olivia sighed with relief when Mr. Howard stated they would return to the sleeper car. ‘‘I want to return to our car in time to observe the porter making down the beds.’’

  Rather than observe the porters stretching sheets across the pull-down beds, Olivia wanted to crawl into one of them and hide from Mr. Howard and his constant admonitions. She followed him down the narrow corridor, through the vestibule that connected the railcars, and back into their sleeper, where the porter was hard at work near the far end of the car.

  While the porter popped an upper berth from the ceiling and folded down the opposing seats below, Mr. Howard droned on. ‘‘Three to five minutes per bed maximum, linens crisp and tight, pillow toward the engine, and draperies properly affixed.’’ The list went on and on. ‘‘I’m certain you believe my manner overbearing, Olivia, but while we’re traveling, you must remember I am acting as your supervisor rather than a suitor or a friend.’’

  Olivia swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain silent. She considered Mr. Howard neither a friend nor a suitor, but she dared not say so. Mr. Howard had been abundantly clear that contradiction would not be well received. Fortunately, the porter soon arrived at their end of the car, and Olivia was able to crawl into one of the curtained cocoons for the remainder of the night. She rested her head on the starched white pillowcase and knew these hours behind the forest green curtain would be her only respite throughout this journey.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Pullman, Illinois

  March 2, 1893

  Without a backward glance, Fred strode away from the train depot, confusion clouding his thoughts. He wanted to believe Olivia had told him the truth. Had she actually been unaware Mr. Howard would be her traveling companion? Traveling companion. The very idea made Fred’s blood boil. His irritation mounted when he recalled Mr. Howard’s possessive grasp of Olivia’s arm. There was little doubt the man considered Olivia much more than an employee. And the angry glare he’d directed at Fred had been palpable. How could anyone interpret Mr. Howard’s actions as anything other than a man staking his claim? Mr. Howard considered Fred his romantic rival.

  The idea stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t possibly compete with Mr. Howard for Olivia’s affections—or anything else, for that matter. Mr. Howard possessed every advantage: he could control his own work schedule, he had the income with which to woo Olivia in a fine manner, he lived next door to her, and he could offer her a life filled with anything she desired.

  During the past months, Fred and Olivia had nurtured their fragile friendship, both of them hoping to restore their earlier bond. At least that’s what he had thought. Today, feelings of doubt were creeping to the forefront of his mind. Had Olivia actually been working late on the nights when she said she couldn’t see him? Or had she been with Mr. Howard? Several months ago, Fred’s mother had mentioned an opening at a nearby rooming house, but Olivia had declined, giving the excuse that Mrs. Barnes might spiral into a state of melancholy. Now Fred wondered if Olivia’s refusal had more to do with Mr. Howard than with Mrs. Barnes and her health. Did Olivia care for Mr. Howard?

  Fred attempted to force the thoughts from his
mind, but they nagged at him like an irritating itch. He’d attempted to keep his feelings for Olivia somewhat guarded, but if he was going to protect his heart, he must further tighten his armor. He kicked a pebble down the street, exasperated by this latest turn of events. Mr. Howard’s true concern should be directed toward the unrest that simmered beneath the surface in the town he’d been hired to manage rather than toward Olivia. Fred doubted whether the man realized how many residents harbored resentment for the inequities that took place in the Pullman Car Works or in the town of Pullman itself, the nation’s latest so-called utopian community.

  He turned up his collar against a stiff cool breeze and suddenly realized he’d forgotten his sketches. For nearly six months he had been working with Bill Orland, who had genuine design talent. The two of them had developed several ideas for glass etchings, yet there was no opportunity to see the designs produced. Other than the actual design and an explanation of the etching process, the training couldn’t be done within the confines of their small training center. They didn’t have access to the necessary acid baths or grinding tools needed to complete the process. Unfortunately, the same held true for many of the crafts they wanted to teach the men. Yet all of the men who volunteered their time were doing their best to develop innovative ways in which to help those who longed to better their lot in life. The idea remained sound, but they’d all accepted the fact that for true apprenticeship to occur, one needed to be within the confines of the workplace or have access to all of the tools and equipment.

  Today, however, Fred was excited to have a bit of news for Bill Orland. Information Mr. Godfrey, Fred’s supervisor, had passed along last evening. Bill and his family had been struggling to make ends meet since his layoff from the car works. He had chosen to live in Kensington, where the rent was lower, but that decision had cost Bill his job. Though the company denied the practice, it was a well-known fact that workers who rented accommodations outside of Pullman were the first to be laid off. Fred hoped today’s news would help Bill regain financial stability for his family.

  His quick stride had turned into a loping jog by the time he bounded up the front steps and entered the front door of the redbrick row house. ‘‘It’s only me, Mother. I forgot my sketches.’’

  A near collision with his mother brought him to an abrupt halt in the hallway. ‘‘Since you’re here, come and have a cup of coffee.’’

  ‘‘I’m already late.’’ He knew his mother would want details of his seeing Olivia off, but right now he needed time to sift through his feelings.

  She frowned. ‘‘I won’t see you again until morning. I know your volunteer work at the training center is important, but I’m anxious to know how things went between you and Olivia.’’ She motioned him toward the kitchen. ‘‘The poor girl was in a frazzled state, what with worrying over locating Mr. Thornberg and not knowing how long she’d be away. Was it a tearful good-bye?’’

  There would be no escape. He sat down while his mother pulled a cup-and-saucer from the cabinet and filled it with the steaming brew. She placed it in front of him and waited, her eyes filled with anticipation.

  ‘‘Olivia safely boarded the train. There were no tears. In fact, there was no farewell. Mr. Howard appeared shortly before departure time and whisked Olivia down the platform and onto the train.’’

  His mother dropped into the chair across from him. ‘‘Mr. Howard? He was going to Chicago?’’

  Fred poured a dollop of cream into the coffee and stirred, the spoon creating a small whirlpool in the center of his cup. ‘‘Chicago and wherever else this journey takes her. Mr. Howard will be acting as Olivia’s traveling companion. That’s as much as I heard before he hurried her away from my side.’’

  ‘‘But I thought Olivia said . . .’’

  He sipped his coffee and stared into the distance. ‘‘We both know what she said, Mother, but that’s not what occurred. She appeared surprised when Mr. Howard arrived, but who can know for certain?’’

  His mother frowned. ‘‘What is that supposed to mean? Surely you don’t think she knew Mr. Howard was going to be traveling with her. She’s been doing her best to discourage the man.’’

  Fred shrugged and gulped the coffee. ‘‘I don’t know what to think. I do remember Olivia’s list of lies. I’ve worked hard to move forward, but I can’t deny this makes me wary.’’ He glanced at the clock and downed the remains from his cup.

  His mother patted her palm on the table. ‘‘You can’t rush off. Tell me more.’’

  ‘‘I need to be on my way. Besides, there’s nothing more to tell. Olivia is gone, and Mr. Howard along with her.’’

  His mother pushed aside her coffee cup and leaned her arms across the table. ‘‘There must be a simple explanation for all of this. I don’t believe Olivia knew Mr. Howard would be traveling with her.’’

  Fred shook his head. ‘‘Believe whatever you wish, Mother. I’ve told you all I know. I’m going to the training center. I just hope Bill hasn’t given up on me and gone home.’’ He gathered up his sketches and pushed away from the table.

  His mother followed him down the hallway. ‘‘You should give her the benefit of the doubt, you know.’’

  He turned, bent forward, and kissed her soft weathered cheek. ‘‘You’ve made your point very clear. I will give the matter additional thought, but one thing is certain: I’ll not make the same mistake twice.’’

  ‘‘What does that mean? That you’re going to close the door on her when you’ve only opened it a mere crack?’’

  He shrugged. ‘‘It means I’ll give the matter additional thought. When Olivia returns, we’ll have to see what happens.’’

  Without giving her time for further comment, he hurried off. His mother’s remark hadn’t surprised him. All along she had remained Olivia’s staunch supporter. It had been his mother who had continued to study the Bible and pray with Olivia, and it had been his mother who had convinced him that Olivia had changed her life. Likewise, it had been his mother who had encouraged him to restore his relationship with Olivia. He had agreed to offer his hand in friendship, but he hadn’t planned to lose his heart to her again.

  The tower clock struck ten o’clock when he pushed open the door of the training center. He glanced around the room and waved to John Holderman, who was doing his best to explain the bolt department of the Pullman Car Works. How much more effective it would be for the men to actually see the process and watch the men at work. Perhaps one day they’d be able to convince their supervisors or Mr. Pullman to permit such an experience. But for now, they must do their best to simply acquaint the men with the type of tools and machinery they would be expected to use should they be hired.

  During his time here at the center, Fred could once again use his creative talent. While several of the men taught the higher mathematics and scientific theory necessary in their endeavors, Fred nurtured creativity in his few students. Bill Orland’s talent had emerged like cream rising in a pail of fresh milk. His drawings were rich and textured, the type that would lend beauty and artistry to either clear or silvered glass.

  Fred spotted Bill hunched over a table near one of the windows. He stared over his shoulder at the drawing of a crane on a marshy bank. ‘‘Beautiful work, Bill.’’

  Bill glanced up from his drawing and grinned. ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘I thought you might be gone before I arrived.’’

  He brushed the thatch of dusty brown hair away from his eyes and glanced toward the clock. ‘‘I don’t have to leave until noon today, but I was beginning to wonder if you were coming in.’’

  Fred dropped onto a chair beside him. ‘‘I had some personal business to attend to, but I wanted to talk to you about some news my boss mentioned last night before he left work.’’

  Bill placed his pencil on the table and turned. ‘‘From that grin, I expect it’s good news. Did you get assigned to the glass-etching section?’’

  Fred shook his head. ‘‘No, this is something
for you. I’m not positive it will work out, so don’t get your hopes too high—you might not want to mention it to your wife just yet.’’

  ‘‘Well, what is it?’’

  Fred kneaded his hands together while he explained what Mr. Godfrey had told him about a glass-etching business in Chicago. ‘‘Seems the owner’s health is beginning to fail, and he needs help with the business. Mr. Godfrey knows I’ve been unhappy and thought I might be interested.’’

  ‘‘Well, aren’t you?’’

  ‘‘I can’t leave Pullman, Bill. My mother . . .’’

  Bill nodded. ‘‘I understand. You’ve got to look out for her best interests, too.’’

  ‘‘If you could go to work for this man and learn the trade, you might be able to purchase his business someday.’’ Fred could barely contain his excitement. If he couldn’t have such a dream for himself, he wanted it for Bill. ‘‘I thought we’d take the train in to Chicago next week and meet with him. What do you think?’’

  ‘‘I think I’d be a fool if I didn’t at least take a look. When do you want to go?’’ Bill’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘‘It’s going to be hard to keep this news under my hat.’’

  Fred understood. When men were laid off or fired from their jobs, they struggled with issues of pride and depression. Seeing their wives forced to take in sewing or clean houses didn’t bolster the men’s feelings of self-worth, either.

  ‘‘How about Thursday? And let’s take those drawings with us. I want Mr. Lockabee to see your work. I think he’ll be impressed.’’ He patted Bill on the shoulder. ‘‘Looks like John’s completed his lecture, and I want to talk with him for a few minutes.’’

  Bill wouldn’t be concentrating on his drawings the remainder of the morning, and Fred couldn’t blame him. This was a rare opportunity. Bill was already hurrying across the room to share the news with several of the other men.

  John nodded toward the group as Fred approached. ‘‘What’s all that about?’’