Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘You think maybe you dropped it at work and Mr. Vance picked it up?’’ one of the men asked.

  Harlan once again thrust his hand into his pocket, obviously hoping the note would magically reappear. ‘‘You think we’ll all be fired come morning?’’ Dread laced Harlan’s words.

  Fred’s earlier comment had caused a greater depth of alarm than he’d intended. ‘‘The young man may have simply happened by and stepped inside. I’m not certain when he first entered the meeting. I’m glad you fellows decided to attend. If anything comes up at work tomorrow morning, let me know.’’

  Harlan glumly agreed. ‘‘My wife wanted me to stay home with the family this afternoon. Seems like I should have given in to her.’’

  ‘‘Ain’t nothing happened just yet, Harlan. Besides, we all know something has got to be done to get things changed around in our department.’’

  The men continued talking, and by the time the workers from the paint shop departed for home, the panic had subsided and they were on a more even keel. Fred visited with several other groups, especially those charged with the benevolence fund. They had to decide how much each family would receive. He hoped there would be enough to go around.

  When he finally closed and locked the door to the training center it was nearing five o’clock, and the sun was dropping into the western horizon. His mother had expected him an hour ago. He lengthened his stride while jumbled thoughts of the meeting invaded his mind. A branch cracked and he instinctively looked around, sucking in a breath of air. Mr. Vance’s cousin! The young man was hiding in the shadows of the tree-lined street.

  Fred considered calling out to him but immediately thought better of the idea. A confrontation would serve no purpose. Had Mr. Vance sent the young man to spy on them? Perhaps there was more need for worry than he’d expressed to the men.

  He uttered a prayer for the men and their jobs—and one for himself. If problems arose, Fred could be the first one to lose his job. Mr. Vance’s cousin didn’t know Fred’s name, but it wouldn’t take long for Mr. Vance or Mr. Howard to figure out exactly who had been in charge of the meeting this afternoon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chicago, Illinois

  April 10, 1893

  Charlotte hadn’t planned on the likes of young Fiona Murphy when she arrived at Priddle House. But then, she hadn’t planned on sharing a bedroom or working at Marshall Field’s retail store, either. At times she thought standing on her feet all day was somewhat easier than answering the ongoing questions of the ten-year-old girl who shared her bed each night. The moment she returned home from work, Fiona attached herself like an appendage—one that walked and talked and craved Charlotte’s undivided attention.

  Charlotte did her best to answer the girl’s questions, though she’d quickly tired of repeating the same details of the retail store and its personnel. More times than she cared to remember, she’d described Joseph Anderson, a doorman at the Washington Street entrance who met the carriages of the wealthy women arriving each morning at Marshall Field’s. Fiona didn’t mind the nightly replication. The girl simply wanted to be noticed and, quite obviously, needed a mother’s love.

  During Bible study each evening, Fiona would plant herself beside Charlotte and share her Bible. Thankfully, Fiona knew the books of the Bible, for Mrs. Priddle expected each of them to follow along while she read the evening’s Scripture. Had Charlotte been required to perform the task, she doubted there would be much time remaining for Bible study each night. Fiona had her own method for remembering the location of each book. Charlotte quickly decided learning Fiona’s method would be more difficult than simply doing as Mrs. Priddle advised: begin with the first two and add two more each day.

  Charlotte hadn’t been diligent in her pursuit and thus far hadn’t mastered the books of the Old Testament. While Fiona praised her progress each week, Mrs. Priddle wasn’t nearly as impressed.

  When they had completed their study for the evening, Charlotte was anxious to go upstairs and prepare for bed. Her feet were swollen and her back ached.

  ‘‘Before we dismiss, I’d like to see how we’re all doing memorizing our Bible verses and books of the Bible.’’ She turned her bright blue eyes toward Ruth. ‘‘Why don’t you begin, Ruth? Then you can take Sadie up to bed while the rest of us take our turns.’’

  Though Mrs. Priddle’s offer to Ruth was couched as a suggestion, they were all aware the proposal was actually a command. Charlotte had thought the method strangely familiar until she finally remembered it was the same approach her nursemaid had used when she was a young girl. Ruth complied with Mrs. Priddle’s request, rattling off her verses one after another without a mistake. The moment she’d uttered the final word, she quickly retreated upstairs with Sadie riding on her hip. Ruth had memorized the names of the books of the Bible long ago, for she’d arrived at Priddle House while still pregnant with Sadie.

  From time to time, Mrs. Priddle would surprise one of the ladies and have her recite a verse she’d learned weeks ago, a test to see if she still remembered. Charlotte shivered at the thought, but at the rate she was progressing, she need not worry overmuch. One by one, Mrs. Priddle listened to the verses and dismissed each lady in turn. Only Fiona and Charlotte now remained.

  ‘‘You’re next, Charlotte. Let me see. According to my calculations, you should have already memorized the names of all sixty-six books of the Bible, but as of last week you still hadn’t mastered the Old Testament.’’ Mrs. Priddle’s Bible rested on her lap, her hand resting on the leather cover. ‘‘I hope to be pleasantly surprised this evening.’’

  No doubt Mrs. Priddle would be surprised, albeit not pleasantly. Fiona offered an encouraging look. Charlotte stumbled along until Mrs. Priddle called a halt to the effort. ‘‘Fiona, I want you to work with Charlotte every evening once you’ve completed your school lessons. This is important, Charlotte. You’ll be able to locate Scripture much more quickly once you’ve memorized the books of the Bible.’’

  Fiona enthusiastically bobbed her head, but Charlotte silently groaned. Once Fiona completed her recitation, Mrs. Priddle dismissed the two of them with a caveat to study diligently. Fiona grasped Charlotte’s hand and marched alongside her up the stairs. ‘‘This will be great fun. You can help me with my lessons, and I’ll help you memorize.’’

  ‘‘Indeed. Great fun.’’ Charlotte dropped onto the side of the bed. ‘‘Your method doesn’t work for me, Fiona.’’

  Ruth lifted Sadie into her iron crib and then sat down beside Charlotte on the patchwork quilt. ‘‘I used music to help me learn the titles. Have you tried that?’’

  ‘‘No. Is there some special tune?’’ Charlotte was willing to try anything to avoid Fiona’s memorization method.

  Ruth shook her head. ‘‘No, just find any tune that works for you and sing.’’ A blush colored her cheeks. ‘‘Sounds rather silly, doesn’t it?’’

  ‘‘No. Your method might work. I used to play the piano, and I enjoy music. I’ll try that. Thank you, Ruth.’’

  Fiona jumped up from the small writing table, where she’d begun to write her spelling words. ‘‘Piano? You play the piano? Will you teach me? I’ve always wanted to learn to play the piano. Oh, please say you will.’’ Delight shone in the girl’s eyes.

  ‘‘In order to teach you, we’d need a piano, Fiona. Otherwise, I’d be pleased to give you lessons. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.’’

  Charlotte immediately mourned the refusal. Fiona didn’t ask for much, and Charlotte would have enjoyed granting the girl’s wish. Fiona had endured more difficulties than most people twice her age, and Charlotte marveled at her ability to maintain a cheerful outlook. At the age of five, the girl had suffered the death of her father, a drunk, Mrs. Priddle had said; then Fiona’s mother had contracted tuberculosis. Had it not been for Mrs. Priddle’s kindness, she’d be living in an orphanage. Though surprising to Charlotte, Fiona counted herself fortunate to be living here, attending school, and memorizi
ng Bible verses.

  ‘‘Maybe one day we’ll have a piano and I can learn.’’ Her soulful look disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived.

  While Fiona continued with her spelling lesson, Charlotte returned downstairs. With Mrs. Priddle’s tin of glue, old pieces of wrapping paper, and a pair of scissors, Charlotte pieced together a long, thin piece of paper. Using a book edge, she drew narrow lines to resemble the piano keys. While leaving the white keys untouched, she carefully inked in the black keys of a piano keyboard. When she’d finished the project, she rolled it up and carried it upstairs. Fiona turned as Charlotte walked in the room.

  ‘‘Lessons completed, Fiona?’’

  The girl bobbed her head. ‘‘Almost. Then we can begin thinking of a tune for you.’’

  Charlotte unrolled the piece of paper across the bed and watched the excitement sparkle in Fiona’s eyes. ‘‘A piano!’’

  ‘‘Well, not quite. We’ll have to sing the notes instead of having the piano play them, but I thought I could teach you the keys so that when you’re able to take lessons one day, you’ll already know the keys and how to place your fingers.’’

  Fiona knelt down at the side of the bed and perched her fingers over the make-believe keys. ‘‘Oh, Charlotte, thank you! You’re the very best friend in the world. This is a wonderful present.’’ Her eyes glistened as she looked up at Charlotte. ‘‘Come and see, Ruth.’’

  Ruth stepped to the side of the bed and squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘‘It is lovely, Fiona. I’m sure that one day you’ll become a fine pianist.’’

  Ruth leaned close to Charlotte’s ear. ‘‘That was a lovely gesture. You’re a kind person, Charlotte.’’

  Charlotte winced at the praise. She was neither a kind person nor a good friend, and she’d prefer Ruth and Fiona not think of her as such. They’d expect her behavior to reflect those qualities in the future, and Charlotte was certain they’d be disappointed.

  Wanting to divert attention away from herself, Charlotte pointed to the keys and began to explain the layout of the white keys and the black keys. ‘‘First you need to learn the letter names of the notes.’’

  She knew Fiona would be a quick study. The girl memorized her weekly Bible verses in one sitting. They worked together, plotting out a tune for the books of the Bible while Charlotte named and hummed each note as she struck the key.

  ‘‘Who taught you how to play the piano, Charlotte?’’

  ‘‘I had a tutor who lived at our home in London when I was a youngster. She taught me all of my school lessons, as well as piano and needlework.’’ The girl attempted to besiege her with questions, but Charlotte pointed to the paper keyboard. ‘‘Roll up the paper. It’s late and we’ll not be able to get up in the morning.’’

  Ruth had already gone to sleep by the time Fiona and Charlotte were preparing for bed. As Fiona snuggled beneath the covers a short time later, she rested her hand atop Charlotte’s arm. ‘‘Thank you, Charlotte. I don’t miss my mother quite so much with you around.’’

  Fiona’s sweet words were offered in love, yet they served to remind Charlotte of her own child. A reminder that she’d deserted little Morgan without as much as a backward glance. ‘‘Go to sleep, Fiona. Go to sleep.’’

  Charlotte attempted to follow her own instruction to Fiona, but sleep wouldn’t come. When it finally arrived, her dreams were filled with images of Morgan and then of her own childhood in Lanshire Hall, with piano lessons and Ludie brushing her hair. And a baby crying. But the cries weren’t from Morgan. Sadie had awakened and was crying for Ruth to feed her.

  ————

  The following Sunday, Charlotte removed a dark brown skirt from the wardrobe and placed it on the bed alongside one of her three shirtwaists. Thankfully, Ruth had offered to launder and press Charlotte’s clothing in exchange for needlework lessons. Charlotte’s evenings were consumed with piano, needlework, and singing the books of the Bible.

  ‘‘Why don’t you wear one of your pretty dresses to church, Charlotte?’’

  Fiona stood in front of the wardrobe, caressing a chiffon silk gown with lace insets and a hand-ruched bodice. The dress was an extravagant purchase she’d made at Marshall Field’s while still living in style at the Palmer House months earlier. ‘‘It’s not suitable for church. That gown is intended for more important occasions.’’

  ‘‘What’s more important than God?’’

  Charlotte grinned. ‘‘Well, nothing, really. I should have said that the dress is for more formal occasions, such as a party or dancing.’’

  Fiona continued to cling to the silk skirt of the gown. ‘‘I think God likes pretty dresses, too. He won’t care if you bought it for a party but decided to wear it to church instead.’’

  Charlotte picked up the white shirtwaist. ‘‘This suits my life right now, Fiona. Even if the dress were appropriate, I wouldn’t wear it.’’

  ‘‘Why? It’s so pretty.’’

  ‘‘Because it reminds me of the past and my life before I came here. Now stop asking questions and let’s get dressed. Otherwise Mrs. Priddle will be thumping the broom handle on the ceiling, and we’ll miss breakfast.’’ Charlotte didn’t give Fiona time to argue any further. She shoved her arms into the shirtwaist, fastened the row of buttons, and stepped into her chocolate brown skirt.

  Church attendance was mandatory for the residents of Priddle House. Though Mrs. Priddle didn’t specify which church the women should attend, she made certain they all warmed a pew on Sunday mornings. ‘‘We must replenish our hearts and our souls.’’ Mrs. Priddle uttered the same statement every Sunday morning as they departed for church. The services were much different from what Charlotte had been accustomed to in London yet somewhat similar to the ones she’d attended in Pullman.

  She hadn’t listened to very many of those Sunday morning sermons in Pullman. Now, however, she clung to every word, for during Sunday dinner Mrs. Priddle enjoyed what she called a time of reflection and discussion. Charlotte called it a quiz. After dozing off during her initial visit to First Methodist Church, Charlotte now paid strict attention. She had quickly learned that missing one of Mrs. Priddle’s discussion questions was met with the assignment of an additional chore, something Charlotte planned to avoid in the future. She’d been required to wash all the pots and pans for a full week, and her fingernails still suffered from the endeavor.

  Fiona squeezed into the pew and sat down between Charlotte and Mrs. Priddle. The pianist struck the chords of the first hymn, and Fiona moved her fingers along the top of the pew in front of them, playing an imaginary keyboard. Surprisingly, Mrs. Priddle didn’t object.

  After the service Mrs. Priddle grasped Charlotte’s arm and then motioned Fiona to walk on ahead. ‘‘If you like, I could ask the reverend if you could bring Fiona down here one evening a week and give her lessons on the piano. Do you think that would help?’’

  Charlotte pulled the older woman into a warm embrace. ‘‘Oh, Mrs. Priddle, would you? She wants to learn so much.’’

  Mrs. Priddle grinned. ‘‘Well, she’ll not produce any sound out of that piece of paper or the back of a church pew. I’ll see what I can do, but don’t say anything. We don’t want to get her hopes up and then be disappointed.’’

  ‘‘I promise I won’t say a word. When will you ask him?’’

  ‘‘You’re as impatient as a little girl.’’ Mrs. Priddle glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘I’ll go back and ask him now. Tell the rest of the ladies I’ll be along shortly.’’

  Charlotte hurried to join the others. She hoped Mrs. Priddle would return with good news and could hardly contain her excitement as she fell in stride alongside Fiona. This would be a good day!

  CHAPTER NINE

  Pullman, Illinois

  April 22, 1893

  Olivia wrapped a warm shawl over her flannel nightgown, shoved her feet into the worn slippers at her bedside, and padded to the window. She uttered a silent prayer, thankful to be back in her bedroom and n
ot riding the rails, where her movements had been confined to the small bedchamber or narrow aisles. Not that the accommodations provided on the Pullman cars were lacking. Indeed, they were quite lovely, but after traversing the countryside for nearly two weeks, Olivia was luxuriating in the freedom of space that her rooms permitted. With a slight shiver, she traced her finger over the frosted ice crystals caused by last night’s sudden dip in temperature. The sun would soon melt the crystallized design, and by midmorning the unexpected freeze would be all but forgotten. She pulled the shawl a bit higher around her neck.

  Olivia leaned back and flexed her weary shoulders. She had worked late into the night stitching the final seed pearls to the train and hem of Martha’s ivory wedding gown. Her effort was a special gift to Martha, who had become distraught after learning the seamstress at Dunbury’s Dress Shop had contracted a severe case of pneumonia and wasn’t expected back to work for at least another week.

  In the morning’s light, Olivia examined her handiwork. It had been tedious and exhausting, but it had been worth the effort. The gown was stunning. Yet by this time tomorrow, the wedding ceremony and reception would be a mere memory, and she could relax.

  At the moment, though, there was little time to dwell on thoughts of tomorrow. Too many tasks awaited completion before she could depart for the church. With the help of both volunteer kitchen staff and friends, the largest room on the upper floor of Market Hall had been converted into a reception area, artistically arranged with flower-bedecked tables to seat the many wedding guests who would attend the brunch following the noon ceremony.

  Pulling an old shirtwaist and skirt from the walnut wardrobe, Olivia quickly donned them. Chef René had offered to bake the wedding cake, but she’d kindly refused him. Cakes, especially those needing the decorative touches required on a wedding cake, were neither his specialty nor his favorite type of creation.