Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘You’ve not yet been laid off, Malcolm. My advice is to go to the center and gain as much training as possible. Don’t give in to defeat.’’ He nodded toward Albert. ‘‘I’ve got to get back to the church, but we’ll talk tomorrow.’’ He clapped Malcolm on the back and watched for a moment before returning to Albert’s side.

  Albert tipped his head toward Malcolm. ‘‘What was that all about? Malcolm looked like he’d lost his last friend.’’

  ‘‘Just about. A friend who works in the freight department was laid off yesterday. I’m growing concerned with the number of recent layoffs. None of this bodes well for any of us. If we’re to survive, I think we’re going to have to unionize or strike. Or both,’’ he added.

  ‘‘This is my wedding day, Fred. Could we put aside such talk for today?’’ Albert didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he grasped Fred’s arm. ‘‘Come on, or the guests are going to think I’m going to leave Martha standing at the altar without her groom.’’

  Fred followed alongside Albert, and the two of them took their assigned places at the front of the church. After several minutes, the preacher nodded at the organist. The rear doors of the sanctuary opened, and the chords of the processional swelled in anticipation of the bridal party’s entrance. Fred watched as Olivia slowly proceeded down the aisle. She peeked at him from beneath her long brown lashes. There was no denying she was a vision to behold in the pale yellow gown. Compared to the creamy daffodil shade of her dress, his black serge suit and gray tie seemed downright drab. Even the glossy sheen of his freshly polished shoes wasn’t as vivid in her presence. He had dampened and slicked down his hair in an attempt to control the unruly waves, while her coffee-colored curls remained perfectly arranged beneath a yellow silk hat that matched her gown to perfection. He attempted to look away, but he’d been unable to force his gaze from her. He’d noticed every detail of her flawless appearance.

  Once Olivia had taken her place in the front of the sanctuary, Martha followed, her gown falling in perfect ivory folds as she proceeded toward her groom. Flanked by Olivia and Fred, the couple faced Reverend Loomis. The minister’s bald pate shone beneath the flickering light of the candelabra. With practiced ease, Reverend Loomis led Albert and Martha through the ceremony, adroitly guiding them as they said their vows. No doubt the preacher had long ago memorized the wedding service. Not once did he glance down at his notes or Bible.

  Finally Reverend Loomis looked toward Olivia—her cue to take Martha’s flowers and Fred’s signal to hand Albert the wedding ring. Fred reached into his pocket, retrieved the ring, and slipped it into Albert’s hand. Several guests in the front pews twittered and elbowed one another while Martha held the outstretched bouquet. Fred looked toward Olivia. She appeared lost in her own private thoughts.

  Suddenly the preacher grabbed the flowers from Martha’s hand and thrust the bouquet in Olivia’s direction. His sudden movement stirred Olivia to action. She clutched the floral arrangement to her chest and sent an apologetic look in Martha’s direction. An unexpected wave of emotions assailed Fred. On the one hand, he understood Olivia’s embarrassment, yet her careless behavior during this important event provoked him. Surely she should be able to remain attentive for the exchange of nuptials between her cousin and her best friend! Likely she was absorbed with thoughts of Samuel rather than the wedding at hand, he decided.

  Moments later the minister pronounced Albert and Martha man and wife and then presented them to the congregation. The young couple walked arm in arm toward the rear of the church. Fred stepped to the center of the aisle and crooked his arm. Thankfully Olivia had remained alert during the final minutes of the ceremony. With his shoulders as rigid as the iron gates that guarded the Pullman Car Works, he escorted Olivia to the rear of the church.

  The moment they entered the vestibule, he lowered his arm and extended his hand toward Albert. ‘‘My congratulations, Albert. I know you’re going to have a life filled with happiness.’’

  The two men stood nearby as Olivia stepped forward and embraced Martha. ‘‘The ceremony was beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t take your bouquet on cue.’’ Regret filled her voice as she released Martha.

  Albert winked and drew near. ‘‘You were probably daydreaming about your own wedding. Am I right?’’

  She glanced in Fred’s direction. ‘‘I believe I’ll have to find a steady suitor before I can daydream about a wedding.’’

  Fred absently straightened his tie, careful not to look her in the eye. ‘‘Is that so? I believe the entire town is merely waiting for an announcement that you and Mr. Howard will soon wed.’’

  Olivia stiffened her shoulders. ‘‘Then they’ll wait a very long time. Mr. Howard and I are not courting.’’

  Fred couldn’t be certain if he’d detected pain or anger in her eyes, but he decided against a verbal response. This was not the time or place. He shrugged his shoulders and excused himself. ‘‘I’ll go make certain the carriage has arrived to transport us to Market Hall.’’

  Greeting visitors at the reception rather than in the church vestibule was the latest fashion; at least that’s what Martha had advised. Fred hadn’t even considered what might be fashionable in wedding planning. He’d given the driver explicit instructions and was pleased to see the horse and carriage coming to a halt in front of the church. After a quick wave to the driver, he returned to the vestibule and motioned the others forward.

  Once they were seated in the carriage, Olivia leaned close. ‘‘I didn’t see Mildred at the wedding.’’

  ‘‘Surely you’re aware Mildred is working at the hotel. Otherwise, she would be in attendance.’’ Apparently someone had seen him in Mildred’s company and passed along the information to Olivia. Though Mildred was a nice enough young woman, Fred had no romantic interest in her. However, he didn’t plan to share that bit of information with Olivia—or with anyone else, for that matter.

  ‘‘And would you have been her escort?’’

  ‘‘As I said, she couldn’t attend so I see no need to further discuss the matter.’’

  His response was enough to halt any more questions, and she turned away to stare out the window.

  ————

  ‘‘Olivia!’’ Martha leaned into the carriage and tapped Olivia’s shoulder. ‘‘Do quit your daydreaming and come along.’’

  Olivia hadn’t even noticed that the coach had come to a halt outside Market Hall, and she’d been completely oblivious when the others had exited the carriage. However, once her feet touched solid ground, only a moment was needed to gather her thoughts. Without waiting for the others, she hiked her skirts and hastened off toward the main entrance of Market Hall. By the time she’d raced up the stairs, perspiration dotted her forehead and she was panting for air.

  Chef René clucked his tongue. ‘‘Such unladylike behavior, Miss Mott. Are you so afraid I cannot cater this small wedding reception? Is that why you rush like an unruly child?’’

  His question stopped her in her tracks. ‘‘No.’’ She gasped for another breath of air. ‘‘I simply didn’t want you overexerting yourself.’’

  ‘‘Ha! We both know that is only partially the truth. You also want to prove yourself.’’

  ‘‘This has nothing to do with proving myself. This is my cousin’s wedding, and I want to make certain everything is perfect.’’

  The rotund chef crossed his arms on his broad chest. ‘‘And I can’t ensure perfection? Is that what you’re saying?’’

  ‘‘No. You are much more qualified than I.’’ She sighed. They were wasting time arguing while, from the top of the stairway, she could see the cake was not yet on the table.

  He followed her gaze and held up a warning finger. ‘‘The cake is arriving as we speak. I will see to it.’’

  Olivia took one step backward, teetered, and then lunged toward Fred as her foot slipped off the top step. Had it not been for Fred’s quick reflexes, she would have toppled down the steps. Instead, they stood locked in an e
mbrace at the top of the stairway as Olivia attempted to regain her balance. She grimaced in pain while clutching Fred’s shoulders. ‘‘I believe I’ve sprained my ankle.’’

  Fred held her, his hands grasping her waist. ‘‘I believe Mr. Howard is racing up the stairs, either to rescue you or to punch me in the nose. From the scowl on his face, I’d guess it’s the latter. I do hope you’ll save me from an altercation. I’d dislike ruining my new suit and possibly losing my job at the same time.’’

  Before she could respond, Mr. Howard was at her side. ‘‘What are you thinking, DeVault? Miss Mott is not some trollop to be manhandled. Release her immediately!’’

  ‘‘No! Please, don’t let go.’’ She dug her fingers into Fred’s shoulders.

  Mr. Howard’s complexion resembled the redbrick houses that lined the streets of Pullman. ‘‘What? You want to continue making a spectacle of yourself in front of all these people?’’ His teeth were clenched, and the muscles along his jaw quivered when he spoke. It was obvious he didn’t want the wedding guests to overhear him confront her. Mr. Howard wouldn’t want to make a spectacle of himself.

  Olivia continued to cling to Fred’s shoulders. ‘‘I’ve sprained my ankle and am unable to stand on my own.’’

  Mr. Howard smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his double-breasted vest. ‘‘I’ll fetch a chair for you.’’ He glared at Fred as though he had caused the entire incident. ‘‘And a physician.’’

  Mr. Howard snapped his fingers at one of the kitchen boys, and soon a chair was placed in the receiving line so Olivia could sit down and the entire wedding party could continue to greet the guests. They made an interesting spectacle: Martha, Albert, and Fred standing side by side while Olivia rested on a chair with her ankle wrapped in ice-packed toweling and her foot propped on an overturned bucket. Lovely! Only Chef René appeared unconcerned with her situation. He seemed utterly pleased that she’d been temporarily restricted to a sitting position. She was glad they’d provided her with a view of the stairway, so she could see the guests as they arrived.

  Catching a glimpse of Ellen Ashton ascending the steps, Olivia brightened. She waved her friend forward, wishing she could rush to meet her. She hadn’t expected Ellen to attend. Olivia hadn’t noticed her during the wedding ceremony and wondered if she had only just arrived in Pullman.

  Ellen arched her brows as she approached. Olivia forced a smile and hastened to explain her predicament. ‘‘I’m certain I’ll be fine by the time we’ve greeted the final guests. I don’t intend to remain seated throughout the entire day.’’

  Ellen glanced at the mound of damp cloth surrounding Olivia’s ankle and shook her head. ‘‘With all that wrapping, it’s difficult to guess how much swelling has occurred. But please don’t worry about me.’’ She grasped Olivia’s hand. ‘‘I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time for the wedding. Father requested I complete a few things at the office, and I missed the earlier train.’’

  Fred leaned down close to her ear. ‘‘Perhaps you’d like to introduce your friend, Olivia.’’ He nodded toward the increasing number of guests that had begun to form a line behind Ellen.

  She squeezed Ellen’s hand. ‘‘It appears we’re detaining the other guests, but if you like, you can come and stand nearby.’’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘‘No. I’d only be a distraction. I’ll go in and mingle with the other guests until you’ve finished your duties.’’

  Walking into a gathering of strangers would be frightening to some, but not to Ellen. Olivia’s new friend was poised, educated, charming, and never appeared to be at a loss for words. ‘‘In that case, let me introduce you to Fred DeVault. Fred, this is my friend Ellen Ashton. Martha and Albert agreed I should invite her to the festivities. Ellen lives in Chicago.’’

  ‘‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Ashton. You did say Ashton, didn’t you?’’

  Ellen offered him a fleeting smile and a quick nod as she continued down the receiving line. Fred stared after her as she approached Martha. He was obviously taking more than a casual interest in Olivia’s guest. He shifted his position and leaned forward, clearly eager to hear each word she exchanged with the wedding couple.

  Even after Ellen had walked into the reception hall, he’d followed her with his eyes. Now, several minutes later, he surveyed the room, probably hoping to catch another glimpse of her. And how could Olivia blame him? Ellen possessed a magnetism that went far beyond her beauty or intelligence. Like a moth to a flame, people surrounded her wherever she went. At first Olivia had been taken aback by the number of people who were drawn to Ellen. But now she’d grown accustomed to such behavior. Yet she hadn’t expected Fred’s overt reaction. She hadn’t anticipated the possibility that he could be so easily enamored.

  When the line of guests had finally thinned, Martha grasped Albert’s arm and the couple prepared to enter the reception hall. Fred stooped down beside Olivia. ‘‘By any chance is your friend Ellen Ashton related to Montrose Ashton—the Chicago lawyer?’’

  Olivia sighed. She thought he had squatted down to assist her or inquire about her ankle. Apparently he was even more interested in Ellen than she had initially suspected. The fact that Fred knew of Montrose Ashton certainly surprised her. ‘‘Yes, he’s her father.’’

  Fred arched his brows. ‘‘How is it that you happen to count the Ashtons among your acquaintances?’’

  His question annoyed her. While they should be joining the bridal party in the reception room, he was quizzing her about Ellen Ashton. The very idea! She shot him a critical look and then unwrapped the towel and dried her ankle.

  ‘‘Could you help me into the other room? If not, would you locate someone who is willing to do so?’’ She realized her tone was strident, but it had the desired effect. Using his arms to brace her weight, Fred helped her up and then wrapped one arm around her waist to steady her while she tested the ankle.

  He pointed toward her foot. ‘‘Try to take a few steps while I’m still holding on to you.’’

  With slow uneven steps, they made their way toward the doorway, Fred embracing her waist while Olivia hobbled alongside him. As they continued into the room, her ankle gained strength, and with each step she became more secure. Thankfully, the pain had noticeably diminished. Pleased with her progress and anxious to discover if all was in readiness, Olivia scanned the room for a glimpse of Chef René. Instead, she locked gazes with a frowning Mr. Howard, who was shouldering his way through the crowd.

  Mr. Howard’s nostrils flared as he came to a halt in front of them. ‘‘Why didn’t you send for me? While the doctor wrapped your ankle, I distinctly told you to send for me when you wanted to move from the chair.’’

  She didn’t recall his saying any such thing, but then, she’d been busy responding to the doctor’s questions while he had probed and examined her leg. He stared at Fred’s hand clasping her waist, and anger flickered in his eyes. The three of them remained frozen in place while the chattering guests made their way to the gaily decorated tables.

  Olivia was uncertain how long they continued standing in the middle of the room. She’d yet to respond to Mr. Howard’s question. It was Fred who finally spoke. ‘‘I believe Martha is motioning for us to join them at the head table. We don’t want to detain these hungry guests.’’ That said, he stepped forward and forced Mr. Howard to move aside.

  While Fred maintained his hold around her waist, Mr. Howard moved to her right and accompanied them across the room. She was certain they made quite a strange sight to those watching, but she didn’t care. Fred’s attentive behavior delighted her, though she surmised his intent was more to annoy Mr. Howard than to be in her company. Once Mr. Howard took his place with some of the other guests, she would properly thank Fred for his assistance. Perhaps on this auspicious day, the barrier that had formed between them would dissolve.

  As the trio approached the bridal couple, Martha wedged herself between Mr. Howard and Olivia. She dipped her head, keeping her lips close to Olivia’s ea
r. ‘‘Mr. Howard and Fred will be seated on either side of you. I had hoped to seat Ellen to your left, but Mr. Howard insisted. What was I to do?’’ The folds of her lacy veil rippled as Martha shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘‘Ellen will be seated on Fred’s right, but at least the two of you will be in close proximity.’’

  Olivia couldn’t imagine a worse scenario. Both men hastened to assist her to her seat. Mr. Howard won, and Fred turned to assist Ellen. Thankfully Chef René hadn’t disappointed her. Everything had been completed to perfection— except the cake. The ice sculpture glistened in the center of the far table, but the wedding cake was nowhere in sight. She waited until she spotted him in the doorway and motioned him forward. He shook his head, and she read his lips as he formed the words not now.

  Unwilling to be deterred, she leaned toward Mr. Howard. ‘‘Would you please ask Chef René to step over here for a moment? It’s urgent that I speak to him.’’

  Mr. Howard appeared pleased to do her bidding. Moments later, he returned to the table with Chef René following in his wake. ‘‘How may I be of assistance, Miss Mott? The servers need my direction.’’ The chef ’s formality and tone signaled his displeasure, but Olivia remained undeterred.

  ‘‘Where is the wedding cake?’’ She spoke in a whisper, not wanting to draw the bride’s attention to a possible problem.

  Chef René tightened his broad lips into a thin line. ‘‘The cake will be presented in due time. I must see to serving the brunch at this particular moment. The cake is not needed until after the guests have eaten. Now, if I may be excused?’’

  ‘‘But it has been delivered from the hotel kitchen?’’ She knew he had expected no more than a nod—a silent acceptance of his terse response. But even the chef ’s irritation hadn’t proved enough to counter her persistence.