Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  Fred shook his head.

  ‘‘Your eyes speak volumes, Mr. DeVault. I can see your mother knows nothing of our meeting this morning.’’

  ‘‘She knows about my beliefs, but she tends to worry overmuch.’’ Likely an unconvincing response, but he thought the lawyer’s concerns a tad histrionic. ‘‘How am I jeopardizing others, Mr. Ashton?’’

  ‘‘If word circulates that talk of strikes or unions is resurfacing, you can expect George Pullman to dig in and strengthen his hold on the company as well as the town. In that event, it will take even longer to make progress. Our object is to clear away obstacles, not create them. Rule number one: Don’t underestimate the enemy, Mr. DeVault.’’

  ‘‘And rule number two?’’

  ‘‘Realize there are others who know more than you. Be willing to learn and follow their instructions.’’

  Fred was afraid to ask what rule number three might be. He’d been put in his place already. Thankfully, he was saved from further humiliation when the buzzer on the front door announced someone had entered the outer office. Mr. Ashton touched his index finger to his lips. Fred nodded. Obviously the lawyer took secrecy to the extreme.

  The older man pushed away from the desk. ‘‘I’ll be right with you,’’ he called.

  ‘‘It’s just me, Father.’’

  Fred glanced over his shoulder, pleased to hear Ellen’s voice. Perhaps her presence would lighten the conversation.

  Mr. Ashton dropped back into his chair. ‘‘Come and see who’s here in my office.’’

  Ellen entered her father’s office carrying a small bouquet of pale yellow daffodils and a red rose surrounded by several stems of fern. ‘‘Fred!’’ Her surprise faded to a look of concern. She dropped the flowers on top of the desk and motioned to her father. ‘‘I’ll return in a moment.’’

  The two men waited, their silence broken only by the tapping of Ellen’s shoes as she crossed the tile floor and the metal clacking of the door lock snapping into position.

  Mr. Ashton’s bushy eyebrows raised high on his forehead. ‘‘Problem?’’ he inquired when Ellen returned to his office.

  ‘‘Possibly. On my return I noticed a man standing near the front door. I thought he looked familiar but couldn’t place him until I saw Fred here in your office.’’

  Her father scooted forward. ‘‘And?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know his name, but he attended the wedding reception in Pullman. Did someone come with you?’’ She hesitated. ‘‘Or were you followed?’’

  Mr. Ashton scowled and yanked his cigar from the bud vase and pointed it at Fred. ‘‘You see? I do know what I’m talking about.’’ He turned his attention to Ellen. ‘‘The two of you are going to have to leave this office arm in arm. Is the man well dressed?’’

  Fred wondered what difference it made what clothing the man wore, but even more, he wondered who it could be. In all honesty, he thought Ellen was quite mistaken. A part of him wanted to rush outside and confront the man. Most likely he was a complete stranger who lived in Chicago and had never before seen Fred or Ellen. He’d probably already departed.

  Ellen shook her head. ‘‘No. His clothing is intended to reflect he’s a workingman, but I noticed his shoes. Well polished and expensive. His hair and mustache are well trimmed— probably best described as a ruddy brown shade. He appears to be in his early forties.’’

  Her father beamed. ‘‘I’m pleased to know you put your observation skills to good use.’’ Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew more cash than Fred earned in a week. ‘‘Use this. Go someplace expensive. A business establishment where this fellow will appear out of place. The restaurant in Palmer House would be fine.’’ He turned his attention to Fred. ‘‘And don’t turn around to see if he’s following. Let Ellen take the lead. She knows how to handle these situations.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir. But don’t you want me to attempt to identify the man?’’

  ‘‘I want you to do exactly as I’ve said. If Ellen thinks there’s an opportunity for you to take a look at the fellow, she’ll let you know. Otherwise, you keep your eyes on her. Act like you’re a young man smitten by my beautiful daughter. Can you manage that?’’

  ‘‘Well, yes, of course, but . . .’’

  Mr. Ashton didn’t give him an opportunity to finish his sentence. Instead, he had turned his attention to Ellen, who was slipping the single rose into the bud vase. ‘‘Where am I going to put my cigar if you stick that flower in there?’’

  She raised her brows and smiled. ‘‘The trash?’’

  Her father growled as Ellen gathered the bouquet of daffodils from his desk, but she merely offered him a sweet smile as she walked from the room and glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘Let me put these in a vase of water, and then we’ll leave, Fred.’’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fred listened carefully. He wanted to prove himself to Mr. Ashton, for right now there was little doubt the older man considered him more of a detriment than a benefit to any union movement. Fred and Ellen departed the law office walking close together, laughing and talking in hushed voices until they reached the corner of State and Monroe streets. Although it appeared Ellen was entertaining him with a humorous anecdote, she was actually directing him toward the hotel entrance.

  This marked Fred’s first visit to Palmer House. Though his initial inclination was to gawk at the luxuriant surroundings, he forced himself to appear nonchalant as they entered the building. Well-dressed businessmen and wealthy visitors swarmed the lavishly appointed lobby. Surrounded by the conspicuous display of crystal chandeliers, gilded cuspidors, and marble floors, powerful men brokered trades and exchanged the day’s news within the confines of the opulent hotel. While cigar smoke circled over their heads, these defenders of power delighted themselves with their wealth.

  Ellen tugged him toward the far end of the lobby, where they turned a corner and neared the entrance of the hotel restaurant. A uniformed steward greeted them with a look of disdain until Fred recalled Ellen’s instruction and slipped the man a crisp dollar bill. It seemed a large sum for merely seating them at a table, but Fred didn’t argue. Nor did he object when Ellen nodded for him to sit on the far side of the table. Once the steward handed them their menus, he silently retreated and Ellen leaned close.

  ‘‘Once I begin to read my menu, lean toward me and glance over my right shoulder. Tell me if you recognize the man seated in the gold-brocaded chair facing the restaurant entrance.’’

  ‘‘Is he wearing the work clothes you described to your father?’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘No. Somewhere along the way he has acquired a suit jacket and tie, but it’s the same man.’’

  Fred wondered how the man had accomplished such a feat, but Ellen didn’t appear surprised in the least. Once she leaned back in her chair and concentrated on the menu, he did as she had instructed. The scent of her perfume greeted him like a spring bouquet as he tipped his head close to her shoulder.

  ‘‘Do you see him?’’ Ellen’s breath grazed his ear, and he momentarily lost his concentration.

  He leaned back and picked up the menu. A moment later he pointed to one of the offerings. ‘‘I’ve never seen that man before in my life. And I don’t think he was at the wedding reception. I’ve met all of Albert’s friends. We work in the same department as well as play baseball and row on the same teams. I have never seen that man.’’

  Ellen chuckled softly and tapped the menu as though they’d been discussing their luncheon orders. ‘‘Why don’t you signal for the waiter? You mustn’t be late for work. Do you plan to take the one-thirty train?’’

  Instinctively Fred searched the room for a clock. ‘‘Yes. I begin my shift at three o’clock, and I’ll need time to change clothes.’’ He continued to scan the room.

  ‘‘There are no clocks in here, Fred. The establishment expects guests to linger over their meals. That fact aside, the wealthy want to give the illusion they aren’t constricted by time schedules li
ke the rest of the world, yet most of them are more regimented than the working class, at least the men are. Their wives are another story entirely.’’ She clicked open a small brooch and checked the time. ‘‘It’s almost noon. Would you prefer that we merely ordered coffee?’’

  He shook his head. ‘‘Wouldn’t that appear odd so close to the noon hour?’’

  ‘‘Yes, but you being late for work would appear even more unusual.’’ The waiter arrived at their table and stood at attention, his uniform as crisp as that of any soldier prepared for inspection. Ellen smiled up at the man. ‘‘What would you suggest? We must meet a one-thirty train.’’

  The waiter’s chest swelled with pride, especially after they accepted his recommendation. While they ate their meal in the stateliness of their surroundings, Ellen directed their conversation away from discussion of unions or the gentleman in the lobby. ‘‘Did anyone know you planned to come to Chicago this morning, Fred?’’

  He shook his head and swallowed a bite of creamed peas. ‘‘No one except for my mother, and I didn’t tell her who I planned to visit. She wouldn’t mention my plans.’’ Given the fact that the gentleman remained in the lobby, he felt obliged to vouch for his mother’s trustworthy nature.

  She wiped the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin. ‘‘Not Olivia?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ He jerked his gaze away from his plate and met Ellen’s inquiring eyes. ‘‘My mother said Olivia departed on Monday. She’s back out on the trains—without Mr. Howard this time, I believe.’’

  ‘‘I realize it’s none of my business, but don’t you think it’s time you and Olivia aired your differences regarding Mr. Howard?’’

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. Had Olivia confided in Ellen? How much had she told, he wondered. The thought annoyed him. He didn’t like the idea of the two women discussing his personal life over tea and biscuits.

  ‘‘Please don’t be offended, but I don’t think this is a discussion the two of us should be having. Didn’t she tell you she was leaving?’’ He stabbed several peas with the tine of his fork.

  Ellen rested her palm on the table. ‘‘I apologize for my intrusion, Fred. You’re absolutely correct. The status of your relationship with Olivia is none of my business. I’ll do my best to refrain from such inquiries in the future. However, it’s obvious you care for each other.’’ She offered him a half smile. ‘‘In response to your question, no, I didn’t know Olivia was departing. The last we talked, she hadn’t been given any date when she would be going out again. I hope all goes well for her. I know she’d prefer to be in the kitchen with Chef René. Both he and your mother have been wonderful mentors for her, don’t you think? In differing areas, of course.’’

  ‘‘I suppose they have.’’ The waiter returned and removed Fred’s plate. The remark further reinforced how much Olivia had likely confided in Miss Ashton. ‘‘I didn’t realize you and Olivia had developed such a close friendship. It appears there’s little the two of you haven’t discussed.’’

  A soft ripple of laughter escaped her lips. ‘‘We may come from completely diverse backgrounds, but we formed a friendship the first time we met. She’s a lovely young woman who’s overcome difficult circumstances. I truly admire her. Olivia tells me she was immediately drawn to your mother and her kindness. There’s little doubt your mother has been a genuine inspiration to Olivia, what with teaching her about the Bible and such.’’

  ‘‘They have become good friends,’’ he admitted.

  Throughout the remainder of their meal, Ellen acted like a woman in love. She batted her lashes, laughed, and patted Fred’s hand while chatting about meaningless topics. When they’d finished their meals, Fred signaled for the waiter, paid their bill, and then pushed away from the table. The waiter thanked them profusely and offered to hail a carriage, but Fred declined. The generous tip Ellen had instructed Fred to leave the man had likely been the primary motivation for his final offer of assistance. As they passed through the lobby, Fred forced himself to keep his attention focused upon Ellen rather than on the man seated in the mahogany- and gold-brocaded chair.

  ‘‘You performed magnificently, Fred. I was afraid you’d be distracted and look toward our recently acquired friend.’’

  He smiled at the reference. ‘‘I doubt he’s a friend, but he’s become as constant as my shadow.’’ Fred could see the man’s reflection in the gilded mirror as they walked out of the hotel. Once again, he was following behind them.

  Ellen slipped her hand into the crook of Fred’s arm. ‘‘I’m guessing he’s going to follow you onto the train. He may or may not get off in Pullman. Please don’t let him think you’ve noticed him. If he thinks you’ve spotted him, they’ll replace him. Better we know who we’re looking for.’’

  With a forced smile, Fred pointed into the window of a jewelry shop. ‘‘They?’’

  ‘‘Whoever has him following you. There’s no way of knowing exactly who within the company has hired him to track your movements. I’m going to accompany you to the train depot. Before you board the train, I want you to kiss me.’’

  He stopped in his tracks, and Ellen tugged him forward. ‘‘We must make this appear genuine, Fred. If they believe we’re romantically involved, you won’t draw as much suspicion from the company.’’

  At Ellen’s instruction, Fred waved for a carriage, and soon they were on their way to the Van Buren Street station. He could only hope they would manage to lose the man in the confusion of traffic as they traversed the busy streets and passed the fork of the river harbor. But the stranger likely knew where they were headed.

  Fred’s thoughts were a jumble by the time they arrived, though Ellen remained perfectly calm as they stepped across the threshold. ‘‘Have you already purchased your ticket?’’

  He nodded. ‘‘Maybe he’s not here.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’ Her eyes immediately reflected recognition and she smiled. ‘‘Oh, you mean our new friend. Never doubt that he’s here. And even if we don’t see him, we can’t take any chances. I’ll attempt to make our farewell as painless as possible.’’

  From her ease with their predicament, Fred could only assume she was an old hand at situations like this. He wondered if he would ever reach that point. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out. If he was going to become instrumental in the cause—the term Mr. Ashton liked to use—he’d best learn to adapt. Shortly he’d have an excellent opportunity to prove his malleability.

  They joined the throng of passengers jostling to and fro, some headed for the ticket counters while others rushed toward the barbershop, restaurant, or fruit stand within the miniature domed city. Weaving through the crowd as if she’d done it every day of her life, Ellen led him across the concourse and onto the proper platform where they waited. Moments later, the conductor called a familiar ‘‘All aboard!’’

  Before he had time to further consider his own actions, Ellen raised up on tiptoe and clasped her arms around his neck. He had planned a brief peck on the cheek. Instead, she kissed him full on the lips. Startled by her unseemly behavior, he attempted to take a backward step. Undaunted, her lips remained firmly affixed to his own as she grasped his collar so tightly he thought he might strangle.

  When she finally released him, she rested her palms against his chest. ‘‘I’m sorry, but I fear we would have lacked believability if I had permitted you merely to peck me on the cheek like an old married couple.’’ She touched her gloved finger to his cheek. ‘‘Look into my eyes as though you’re sorry you must leave me.’’

  He did as she’d told him. Her eyes twinkled, and he suddenly realized she was enjoying his discomfort. Without further thought, he swooped her into his arms and kissed her soundly. When he finally released her, she nearly toppled backward. Grasping her shoulders, he held her firmly in place. ‘‘Careful. I wouldn’t want you to fall over while we’re in the midst of proving our love for each other.’’

  She gaped at him and he cupped her chin, gently pushing her li
ps together. ‘‘You don’t want to appear surprised by your beau’s enamored behavior.’’ He glanced up, noted the man waiting nearby, and once again pulled Ellen into an embrace. ‘‘He’s waiting for me to board the train. When shall I return to Chicago?’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘I’ll come to Pullman. Let’s wait until a week from Sunday. Perhaps Olivia will be back, and I can visit with her also. I’ll plan to arrive on the two-o’clock train, if that’s agreeable.’’

  He walked toward the train and blew her a kiss. ‘‘Until then, my dear.’’ After boarding the train, Fred made his way down the aisle and dropped onto one of the seats. He scooted across to look out the window and wasn’t surprised to see Ellen still standing on the platform. She waved until the train pulled away from the station. He smiled and decided she had likely remained in place and waved until the train was completely out of sight. Ellen was the consummate actress, he decided.

  ————

  The conductor passed through the car proclaiming, ‘‘Shee-ca-go, Shee-ca-go.’’ Olivia sighed with relief, pleased she would soon be back at work in the hotel and enjoying what she’d come to consider her normal life. With luck, she could make the train to Pullman and be home within the hour. The train braked and slowed as they entered the glass-domed depot. She peered out the window and then jerked around in her seat. Her hat cocked to one side and nearly slipped from her head as she pressed her nose against the window and continued to stare. Surely not! Yet she knew her eyes hadn’t deceived her. Fred and Ellen stood locked in an embrace on a nearby platform. He was kissing her with undeniable ardor.

  Her heart pounded in her chest and reverberated in the distinct thump of a battle cadence. Maintaining her watch, she inched closer to the window and hoped the sight had been no more than an optical illusion. Without warning, the train lurched to a halting stop. Her face collided with the cold resistance of the thick unyielding glass. A searing pain rushed upward through her face as she watched Fred smile while Ellen waved. Olivia backed away from the window and rubbed her nose.