Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  Droplets of blood trickled onto the jabot of her shirtwaist, and she grasped for her handbag. Blood rushed from her nose like a fount while she dug in the recesses of her purse for a handkerchief. Passengers filed down the aisle, more intent upon detraining than lending aid to a young woman with a bleeding nose. A porter escorting an elderly woman glanced down and immediately drew near. He seemed to yank a clean white towel from out of thin air.

  ‘‘What happened to you, miss?’’

  Olivia pointed to the window. ‘‘I was watching the scenery and struck my face when the train came to an unexpected stop.’’

  He nodded sympathetically. ‘‘You sit right here.’’ He glanced toward the old woman clinging to his arm. ‘‘I’ll send someone to help you right away. They’ll get you all cleaned up afore you get off the train.’’

  Before she could object, the dark-skinned porter gently directed the old woman forward and disappeared from sight. Olivia leaned her head against the back of the seat, but her effort did little to stanch the flow of blood. With the porter’s towel still pressed to her nose, she stood, determined to board the train to Pullman and confront Fred. She’d moved to the aisle when a conductor with another porter in tow appeared and thwarted her escape.

  The conductor eloquently yet firmly advised that he could not permit an injured passenger to detrain without lending aid. ‘‘Why, what would folks think if you stepped off this train in an injured state? I’ve sent for a doctor to examine you and make certain you’ve not sustained permanent injury.’’ He glanced at the porter. ‘‘What’s her final destination?’’

  She didn’t want to admit to these employees that she was a resident of Pullman. That would be breaking Mr. Howard’s admonition against such a disclosure. ‘‘I noted a friend boarding the train to Pullman. I must detrain so that I may speak with him before he departs.’’ Her frustration mounted at the conductor’s intrusive behavior, and she decided that if these two men didn’t soon release her, she’d admit to most anything. She must board the train to Pullman.

  The conductor solemnly shook his head. ‘‘No need to hurry, miss. The train to Pullman departed a couple minutes ago. There’s another one heading for Pullman in a half hour. If we get this bleeding stopped, maybe you could take that one and meet up with your fellow.’’

  ‘‘He isn’t my fellow, and I don’t want to wait half an hour.’’

  The porter placed a damp cloth on her forehead and another at the base of her neck. ‘‘You jest pinch your nose like this.’’ With his thumb and index finger, the porter pinched the bridge of his nose. Moments later he nodded toward the window, which revealed a tall man carrying a physician’s bag hurrying toward the platform. ‘‘Here come the doctor now.’’

  ‘‘I don’t need a doctor. I need to get off of this train.’’

  The porter offered another sympathetic nod. ‘‘Mm-hmm, I knows you got lotsa things needin’ your attention, miss, but we’s jest tryin’ to help you. We don’ want none of our Pullman passengers gettin’ off this here train lookin’ like they been in some kinda battle.’’ He offered her a toothy grin.

  ‘‘I do appreciate your kindness, but I am—’’

  ‘‘Step aside, porter. I’ll take over.’’ The physician pushed his way between the porter and conductor and sat down opposite Olivia.

  The physician’s abrupt comment had startled Olivia, but if the doctor’s command offended the porter, he gave no indication. He immediately stepped aside but remained close at hand, obviously prepared to follow any additional orders. She glanced at the imprint on the porter’s shiny name tag. Bernard Samson. She would remember his name and offer several fine comments about this man in her notebook. At least a little benefit might be derived from this disastrous event.

  Throughout the next fifteen minutes, the doctor offered little more medical expertise than she’d already been given by the porter. When the bleeding finally ceased, the doctor left, and she was permitted to detrain. While she waited on the platform, the porter hurried inside the station to purchase her ticket to Pullman. He had recalled her desire to reach the town and had offered the additional kindness without prompting.

  He returned with the ticket in one hand and a cup of ice and a white handkerchief in the other. After handing her the ticket, he nodded toward the stains on her shirtwaist. ‘‘This here ice might help to get the blood out afore it has a chance to set in too good.’’

  She placed a coin in his hand. ‘‘Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Samson.’’

  He grinned and tipped his cap. ‘‘Oh, you’s most welcome, miss. You jest give that there cup to the conductor on the Pullman train and he’ll bring it back on his next run.’’ He turned as a shrill whistle sounded in the distance. The porter pointed toward the inbound train. ‘‘Looks like that’s your train to Pullman.’’

  She stared after him for a moment. While humming a soft tune, he tucked the coin into his pocket and headed inside the giant station as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Mr. Pullman was fortunate to have the likes of Bernard Samson working in his employ.

  Once her train had arrived and she’d settled into her seat, Olivia considered all she had observed a short time earlier. Seeing Ellen and Fred in a public display of affection remained difficult to digest. The very idea seemed incomprehensible. She wanted to believe it wasn’t them, but as she replayed the scene in her mind, she couldn’t deny their identities. There had been few people waiting on the platform, and she’d been able to observe them without any distraction. Other than a well-dressed gentleman with a mustache and reddish brown hair, Fred and Ellen had been the only ones waiting near the Pullman train platform. After Fred’s kiss, the two of them had parted, and Ellen had remained on the platform, waving after him while the dapper gentleman brushed by and followed Fred toward the train. She remembered every minute detail that had unfolded before her eyes. Except for the unknown gentleman, she abhorred all that she’d seen.

  The fact that she’d missed Fred’s train was likely a good thing. What benefit would have come from a confrontation? He would have told her what she already knew: she had no hold on him. He was a single man, free to spend his time with whomever he pleased. And if Ellen Ashton pleased him, what right did Olivia have to voice an opinion?

  Ellen’s beauty and charm surpassed that of any woman Olivia had ever known. In truth, Olivia had been surprised and flattered by Ellen’s offer of friendship. She’d also been suspicious at first, apprehensive that someone of Ellen’s stature could have a genuine interest in befriending a lowly hotel cook. But Ellen had quickly allayed Olivia’s doubts and proved to be an ally, someone Olivia could trust. At least that’s what Olivia had thought until an hour ago. Ellen’s betrayal cut even more deeply than Fred’s behavior. After all, Olivia had told Ellen of her deep feelings for Fred. She had divulged how she hoped one day to see their relationship restored to one of mutual trust that could possibly lead to marriage. Yet knowing Olivia’s deepest desires had not curtailed Ellen’s obvious desire to count Fred among her numerous conquests. Didn’t she have enough men seeking her company? Why did she feel the need to pursue the one man who had captured Olivia’s heart?

  She continued to blot the smudges of blood from the jabot of her stained shirtwaist. Obviously the discoloration would require more than ice.

  What, she wondered, would be required to conquer the pain in her heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Olivia handed her cup of melting ice to the conductor as she stepped off the train in Pullman. She briefly considered stopping to see Mrs. DeVault, but one glance at her timepiece indicated the possibility Fred might still be at home. She’d not take a chance on coming face-to-face with him, not now, not in her present state of mind. Better to gather her bag, stop by the hotel to greet Chef René, and go home, where she could rest before supper. Once Chef René knew she was back, he would expect her to return to her regular morning routine. The thought pleased her and a slight smile tugged at her lips, the f
irst since she had spied Fred and Ellen in each other’s arms in Chicago.

  She opened the depot door, surprised to see Mr. Howard cloistered in a far corner speaking to the well-dressed gentleman she’d seen standing on the platform at the Chicago train depot. When he looked up, Mr. Howard’s shoulders immediately flexed to attention. He whispered in the gentleman’s ear, patted him on the back, and strode toward her with a defined purpose to his step.

  While the man exited out the rear door, Mr. Howard walked toward her. ‘‘I’ve been waiting for you.’’

  She gestured toward the rear of the depot. ‘‘Truly? I thought you were engaged in a private conversation with the gentleman who is now standing outside the depot. Who is he? I don’t believe I’ve seen him in Pullman before.’’

  The forlorn sound of a train whistle howled in the distance, and Mr. Howard glanced toward the tracks leading into Pullman. ‘‘He works for a competitor, but we’ve recently become acquainted. We’re considering the possibility of hiring him away from his current employer. He’s waiting on the train that’s arriving.’’

  He hadn’t answered her question. She still didn’t know the man’s name. The stranger was obviously a man of means, and should he be hired, he would no doubt become a member of management.

  ‘‘When did your new acquaintance arrive in Pullman?’’ Olivia wasn’t certain why she pursued the matter, but something in Mr. Howard’s response made her question his honesty.

  He gave her a sidelong glance as he reached for her bag. ‘‘Yesterday morning. Why do you ask?’’

  She shrugged. ‘‘Merely curious. He looked somewhat familiar. Is his name Herbert Williams?’’

  Though the weather was far from warm, beads of perspiration now dotted Mr. Howard’s forehead. ‘‘No. His name is Geoffrey Townsend. And just where do you believe you may have encountered Mr. Townsend?’’

  How should she respond without lying? ‘‘I suppose somewhere during my travels.’’

  ‘‘That may be. Mr. Townsend does travel extensively. Now, tell me about your journey. I’m anxious for a full report.’’ Before she could respond, he pointed toward her shirtwaist. ‘‘Do you realize your jabot is stained? I am extremely disappointed that a porter or conductor didn’t discreetly mention the matter to you. I hope you’ve taken down names so that we may deal with this issue.’’ He grasped her elbow as they neared Pullman Avenue. ‘‘This is exactly the type of careless and irresponsible service we must correct.’’

  Olivia stopped in the middle of the street and waved a gloved finger in his direction. ‘‘You have no idea what has occurred, yet you are immediately willing to condemn the very employees who did the most to help me during a difficult circumstance.’’ Her response was more boisterous than she’d intended.

  Mouth agape, he stared at her. ‘‘What has come over you, Olivia?’’ As a carriage approached, he motioned her forward. ‘‘Come along. We’ll discuss this matter in detail—in a much more civil tone.’’

  She shrank at his reprimand. If she continued with her current behavior, she’d likely be unemployed before morning. Yet she’d encountered her friend and Fred kissing on the train platform, received a bloody nose, been lied to by Mr. Howard, and chastised because her jabot was stained—all within less than a two-hour period. As far as she was concerned, it was little wonder she’d lashed out at him. Unfortunately, her foolhardy behavior had resulted in an outcome she hadn’t anticipated: she’d be required to remain in Mr. Howard’s company and go over her notes.

  Her heart fluttered at the thought. Mr. Howard wouldn’t approve of the hastily scribbled notes she scratched out each night. Well, almost every night. During her week away, there had been a few evenings when she’d completely forsaken the task and merely gone to sleep. There was little doubt he expected to review well-detailed daily reports within the pages of her journal. Hadn’t he told her as much when they’d been on their training journey? And though Olivia had intended to rewrite her hastily jotted comments into a neat and precise account, the task had not yet been completed. In fact, she’d not even begun.

  She touched her fingers to the back of her neck. ‘‘Please forgive my rude behavior. I’m weary from traveling, and I believe I have a headache coming on.’’ Her remark was true enough. She was quite tired, and if Mr. Howard should insist upon examining her notes before morning, she would surely suffer a terrible headache!

  He gave her a sidelong glance and finally agreed she should rest. ‘‘I had considered accepting Mrs. Barnes’s invitation to supper, but if you’re feeling unwell . . .’’

  ‘‘Thank you for your compassion and understanding, Samuel. I believe having this first afternoon and evening to rest will permit me to return to work completely refreshed tomorrow morning.’’

  There was little doubt her response disappointed him, but nevertheless he escorted her to the Barneses’ porch and placed her baggage near the front door. ‘‘I shall expect to meet with you in my office tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. If your headache should disappear, I’m next door and can be quickly summoned.’’

  His smile appeared strained, and there was a false cheerfulness to his words. Olivia hoped she hadn’t angered him over-much, but her refusal had been necessary. The evening would prove disastrous if she presented him with the incomplete journal.

  ————

  The clock had chimed midnight by the time Olivia had completed rewriting her notes and prepared for bed. Though she had planned to eat supper and immediately return to her room, Mrs. Barnes’s pitiful demeanor had held her captive until nine o’clock. Finally Olivia had insisted she could remain in the parlor no longer. Even at that late hour, Mrs. Barnes had been visibly disappointed when Olivia had taken her leave and retreated up the stairs. Thankfully, she’d completed over half of her task before the supper hour. Otherwise she’d still be writing.

  Olivia dropped into bed, knowing her prayer time would be brief this night. Indeed, she’d nearly fallen asleep at her writing desk before donning her nightgown. The sweet scent of the crisp linens filled her nostrils as she tucked the sheet beneath her chin. Although Mrs. Barnes could prove taxing at times, the woman always tried her utmost to provide care and comfort. Olivia must remember to thank her in the morning for the fresh linens.

  The rustling of tree branches whispered through the open bedroom window, and Olivia uttered a prayer of thanks. After long and wakeful nights listening to the sundry noises and commotion aboard the trains, she was pleased to return to the safety, peace, and comfort of Pullman. Her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted to sleep, hoping she’d completed her final journey on the rails.

  Olivia’s dreams were invaded by clanging bells and the acrid smell of smoke. She coughed and rolled to her side, but loud shouts and the clatter of horse-drawn wagons fully awakened her. Rubbing her eyes, she forced herself to sit up on the side of her bed.

  A shout from below jerked Olivia to attention, and she rushed to the window. Across the street and behind the iron gates, flames shot toward the heavens. Through the haze of smoke it was impossible to see if the fire burned in one of the Pullman buildings or farther down the line at the Allen Paper Wheel Works, where the paper cores were constructed and dried before they were fitted into the steel train tires. A blaze would spread quickly with the vast amount of paper stored at the wheel works. But if the fire caused either building to shut down for any length of time, the entire community would suffer.

  Several taps sounded at her door and Olivia turned from the window. ‘‘Mrs. Barnes?’’

  ‘‘Yes, my dear. I wanted to assure you that we are safe. May I come in?’’

  Olivia padded across the wool rug and opened her bedroom door. ‘‘Has Mr. Barnes gone to help?’’

  The older woman nodded. ‘‘Yes. He left a half hour ago and didn’t think the fire was out of control before the fire wagons arrived. Let’s pray there isn’t extensive damage.’’ They approached the window, and the two of them stood quietly, watching the scene
unfold below them.

  Olivia squinted her eyes and stared at the clock across the room. Two o’clock. She’d been in bed only two hours. The men and wagons worked in concert throughout the following hours until the fire had been extinguished. In the darkness it was difficult to evaluate how much damage had occurred. But no matter the damage or lack of sleep, she would be expected in the hotel kitchen by five-thirty. At the sound of the downstairs door, Mrs. Barnes bid Olivia good-night for the second time and hurried off to greet her husband.

  Mr. Barnes had returned home, his clothes sooty and smelling of smoke. That was the report Olivia received when she came downstairs less than an hour later. From all appearances, Mrs. Barnes hadn’t gone back to bed. Perhaps she’d nap once Mr. Barnes departed for his office. In spite of the fire and their lack of sleep, all employees would be expected to report for work at their regularly scheduled time. And most of them wouldn’t complain. After last night’s fire, they’d be thankful to still have a job. Misfortune in the workplace seemed to have that effect upon the workers. No matter the depth of dissatisfaction, folks sobered and seemingly cherished their jobs when disaster struck, at least for a while.

  A short time later Chef René waved Olivia forward as she approached the hotel. He stood just inside the kitchen door, resting his beefy hands on his hips. Rather than offering a cheery greeting, he frowned and pointed toward the second floor of the hotel. ‘‘Mr. Pullman arrived an hour ago. Mr. Howard went to Chicago to tell him of the fire, and he insisted upon returning to see the damage for himself. He wants his breakfast served at seven o’clock. Then he will go across the street and examine the damage from last night’s fire. I assume you, too, were up most of the night?’’