Mr. Flynn pointed to the suit. ‘‘It’s perfect, don’t you think, Miss Spencer?’’
Charlotte glanced at Mr. Field. She wasn’t certain whether she should speak or let him take charge.
He nodded.
‘‘The color is perfect,’’ she said. ‘‘Would you mind standing up, Mrs. Flynn? I’d like to see the flow and length of the skirt on you.’’ The woman rose from the chair, walked across the room, and turned in a circle. She’d obviously already performed for Mr. Field. ‘‘The suit is a lovely choice for you. Your husband proved an expert advisor.’’
Mr. Field cleared his throat, and Mrs. Flynn seemed to realize she should return to her husband’s side. ‘‘Mr. and Mrs. Flynn are both pleased with your choices, Miss Spencer.’’ His eyes suddenly sparkled as he leaned across his desk and looked directly at Mrs. Flynn. ‘‘What if I told you that you could exchange any of these selections for something else of like value in the store, Mrs. Flynn? Tell me which items you would exchange and why.’’
Startled, Charlotte wanted to object. Mr. Field’s offer to Mrs. Flynn hadn’t been a part of their original agreement. Was he unhappy because the woman had been pleased by the selections? Had he wanted her to fail at the task? Confusion and fear assailed Charlotte while she watched Mrs. Flynn assess the selections.
‘‘If I were choosing for myself, I would not change one thing. I am pleased with every choice, but I would be much happier purchasing items for my children instead.’’ Her eyes filled with a mother’s longing, and she picked up what had been Charlotte’s final selection. ‘‘And these will bring my family the most delight. I truly cherish this gift more than any.’’ She ran her fingers over the pages of sheet music. ‘‘Our family enjoys singing, and all of us play the piano—I suppose my husband told you that.’’
Mr. Flynn shook his head. ‘‘When we passed by the tearoom, I heard the music and mentioned your talent playing the piano—nothing more. Apparently Miss Spencer realized the joy music brings to our family.’’
The remark seemed to please Mr. Field, for he nodded approvingly. Then, before Mr. and Mrs. Flynn left his office, he generously offered them a matching amount to purchase clothing for their children.
‘‘You performed your assignment very well, Miss Spencer. Please return to my office next Monday morning at nine o’clock, and we will discuss your new duties.’’
Charlotte followed Mrs. Jenkins out of the office, uncertain what her new duties might entail, but Mrs. Jenkins assured her she’d likely be offered a position that paid more money—perhaps a supervisory position or a new position created due to the influx of customers for the Columbian Exposition.
Though Charlotte doubted she’d be considered for a new position, Mrs. Jenkins waved her index finger back and forth. ‘‘That’s not an outlandish idea, you know. If Mr. Field believes you can offer his customers a unique service, he will create such a position for you. Mr. Field has progressive ideas when it comes to merchandising, and he wants to offer his customers every possible amenity. Even though the country is teetering on the brink of depression, it is through these special services that he believes his store will continue to show excellent profits.’’ Mrs. Jenkins continued her brisk stride as they returned to the accessories department. ‘‘Because of your ability to serve his customers, Mr. Field has taken a particular liking to you, and that is a very good thing, Charlotte.’’
————
Charlotte wished she didn’t have to wait until Monday to discover what Mr. Field had in mind, and she mentioned that fact during their evening prayer time. Mrs. Priddle brushed aside the complaint with an admonition that Charlotte should develop a modicum of patience and offer a prayer of thanksgiving that God had sent her an easily satisfied woman such as Mrs. Flynn. Charlotte wanted to rail against Mrs. Priddle’s assessment and tell her that Mrs. Flynn hadn’t been a woman with low expectations. Rather, it had been Charlotte’s astute taste in clothing and accessories that had been the cause of her success. But Mrs. Priddle would no doubt consider such a retort prideful and send her upstairs for prayer and reflection, which would result in a missed piano lesson for Fiona.
So she bit her tongue and remained silent, for she couldn’t disappoint Fiona again this week. The girl’s piano lesson had been cancelled last week due to a special meeting at the church, and Fiona wouldn’t want to miss another lesson this evening. The weekly lessons had become the highlight of the child’s life. Each night she practiced on her paper piano. With her lesson scheduled for tonight, the girl continued to stick to Charlotte’s side like paper glued to a wall. Charlotte wouldn’t disappoint her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Pullman, Illinois
May 18, 1893
Fred bounded downstairs and stopped in front of the hallway mirror. He straightened his tie and called to his mother, ‘‘I’m off for Chicago.’’ Before he could exit the door, she scuttled toward him like a prize contender racing for the finish line. Wisps of gray hair stood on end and waved in the breeze. There was little doubt he’d offended her with his attempt to leave without first sitting down for a cup of coffee.
Wiping flour-smudged hands on her frayed apron, she came to a halt in front of him. ‘‘Don’t you attempt to depart this house with no more than a few words hollered down the hallway. You know better, young man.’’
Her words reminded him of his early childhood years. ‘‘Yes, Mother, but I don’t want to miss my train.’’
The longcase clock struck seven in Westminster chimes, and Mrs. DeVault shook her head. ‘‘There’s plenty of time before the next train to Chicago departs. And just what business do you have in Chicago this morning?’’
This conversation was going to prove uncomfortable. ‘‘I’m going to see Ellen Ashton.’’
His mother folded her arms across her chest and frowned. ‘‘Why? You’re no match for a woman like Ellen Ashton.’’ Her features softened. ‘‘Not that I don’t think any woman would be blessed to have you as a husband, but Ellen Ashton hails from a different world than ours, Fred. She’s from a family of money and social status. Why would you even consider pursuing a woman like her?’’ His mother flicked an imaginary speck from his jacket. ‘‘Those facts aside, Olivia has a much more pleasant personality.’’
‘‘And how would you know that, Mother? You’ve never even talked to Ellen. If you did, I believe you’d find her quite personable and very kind.’’
His mother’s frown returned. ‘‘I still believe you need to resolve your differences with Olivia.’’
Fred searched unsuccessfully for an answer that would satisfy his mother. ‘‘We’re not going to resolve this matter before I leave. Besides, with Olivia traveling the rails and my work schedule, I don’t know when I’ll have an opportunity.’’
‘‘You could make an opportunity if you truly wanted to. And she’s been back home since last Friday.’’ His mother placed her hands on her hips. ‘‘Am I correct in assuming your trip to Chicago is pleasure rather than business?’’
Fred backed toward the hall tree, intent upon retrieving his hat. ‘‘A little of both, I suppose.’’
‘‘Perhaps I meddle too much, but—’’
‘‘Mother!’’
She waved her hand. ‘‘I know, I know. Not another word. I’m returning to the kitchen to complete my bread baking.’’
After a fleeting kiss to her cheek, Fred watched his mother head off toward the baking that awaited her in the other room. The longing howl of a train whistle announced he had little time to spare, and he hurried out the door and down the front steps. He could have set his mother’s mind at ease regarding his relationship with Ellen Ashton, but the less she knew about his involvement with the unionization movement, the better. If anyone inquired about his frequent trips to Chicago, she could easily say that he was calling on a lady friend. Besides, Bill Orland’s presence in Chicago provided excellent justification for his journey.
Not that anyone had actually inquired, but
Mr. Ashton had explained the necessity of always having an answer at the ready. ‘‘When you least expect it, you’ll be called upon for a detailed response. You must be prepared, Fred.’’ He’d heard that comment from both Mr. Ashton and Ellen several times.
Should anyone begin questioning his mother and she actually knew the truth, she might slip up. Fred couldn’t take that chance. There was always the possibility she might unintentionally disclose information when visiting with her friends. He remained confident that maintaining secrecy would prove best for both of them.
The train lurched to a halt, and Fred made his way down the aisle. He stepped off the train, entered the Van Buren Street station, and ambled across the massive concourse. The sounds of hurried footsteps, urgent shouts, and beckoning train whistles echoed through the cavernous depot. Yet he didn’t feel a sense of urgency, merely a desire to keep Mr. Ashton informed. He hoped the older man would be pleased to see him. The news he carried to Chicago wasn’t pressing, but Fred had detected subtle changes in attitude among many of the workers. Deeper feelings of dissatisfaction had begun to surface since the company’s investigation into the fire. The focus upon workers as the possible culprits had resulted in feelings of bitterness and resentment. And the ongoing economic downturn throughout the country had increased speculation of lowered wages and layoffs, both matters of constant concern and discussion among the Pullman employees.
He exited the massive depot and strode toward Mr. Ashton’s office. Perhaps the older man would chide him for another visit to his office, but he hadn’t specifically told him to stay away— merely to be careful. Immediately Fred glanced over his shoulder. He should have been watching to see if he’d been followed before now. On the other hand, company spies wouldn’t believe a romantic liaison existed unless he called upon Ellen. That was what he was telling himself as he opened the front door of the Ashton law office.
As Fred entered, Montrose Ashton turned and an annoyed look crossed his face. He held his unlit cigar in the air and then continued his conversation with Ellen. A few moments later, he turned to face Fred. ‘‘What brings you here this morning?’’ He craned his neck and peered over Fred’s shoulder as though he expected to find someone lurking outside the doorway.
Fred shook his head. ‘‘I wasn’t followed.’’
‘‘No offense, Fred, but you’re no expert on such things. An entire parade could follow you, and I doubt you’d notice.’’
Fred didn’t argue. He’d learned he couldn’t match wits or intelligence with Montrose Ashton. He took a step closer to Ellen’s desk. ‘‘In order to reinforce the idea that Ellen and I are involved in a romantic relationship, I thought I should call on her at least once a week. And since I work in the evenings . . .’’
Ellen looked up from the notes on her desk. ‘‘I thought we agreed at the train station that I would come to Pullman.’’
Fred grinned and clasped a hand to his heart. ‘‘I couldn’t wait to see you.’’ He tipped his head toward Mr. Ashton and whispered, ‘‘That’s in case some unseen person is listening through the keyhole in the front door.’’
Ellen giggled, but Mr. Ashton remained stoic. ‘‘Don’t take this matter lightly, Fred. Men much less involved in unionization than you have gone missing.’’ He chewed on the tip of his cigar. ‘‘They’re likely decaying in the depths of Lake Michigan.’’
‘‘Father! There is no need for your morbid talk. And Fred’s point is well taken. A couple in love would use every opportunity to see each other.’’
Vindication coursed through Fred’s veins. Ellen had come to his rescue. He squared his shoulders and met Mr. Ashton’s steely-eyed gaze. ‘‘I do have news of some recent developments. It isn’t of earth-shaking proportions, but I did want to keep you apprised of any changes that might help us sway more of the workers toward unionization.’’
Mr. Ashton nodded toward his office. ‘‘Let’s go in and sit down.’’ He tapped his daughter’s desk as he passed by. ‘‘Ellen, check outside and make certain Fred wasn’t followed.’’
The command lessened Fred’s sense of confidence. Apparently Mr. Ashton hadn’t completely agreed with Ellen’s assessment. Fred could only hope she wouldn’t discover someone lurking nearby. If so, Mr. Ashton would consider him a complete incompetent.
Once he and Mr. Ashton had discussed the latest happenings in Pullman, the older man dismissed him. ‘‘Take my daughter for a stroll, and then be on your way.’’ He brandished his unlit cigar through the air like a baton. ‘‘And next time listen to what she says. Unless it’s an emergency, don’t show up unexpected or uninvited. Do I make myself clear?’’
‘‘Yes, sir. Completely.’’
‘‘Ellen!’’ The older man’s voice boomed throughout the office. ‘‘Lock the door on your way out.’’
Ellen strode into her father’s office. ‘‘I’m certain everyone within a half-mile radius heard that command, Father. There’s no need to holler.’’ She leaned down and kissed his weathered cheek. ‘‘I’ll return shortly.’’
‘‘Not too soon.’’ He winked. ‘‘Remember, you’re a woman in love.’’
After she secured her hat in place, the two of them left. Ellen grasped Fred’s arm, and they walked toward State Street. ‘‘I’m anxious to hear if Olivia has returned home.’’ Ellen gazed at him expectantly.
‘‘I understand she returned home last Friday, the same day that I first visited your father’s office.’’
Ellen frowned. ‘‘I’m surprised she hasn’t contacted me. You’re certain she’s been back since then?’’
He grinned. ‘‘Absolutely. My mother reminded me of that particular fact shortly before I left home this morning.’’
‘‘Yet you’ve not spoken to her?’’
He might as well clear the air. He was weary of tiptoeing around his relationship with Olivia. He offered a quick explanation of their tenuous relationship and hoped Ellen would move along to another topic.
The bow on Ellen’s hat wobbled to and fro as she shook her head. ‘‘I see. Well, from my personal observations as well as my conversations with Olivia, I can tell you that she has no interest in Mr. Howard. Of course she must converse with him regarding her work duties. And you must remember that Olivia has no one else to depend upon for her livelihood. You can’t expect her to treat Mr. Howard with disdain. She fears losing her job. Surely you can understand her predicament.’’
Fred had ceased listening to Ellen’s rebuttal. Instead, he was watching their reflections in store windows as they passed by. They were being followed. He tugged Ellen toward the door of a bookshop. ‘‘I want to see if they have a book my mother has been interested in reading.’’
She frowned as he pulled her along. Once inside, she withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm. ‘‘Why are you shouting?’’
‘‘We’re being followed. I hoped the man would follow us inside so you could get a look at him.’’
Ellen balanced on tiptoe and retrieved a volume from one of the dusty shelves. She flipped through the pages and then handed the book to Fred before continuing toward the front window. For all intents and purposes, she appeared engrossed as she perused the leather-bound selections. Fred decided she was quite good at this. Any onlooker would believe her only interest was the discovery of a specific title.
Several minutes passed before she returned, bearing another tome for his review. She handed him the book. ‘‘Open the pages and pretend to be reading.’’ She pointed a gloved finger to a line of type. ‘‘That’s the same man who followed us the last time you were here. The note you sent me after your return to Pullman said he went into the administration building after you returned. Correct? He’s surely a spotter for the company.’’
Fred flipped the page of the book and turned to face Ellen, hoping to gain a better view outside. The man was looking at items displayed in the window. ‘‘No. He may be the same height and build, but that’s not the same man. His hair is a different color, and he doesn
’t have a mustache.’’
Ellen removed the book from his hands and snapped it shut as the man entered the store. The well-dressed gentleman appeared to be an absorbed patron, completely uninterested in the two of them. Without hesitation, he strode to the store owner and began to chat.
Fred grinned. ‘‘You see? He’s not at all concerned about us.’’
‘‘We’re leaving; follow me.’’ Ellen placed the book on a shelf as they departed the store. Fred hurried after her.
He’d need to pick up the pace in order to keep up with Ellen’s brisk stride. When he finally came alongside her, he laughed. ‘‘Is this a race?’’
She yanked on Fred’s arm and stepped into an alleyway. ‘‘Just remain silent and wait.’’ The whispered command was followed by a fearsome warning glance. She motioned him to move close to the building. With their bodies pasted against the brick and mortar, they remained side by side, blended into the shadows, listening to the sound of approaching footfalls.
Ellen poked his arm as the man passed by the alley. The moment he passed by, his footsteps ceased. Ellen swung around and pulled Fred into an embrace. ‘‘Kiss me!’’
Fred leaned down and kissed her full on the lips, but his eyelids remained at half-mast. He watched the man take several backward steps and look in their direction. Finally satisfied, the man continued down the street. Fred lifted his head. ‘‘He’s disappeared from sight.’’
Ellen straightened her hat. ‘‘He’ll be waiting down the street. Mark my word.’’
Fred wasn’t convinced the man was actually following them. ‘‘I doubt that. We’ve surely proven we’re no more than a young couple in love.’’
They were nearing Marshall Field’s huge dry-goods store when Ellen poked him in the side. ‘‘There he is—standing near the entrance.’’
‘‘Why don’t we walk right past him and go inside the store? If he wants to follow us, we should at least let him do a bit of shopping for his wife.’’
Whispers Along the Rails Page 20
