Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  Fiona clapped her hands, but Charlotte’s frown brought the girl’s applause to a quick halt. She didn’t want their thanks. Indeed, if any of them should learn of the child she’d abandoned, they’d likely run her out of town on a rail. Her discomfort deepened when Mrs. Priddle suggested each of the women offer a brief prayer to thank God for sending Charlotte to Priddle House. By the time they’d all finished, Charlotte’s cheeks burned hot with mortification. She almost wished she hadn’t told Mrs. Priddle of the promotion and increase in her wages. With all she’d endured throughout their Bible-study time, Charlotte decided against mentioning the piano. She didn’t want to be heralded as someone special. She merely wanted to blend into the fabric of Priddle House, at least for the present.

  The next morning Charlotte departed for work with the ladies gathered near the front door to give her a send-off befitting a conquering hero. The entire matter had become absurd. If Mr. Field hadn’t already made arrangements for delivery of the piano, she’d cancel the order. No doubt the musical instrument would once again make her the center of attention, not what she had intended when arranging for the purchase. Charlotte knew she really wouldn’t cancel the order, even if she could. She’d given momentary thought to using the funds toward the purchase of her passage back to England, but she wasn’t yet prepared to desert her son or to face her parents. Moreover, Fiona deserved at least a jot of happiness, the true unadulterated bliss of receiving a very special and unexpected gift.

  Charlotte well remembered the first time she’d felt that excitement. She’d been a very small girl, and her father had been gone for several weeks. When he returned home, he carried a box under his arm that contained a beautiful doll. The gift had been unexpected, for she merely longed for her father’s return home. That particular doll had remained her favorite throughout the years. She had packed the doll in white linen and stored it in a drawer of her chest in Lanshire Hall.

  First things first, she decided upon entering the store. Before going to her office, she bid the elevator operator good morning and rode to the fourth floor, where she located Mr. Henretti. ‘‘I want to make my payment before beginning my daily duties.’’ She retrieved the money from her purse and carefully counted the bills. The piano remained exactly where it had been yesterday afternoon. Either it would be loaded onto a truck later this morning, or they had another stocked at the warehouse, and this model would remain on the floor for display purposes.

  She’d been in her office only a short time when Mr. Field appeared. He had a well-dressed gentleman in tow, a visitor who had arrived in town on business and wanted to surprise his wife with a special gift for their anniversary. Mr. Field introduced Charlotte and then turned the man over to her care. ‘‘I told Mr. Lowe you were the person who would help him make the perfect choice.’’

  Helping Mr. Lowe had proved more difficult than anticipated. The man knew little about his wife’s likes and dislikes and freely admitted he had no idea how she filled her spare hours, nor did he seem to care. As for a description of the woman he’d been married to for twenty years, he seemed at a total loss. He merely portrayed her as average. Average height, average weight, average brown hair, and Mr. Lowe remained uncertain if his wife’s eyes were brown or green. Attempting to gain knowledge of decorating preferences had yielded even fewer impressions of Mrs. Lowe’s taste. In desperation Charlotte finally selected two items, both from the accessories department. She could only hope Mrs. Lowe would be pleased with the evening bag and gloves. If not, Charlotte was certain Mr. Lowe would absolve himself of all responsibility for the choices, and Mr. Field would be promptly notified.

  When she departed for home, Charlotte realized she’d not taken time to eat her lunch. After spending far too much time with Mr. Lowe, she’d received requests for assistance from several supervisors. By day’s end, she’d not even completed her rounds to each of the departments. Her feet ached as if she’d walked every square inch of the store, and she was thankful for her ride home in the delivery wagon.

  Charlotte spied Fiona pacing the length of the front porch when the wagon neared Priddle House. The delighted prancing could only mean one thing: the piano had arrived. The moment the girl gained sight of Charlotte, she flew down the porch steps, her hair flowing behind her like a silk scarf on a spring breeze. ‘‘Charlotte! You’ll never guess what has happened. Just wait until you see.’’ Fiona grasped her hand in a viselike grip and hurried her into the house. The girl extended her arm in wild abandon toward the east wall of the parlor. ‘‘Look! It was delivered today. Mrs. Priddle says not to get overly excited because we may not keep it, but I think we should, don’t you? Isn’t it lovely?’’ Fiona’s words tumbled over one another like a cascading waterfall.

  The girl continued her rambling, but Charlotte failed to hear anything further. Her gaze settled upon the beautiful piano and stool. This was not the piano from the rear of the fourth floor, not the least-expensive model she had chosen. Instead, it was one of the finest. The setting sun shone through the west window and danced across the black-and-white piano keys. Fiona slid onto the stool and perched her short fingers above the keyboard, obviously prepared to offer a brief recital for Charlotte’s enjoyment.

  Before Fiona’s hovered fingers could descend upon the keys, Mrs. Priddle scuttled into the room, her face as tightly knotted as the bun on her head. ‘‘Fiona! Do not touch that piano.’’ The older woman’s features slightly softened when tears pooled in the girl’s eyes. ‘‘I must talk to Charlotte in private. Go upstairs and finish your school lessons.’’

  Longing shone in the girl’s eyes as she slowly headed to the staircase. Mrs. Priddle waited until Fiona was out of earshot and then motioned Charlotte toward the divan. She closed the pocket doors leading to the hallway and dining room. Apparently this would be a serious discussion.

  Instead of sitting beside her, Mrs. Priddle pulled a bent-wood chair across the room and stationed it directly in front of Charlotte. The older woman sat on the wickerwork seat and scooted the chair forward until they sat knee to knee. ‘‘We need to have a talk—a truthful talk.’’ Mrs. Priddle pointed a thin wavering finger toward the piano. ‘‘About that.’’

  Charlotte waited. She didn’t know why Mrs. Priddle thought it necessary to emphasize the fact that she wanted to hear the truth. Had she uncovered her secret past? ‘‘What would you like to know?’’

  ‘‘Everything! The deliveryman said that an employee of Marshall Field and Company had purchased the item and given this address for delivery. Exactly how would you have the necessary funds to purchase this piano? Have you done something illegal that could place Priddle House in jeopardy? You know the rules, Charlotte.’’

  Charlotte folded her hands in her lap and met Mrs. Priddle’s unwavering stare. ‘‘I assisted a customer. He returned, met with Mr. Field, and stated he had been pleased with the help I’d afforded. He left a thank-you note and enclosed a tip for the service I rendered.’’

  Mrs. Priddle narrowed her eyes. ‘‘What kind of service did you perform that a man would give you enough money to purchase such an item?’’

  A wave of anger surged in Charlotte’s chest. Mrs. Priddle must think her no more than a common harlot. ‘‘Your accusatory tone and the look in your eyes speak volumes, Mrs. Priddle. I can tell you it’s not what you’ve imagined. The gentleman and his family came into the store. I assisted both the wife and daughter as they made choices in the accessories department. He is a wealthy customer who apparently wanted to do something to help a poor workingwoman.’’

  Mrs. Priddle’s shoulders wilted. ‘‘I apologize, Charlotte. Please forgive me for my judgmental behavior, but I was startled when the piano arrived. There’s no doubt it carried a dear price.’’ She shifted her attention to the instrument. ‘‘Do you realize how many bills could have been paid with that amount of money?’’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘‘I do. But no amount of money could replace the joy this piano has brought to Fiona’s heart.’’ She
grasped Mrs. Priddle’s aging hands between her own. ‘‘I believe the piano will prove to be a sound investment in both Priddle House and Fiona’s future.’’

  A smile slowly formed and Mrs. Priddle nodded. ‘‘I believe you are correct, my dear. Indeed I do.’’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Pullman, Illinois

  Early July 1893

  Olivia stepped off the train, weary from yet another excursion on the rails. Her plea to Mr. Howard had gone unheeded, and she’d been traveling for the past ten days. He had promised this would be her last journey unless something unexpected should arise. The man consistently added a caveat to his assurances, providing him with an escape clause Olivia had come to dislike. Fortunately, she did not need to concern herself with finalizing her notes. This trip, she had strictly adhered to what she’d been taught by Mr. Howard on her first journey on the rails and had maintained the notes throughout the journey. Although she still didn’t keep the minute details he preferred, her notes could be presented to him upon request.

  Beginning tomorrow, she hoped her work would remain within the confines of Hotel Florence, where she could do what she loved most: create culinary delicacies alongside Chef René. No more sleeping in swaying beds at night or jotting down the names of stations where food was tossed to waiting friends and family, where men loaded crates of oranges grown on family plots, and then pocketed the money when the fruit was squeezed and the juice sold for breakfast or in a mixed drink in the library car. And no more making note of the trains where she’d seen employees betting on a game of whist or drinking from a flask during the nighttime hours. The infractions were numerous, and though she had documented only the most flagrant abuses, there were many smaller ones she intentionally ignored, like the porter who boarded his wife and children for a free ride in order to celebrate an anniversary. How could she fault a man for a desire to be with his family? Especially when his job permitted so little time at home. Mr. Howard wouldn’t approve of Olivia’s pick-and-choose method, but this evaluator position wasn’t the job for which she’d been hired. When Mr. Howard and Mr. Pullman assigned her to the rails, they’d been aware her expertise was in the kitchen. Surely they didn’t expect her to have the same mentality as someone with the ability to sniff out the shortcomings of others—someone like Mr. Howard. The thought gave her pause, and she recalled her first impressions of him when she’d arrived in Pullman.

  He had changed from the kind and gentle man she’d met on that sunny day in the spring of 1892. Or had he? Was the man she’d met back then genuine or merely a façade of the real Mr. Howard? She couldn’t be certain, but with all that she’d seen and heard over the past months, Olivia believed all pretenses had been stripped away to reveal a skeleton of a man she could never respect.

  She must continue to heed Mr. Howard’s authority as her superior in the workplace, but beyond that, Olivia intended to maintain a distance, even if it required moving from her comfortable rooms in the Barneses’ home. With her journal tucked beneath her arm, she left the train station. She would deliver her notes to Mr. Howard’s clerk after depositing her bags at home; then she could enjoy a visit with Chef René. She was anxious to discover all that had happened while she’d been away. No doubt the chef had been overworked; she hoped his existing heart ailment hadn’t worsened during her absence. Prior to her departure, she’d expressed her misgivings to Mr. Howard, but he’d pointed to the doctor’s discharge as support for his position. He hadn’t been worried over Chef René’s welfare. His primary concern had been Olivia’s return to the rails.

  With the journey behind her, she hoped to set aside the anger she’d harbored toward Mr. Howard since her departure. If she found all was well with Chef René. Otherwise she might not be so quick to forget. Thankfully, Mrs. Barnes wasn’t at home, or she would have been detained for hours. Olivia placed the cases in her room, removed the pages from her journal, and placed them in an envelope. Then she hurried down the stairs and across the street to the administration building. Mr. Mahafferty sat hunched over his ledgers at the large oak desk. She wondered if he’d ever discovered the Scripture notation she’d placed on his desk.

  ‘‘Something you need, Miss Mott?’’

  ‘‘Good afternoon, Mr. Mahafferty.’’ If he’d seen the envelope in her hand, he gave no indication. ‘‘I have a delivery for Mr. Howard.’’

  He had already returned his attention to the ledgers. ‘‘He’s in Chicago for the afternoon.’’

  What good fortune! She wouldn’t have to speak to him. ‘‘I’ll leave this with you, then. If you’d see that he receives it, I’d be most appreciative.’’

  He didn’t look up, just nodded his head in a lethargic movement.

  She reached the door and then stopped as she turned the knob. ‘‘You might consider reading John 10:10, Mr. Mahafferty, the part about having a more abundant life.’’ Before he had a chance to respond, she was out the door and down the hallway, feeling a sense of satisfaction that she’d perhaps thrown out a rope to a drowning man.

  ‘‘Olivia!’’ With her palm cupped against her forehead to shield the bright July sun, Olivia stopped and squinted into the distance. A man was coming from the direction of the train depot, and her thoughts took flight as she observed the tall lanky figure running toward her. Mr. Howard? She sucked in a breath and continued to stare. Please—not him. Not now. This was the time she’d reserved for her visit with Chef René. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the approaching man, Olivia resumed a slow pace toward the hotel. He waved his hat overhead. ‘‘Olivia, wait! I need to speak with you.’’

  She noted the shock of sandy hair as the man drew closer. Matthew Clayborn! They hadn’t spoken to each other since her initial solo trip on the rails. Olivia quickly turned and walked toward him, waving her handkerchief with unbridled enthusiasm.

  He slowed to a walk, and she clapped her hands with enthusiasm. ‘‘What a perfect surprise for my return home. I’ve been out on the rails for the past ten days. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of you when I was out there.’’ She pointed in the direction of the railroad tracks.

  Perspiration beaded Mr. Clayborn’s forehead. He was obviously out of breath, but she thought that he could at least smile and say hello. Instead, he offered a curt nod. ‘‘I was here earlier in the week, and Chef René told me you were traveling. News I found most disheartening.’’

  His words surprised her, for he’d made no attempt to contact her previously. From his somber look, she didn’t know whether to be flattered or fearful. ‘‘Exactly why did you find the news of my absence discouraging? Other than your having to make a return trip, of course.’’ Once again, she smiled.

  He didn’t. ‘‘Because I knew what you were doing out there on those trains. And that you would continue to ruin the lives of people I care about, people I consider friends.’’ He enunciated his words, shooting them forth like arrows aimed at a target, and there was no doubt she was that target.

  ‘‘What are you talking about?’’ She took an involuntary backward step.

  He immediately moved forward to fill the space. ‘‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t feign ignorance with me!’’

  His lanky frame towered over her. Clearly Mr. Clayborn intended to intimidate her. Thus far, he’d succeeded, but his haughty manner and obtrusive behavior were growing tiresome. Why didn’t he merely speak his mind? She squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips. ‘‘If you don’t care to explain your ridiculous allegations, you can stand here and shout to the wind. I’m going inside to visit with Chef René.’’

  She stepped to one side, but he grasped her arm. ‘‘I’m talking about your employment as a spotter for Mr. Pullman. I’m a newspaper reporter who should be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, but this time I was taken in. I’ve got to admit that you’re good at what you do. You had me completely fooled. You’re a treacherous fraud.’’

  She pulled free from his grasp. ‘‘My position
is exactly what I told you. I’m an assistant chef at the hotel. Surely Chef René confirmed that much when you were here last week.’’

  His hands were balled into tight fists. ‘‘I don’t doubt you work for Chef René when you’re in Pullman. It’s when you’re riding trains that you present a threat. You with your notebook, taking down information to report to the company. Acting like an innocent and using me to gain introductions so you could report any misdeed you might observe.’’ He kicked a stone with a vigor that sent it sailing across the park. ‘‘How could I have been so stupid as to have been taken in by the likes of you? Because of you, Chef Richmond and three other men working in that dining car have been fired. And I bear responsibility, too. I’m the fool who introduced you to those men.’’

  ‘‘Your allegations are completely unfounded. I am not a spotter. I’ve heard talk of spotters and spies, but I truly don’t believe such a position even exists with the Pullman Palace Car Company. My sole duty when traveling on the rails is to discover cost-saving methods for the company—nothing more and nothing less. I am an advisor. For you to believe I had anything to do with Chef Richmond’s discharge is outrageous. First of all, I thought him an excellent chef and was delighted to meet him. I hadn’t heard of his discharge until this moment. I’ve not even seen him since I traveled with you.’’