‘‘Of course you haven’t. He was let go two days later—due to a report to managers that items were being loaded in and out of the kitchen door, items that shouldn’t have been unloaded from the kitchen.’’ He tapped his index finger to his temple. ‘‘Does that stir up any memories for you, Miss Mott?’’
She truly wanted to march off and tell him to leave the premises, but his words struck a chord. Her notes had mentioned using the rear door of the dining car to load linens rather than through the kitchen door as a time-saving possibility. But surely they wouldn’t have fired the chef over such a simple comment. Mr. Clayborn sensed her confusion and continued with his barrage until she stomped her foot. She hadn’t meant for her foot to land on top of his shoe. But it had. His verbal attack came to an abrupt halt while he hopped around and pointed toward his foot.
‘‘I apologize. Totally unintended.’’ He didn’t appear to believe her, but there was little else she could say to convince him. If he didn’t believe she wasn’t a spy, he wouldn’t believe she hadn’t intended to harm him. ‘‘Oh, bother! Come and sit down on the bench. I don’t believe your foot could possibly hurt all that much.’’ He hobbled after her and sat down. Olivia shook her head in amazement when he actually removed the shoe and began to rub his foot. ‘‘What a baby you are. I cannot imagine what you would do if you were faced with genuine pain.’’
His eyebrows shot upward, and he pointed to his foot. ‘‘This is genuine pain. I think you may have broken a bone. If I remove my sock, I’m certain you’ll discover my foot is already discolored.’’
‘‘Don’t you dare remove your sock, Mr. Clayborn. It’s scandalous enough that you’re sitting in a public park without your shoe.’’ She waved toward his unshod foot. ‘‘There are rules in Pullman, you know.’’
‘‘Oh, we certainly wouldn’t want to break a rule, now, would we, Miss Mott? Someone might be watching and report us to Mr. Pullman. And if anyone knows about reporting, it would be you.’’ He leaned closer. ‘‘Wouldn’t it?’’
‘‘We’re not going to accomplish one thing until you cease your accusations and explain in a calm and understandable manner exactly what has occurred and why you believe I’m to blame.’’
Mr. Clayborn exhaled a deep sigh that seemed to say she should already understand. He gently slipped his shoe back on his foot and, in a slow and methodical manner, told her of the recent firings that had occurred. ‘‘I’ve traced them back, Olivia. The majority began with that first train ride you took with Mr. Howard and a porter who served you tea. Seems it took him two minutes over the allowable time to serve you. He no longer works for the company. He has a wife and five children who are dependent upon him. They’re hungry, Miss Mott.’’
‘‘When Mr. Howard mentioned the porter’s slowness, I argued that he’d been very prompt and kind. My reports have never been directed toward the men and their performance. I’ve merely attempted to do what I was told—find ways to save the company money. How could you think so little of me, Mr. Clayborn?’’
‘‘You are either completely naïve or an expert in deceit. I can’t decide which.’’ He leaned down to tie the laces of his shoe.
‘‘I don’t know what I can say or do that will prove the truth of what I’ve told you. But at least you need not worry about me in the future. I was promised this would be my last venture on the trains.’’
Mr. Clayborn straightened and looked directly into her eyes. ‘‘The company bigwigs realize you’ve been nabbed as a spotter, and you’ll not be able to gather much useful information in the future. You see, Miss Mott, the porters and waiters may argue among themselves, but if a spotter is on their train, they don’t hesitate to pass the word. They’re not accustomed to a woman in that position, so they were slower to figure you out. To tell you the truth, I believe you have the dubious honor of being the first.’’
‘‘You honestly believe I was sent out on the trains for the sole purpose of having people discharged?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘No, but you weren’t sent out there to locate cost-saving methods, either. If you furnished an occasional suggestion that could save the company some money, fine and dandy. I’m sure they put it to use. However, they were using your notes to gauge how well the employees performed their jobs, or if they misappropriated any company property. All reports that reflect poorly on an employee’s performance or use of company property results in reprimand or discharge—usually the latter.’’
The thought that she’d been used as a pawn to spy upon fellow employees was more than Olivia cared to believe. Surely Mr. Howard wouldn’t have placed her in a position in which she could have found herself in danger. Then again, if it served his purpose, perhaps he would. With what she’d recently overheard in his office, there was little doubt she didn’t know him nearly as well as she’d thought. She wondered if she could trust her judgment about anyone. Possibly Mr. Clayborn couldn’t be trusted, either.
‘‘I’m planning to write a series of articles for the newspaper. I’ve already received approval from my editor.’’
‘‘Exactly what kind of articles?’’ He’d interrupted her thoughts with his unexpected announcement, and her voice had trembled. She was certain the articles would deal with Mr. Pullman and the railcars in some manner or form, but that certainty didn’t diminish Olivia’s desire to hear exactly what he had in mind. Was Mr. Clayborn going to throw her to the wolves in order to print a good story that might garner his publisher’s accolades?
‘‘About the treatment of the Pullman employees working on the trains—primarily the porters. I won’t use your name, but I am going to divulge the company’s tactics and the names of the men who have been fired—Chef Richmond, for one. A connection might be made back to you, but I’ll try to avoid the possibility.’’
It was just as she’d suspected, though how could she object? She didn’t want to lose her job, but if it would help bring about change for the employees, she couldn’t ask him to remain silent. Mr. Clayborn would need time to gather information and write the commentary. She would have time to begin assessing possibilities for future employment. Obtaining work in a Chicago restaurant or hotel would probably prove futile given Mr. Pullman’s influence. She shuddered at the thought of leaving everything familiar. None of the cities she’d visited while traveling the rails had appealed to her, and she’d not return to England.
‘‘I believe I should attempt to walk on this foot before it becomes so swelled I’m unable to make it back to Chicago.’’
Olivia had completely forgotten his injured foot. ‘‘Oh, of course. We could stroll down to Lake Calumet if you like.’’
He grinned. ‘‘I’m not certain I can make it quite that far, but we can walk in that direction. The breeze off the lake should be refreshing.’’
Olivia couldn’t agree more. The afternoon was warm, and given his recent announcement, she’d rather Mr. Howard didn’t observe her in Mr. Clayborn’s company. Once the articles were in print, Mr. Howard would connect the two of them, and her fate would be sealed. A train whistled in the distance, and she unconsciously glanced toward the depot. Mr. Howard could return at any time.
A tinge of guilt assailed her as Mr. Clayborn limped along beside her. She wondered if Dr. McLean might have a cane in his office. He lived nearby, but stopping to see the doctor could prove a fatal error. He might mention Mr. Clayborn to Mr. Howard, and she couldn’t take that chance. ‘‘Would holding my arm help to steady you?’’ She bent her elbow and angled her arm toward him.
‘‘Why, thank you, Miss Mott.’’ He placed his arm atop hers and firmly grasped her wrist.
She hadn’t expected him to accept her offer. Nor had she expected him to lean quite so heavily on her arm. At this rate, she doubted either of them would have the required stamina to walk to the lake. They inched their way toward a small rise that overlooked a grassy clearing in the distance. Once they arrived at the top of the knoll, the going should become less strenuous for Mr. Clay
born. If he didn’t want to proceed further, they could rest in the valley below. There were hand-hewn tables and benches that the town residents used for Sunday afternoon picnics. They could sit and enjoy the breeze without venturing to the lake.
When they finally reached the top of the hillock, Mr. Clayborn stopped and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He nodded toward the valley. ‘‘Looks like they’re enjoying the shade, the cooler breeze, and each other.’’
Olivia stared into the distance, where a man and woman were sitting at one of the tables with their heads close together. A couple in love, sharing a few moments alone, Olivia decided as they continued onward. Minutes later, the man and woman turned. She couldn’t be certain, but it looked like—no, surely not. Yet it was! Fred and Ellen! How could they? She gasped and lowered her arm. Too late, she realized she’d been remiss in her duty to help Mr. Clayborn maintain his balance. His foot slid on the grassy slope, and he tumbled downward with a piercing yelp.
Fred and Ellen hurried toward them. Olivia frantically looked back and forth between Mr. Clayborn’s supine body and the approaching couple. She longed to run in the opposite direction, but her feet remained firmly planted.
Ellen immediately dropped to her knees. ‘‘Matthew! What in the world happened?’’
Olivia didn’t know which she found more confusing: the fact that Ellen knew Mr. Clayborn’s name or the fact that Fred and Ellen were openly courting in Pullman. Mr. Clayborn and Ellen continued to chat like long-lost friends. Olivia thought she might actually faint.
She swayed, and Fred grasped her around the waist. ‘‘Are you ill?’’ She shoved at his arm, but another wave of dizziness washed over her, and Fred grasped her waist more tightly.
Concern shone in his eyes. At least she thought it was concern, but who could know with Fred. Perhaps it was simply the way of Americans! She hadn’t experienced this problem in England. If people didn’t like you in her country of birth, they might not speak the words, but their opinion was clear. With a faint sniff of the air, her countrymen would raise their noses and pass by without a word. She could now appreciate their haughty attitudes, for at least they didn’t act like a friend one minute and a betrayer the next. Except for those of noble birth, who did whatever pleased them. Here in America, people acted like friends, but she could never be certain. That had been her experience thus far. Except for Martha and Mrs. DeVault, of course.
She tipped her head and looked into Fred’s eyes. Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to look away. ‘‘I’m feeling faint—the heat, I think.’’ She pointed a wobbly finger toward the sun as though he wouldn’t understand.
He grinned. ‘‘Yes. It is quite warm. And you’re entirely correct: the sun is to blame for all this heat. Why don’t I help you to one of the benches where you can sit down, then I’ll return and assist your friend.’’
She ignored the questioning tone of his final comment. Why should he care if Mr. Clayborn was her friend, an acquaintance, a business contact, or a complete stranger? She attempted to shake herself free of his hold. ‘‘I can make it on my own.’’
‘‘Do let him help you, Olivia. I don’t believe I can care for two invalids at once.’’
Ellen’s words were immediately followed by a charming smile that annoyed Olivia even more than Fred’s attempts to tug her toward one of the distant benches. She pulled against Fred’s arm. Making certain to avoid Ellen’s gaze, Olivia turned her attention toward Mr. Clayborn. ‘‘I am terribly sorry. Did you further injure your foot?’’
He grimaced. ‘‘Perhaps a little. Why don’t you go and sit down. I’ll join you in a moment.’’
Mr. Clayborn obviously needed the assistance of someone much stronger than Ellen to help him to his feet. And it had become clear that Fred wasn’t going to release her until she did as he requested. ‘‘Fine. I’ll go and sit down if that will make you all happy.’’
Once she’d settled on one of the wooden benches, Fred hastened back up the hill. While he assisted Mr. Clayborn, Ellen raced toward Olivia with the wild abandon of a ten-year-old.
She plopped down beside Olivia and pulled her into a warm embrace. ‘‘It’s so good to see you. The moment I stepped off the train, I asked Fred if you’d returned, and he said he didn’t think so. I’m so pleased to discover he was wrong.’’ She gulped a breath of air. ‘‘When did you arrive?’’
‘‘Earlier this afternoon.’’ She wanted to ask why Ellen cared, but first things first. She wanted to know how Ellen happened to know Mr. Clayborn’s name. ‘‘Do you know Mr. Clayborn?’’
‘‘Matthew? Oh yes. We’ve been friends for years. He writes for the Chicago Herald. He’s interviewed my father numerous times for his news articles. As newspaper reporters go, Matthew is one of the best. He attempts to write an unbiased, truthful story. He’s a refreshing change from most reporters. We’ve gone to dinner on several occasions, but I don’t think our relationship could ever move beyond friendship. We differ on too many issues.’’
‘‘And you and Fred? From all appearances, the two of you have discovered you agree on all issues. Even to include matters of the heart.’’
Ellen reared back as though she’d been slapped. ‘‘What are you insinuating, Olivia? Fred and I aren’t romantically involved. Do you truly believe I would do such a thing?’’ Pain laced her words.
Olivia would have to give Ellen her due. She was quite the actress, but Olivia knew better. She’d not be swayed. ‘‘Yes, I do believe you’d do such a thing. In fact, I know you would. I saw you kissing Fred in broad daylight on the platform of the Van Buren Street train station in Chicago. Would you care to deny that also?’’
Ellen shook her head. ‘‘No. I’ll not deny what you saw, but I’d like the opportunity to explain.’’
‘‘Yes, please do explain. This is quite interesting,’’ Mr. Clayborn said. He sat down and propped his leg on the bench.
Olivia didn’t notice the men return while she was making her accusations, and a rush of heat flamed her already warm cheeks. Once again she felt as though she might swoon. How long had Fred and Mr. Clayborn been listening? When would she learn to control her tongue? Fred stood with folded arms across his chest and was staring at her.
Ellen touched her hand. ‘‘Olivia? Will you let me explain?’’
‘‘I’ll listen to what you have to say.’’ Her tone was cold and flat and filled with a healthy portion of self-righteous indignation.
After swearing Mr. Clayborn to secrecy, Ellen began by explaining that she and Fred had begun to visit during Martha and Albert’s wedding reception. ‘‘Mr. Howard had engaged you in conversation, and Fred was aware of my father’s affiliation with the union movement.’’
Olivia gasped. ‘‘Your father is a union organizer?’’
‘‘Not an organizer, but he strongly believes in unions as a voice for the working people of the country. For that reason he lends his legal expertise to the unions when needed. The capitalists consider him a force to be reckoned with. From time to time they’ve made our lives somewhat uncomfortable.’’ She smiled. ‘‘My father doesn’t mind discomfort nearly so much as I do.’’
Olivia now began to understand why Mr. Howard and Fred had shown interest in Ellen during the reception, albeit for opposing reasons. And it explained why Mr. Howard had been visibly shaken when he’d seen her in the possession of one of Mr. Ashton’s business cards last year. The Earl of Lanshire, stockholder in the Pullman Palace Car Company, had selected a lawyer who was involved in unionization. Yet how could he have known? He likely went into Chicago and chose a name from the city directory. Mr. Ashton’s name would have been near the top of the listings. The idea was downright humorous.
The hair on the back of Olivia’s neck prickled when Fred and Ellen described the man who’d been following them. What was Fred thinking? More important, was he thinking at all? He’d voluntarily placed his job and his mother in jeopardy. Though she longed to interrupt and question his sanity, sh
e held her silence.
After nearly an hour of discussion, Mr. Clayborn removed his watch from his pocket. ‘‘Seems there’s more to this story than time permits. I must return to Chicago on the next train. Care to accompany me, Ellen?’’
‘‘Yes, but there may be someone watching Fred and me. We can’t be certain. Why don’t we all walk to the station? Fred can bid me farewell.’’ She glanced at Olivia. ‘‘It will require a kiss. And then we can be on our way.’’
Olivia forced a smile and nodded. How could she disagree? They’d just explained the seriousness of their situation. Why, then, did everything within her shout in protest?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Chicago, Illinois
July 6, 1893
The piano notes hung in the air as the residents of Priddle House ended their final hymn of the evening. Once Charlotte had settled on the divan, Mrs. Priddle opened her Bible. They’d been studying passages from the book of Isaiah for nearly a week now. Charlotte didn’t know why Mrs. Priddle had decided to change their routine, but last week she’d abruptly announced they were moving from the book of Matthew to the book of Isaiah. Nobody questioned her decision.
Mrs. Priddle fanned through the whisper-thin pages of her Bible and then looked at her audience over the top of her wirerimmed spectacles. ‘‘Open your Bibles to Isaiah, the forty-ninth chapter.’’ Lips pursed, she waited until they ceased rippling through the pages.
After a brief nod that signaled she would begin, silence reigned. Other than the occasional shuffle of feet or turn of a page, quiet ruled during Scripture reading. Mrs. Priddle stopped long enough for a sip of water and then continued with the fourteenth verse. ‘‘ ‘But Zion said, ‘‘The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me. Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.’’ ’ ’’
Whispers Along the Rails Page 24
