An Uncertain Dream (21 page)
‘‘After last night’s incident, I’m not certain what we’re going to do to keep tempers in check.’’
Olivia squeezed his arm. ‘‘But you said you didn’t believe Pullman workers were involved.’’
‘‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the country will believe that. No matter who sabotaged the tracks, it looks bad for the union. We’ve worked hard to keep sympathy on our side.’’
Maintaining the country’s support would be difficult if some resolution didn’t occur soon. Fred didn’t have the answers, but he hoped Mr. Debs could provide a reasonable solution, for he feared last night’s near derailment of the Diamond Special a few miles south of Chicago would be a black eye for the workers. As the strike gained momentum, the struggle that pitted workers against management could escalate.
‘‘Now that there has been one incidence of violence, I fear more will follow. We don’t want mob rule taking hold.’’
‘‘I’ve been praying a miracle will occur and all of this will be set aright. The fear in the men and women of this town is palpable.’’ A light breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt. ‘‘So much has changed since I arrived here. I wonder if life will ever be the same.’’
Fred shook his head. ‘‘Let’s hope not. That’s what this strike is about: making life better for the workers and their families.’’
‘‘Yes, but in the meantime, I wonder how much the people and the town will be damaged. Don’t misunderstand me. I know the strike was necessary and the workers were willing to negotiate. Yet the entire country is in an upheaval while nothing has changed for the better here in Pullman.’’
‘‘Not yet, so we must continue to pray that our efforts aren’t in vain.’’ They stopped near the oak tree a short distance from the kitchen entrance. ‘‘You do realize what all of this could mean for me if the union doesn’t prevail, don’t you, Olivia?’’
She bowed her head. ‘‘I try to push it from my mind and dwell instead on the fact that I will become your wife one day.’’
He lifted her chin with his thumb. A hint of sadness shone in her eyes, and he forced a smile. ‘‘Nothing will change my love for you, Olivia, but you must be prepared for what may happen. If we fail in our efforts, I may be forced to leave Pullman. There is the possibility that the company won’t consider rehiring me or anyone else who played a role in unionizing the workers.’’
‘‘But if we marry, you could still remain in . . .’’ Her voice trailed off on the wind.
He shook his head. ‘‘When we marry, you could lose your employment, too. Mr. Howard would likely enjoy taking revenge. If the strike fails, you may want to reconsider my proposal. It would break my heart, but I would understand.’’
‘‘Fred DeVault! Do you think me so fickle? If you must leave Pullman, then we will both go.’’
He leaned against the tree and watched a wren fly into her house. ‘‘I don’t think you’re fickle, but I know you enjoy living in this town. And there’s your work. I don’t know if I could ask you to give up your position.’’
‘‘But you already asked me to marry you, and I accepted. It is my choice, isn’t it?’’
He cupped her chin in his hand. ‘‘I suppose it is, but I would never want you to regret the decision to marry me.’’
She lifted on tiptoe to accept his kiss. ‘‘I could never regret that decision. We will be fine. I know we will.’’
Fred didn’t argue, but they would visit this topic again in the future—when the strike ended and he knew what the future held. He didn’t expect Olivia to step into an uncertain future with him. She deserved better.
He glanced toward the hotel. His mother and Chef René stood just inside the kitchen door. ‘‘I wonder if my mother will as readily accept a move from Pullman.’’
‘‘You must stop these negative thoughts. Your gloomy attitude will serve no good purpose.’’
‘‘You’re right. We must trust that we will prevail and my mother will not be required to make difficult decisions.’’
Olivia followed his gaze and grinned. ‘‘Perhaps she will choose to remain. As a hotel employee, she will be entitled to live here.’’
Fred arched his brows. ‘‘I hadn’t thought of that. But I wonder if Mr. Howard would permit her to remain an employee. She may lose her position because of me.’’
‘‘I have a feeling that if Mr. Howard ever threatens to fire your mother, the chef will threaten to follow her out the door. I know that neither Mr. Pullman nor Mr. Howard wants to lose Chef René’s services.’’
‘‘Don’t be too sure. The Pullman employees thought they could force Mr. Pullman’s hand. You see how far it has gotten us.’’
Olivia squared her shoulders. ‘‘I think you have far greater concerns than what may happen to the kitchen staff in the future.’’
‘‘You’re right.’’ He leaned down and kissed her cheek. ‘‘I don’t know where I’ll be over the next several days, but don’t worry. If I’m able to catch a train to Chicago, my return will depend upon where I am most needed.’’
Chef René stood near the kitchen door and greeted Olivia when she crossed the threshold. ‘‘Your Fred does not appear to be in good spirits this morning.’’
Olivia removed the pins from her hat. ‘‘My Fred is worried about what will happen to my position here if management should win this battle. He believes that once we are married, I will be discharged.’’
‘‘Oui. If they lose, he is most likely correct.’’ He flicked his wrist in a defiant gesture. ‘‘But I would fight to keep you on my staff.’’
‘‘Thank you, Chef René , but I wouldn’t ask you to do such a thing. Though I long to continue my work as a chef, I will follow Fred. Who knows where it might lead me?’’
‘‘This is true. And if that day should arrive, you may depend upon Chef René for an excellent reference.’’ He leaned across the work table. ‘‘One that is genuine!’’
Olivia grimaced at his subtle reminder of the falsified letter she’d used to gain employment at the hotel when she and Charlotte had first arrived in Pullman. Those early lies had caused her more problems than she could have possibly envisioned.
‘‘And what would you think if Mrs. DeVault had to leave her position as your baker?’’
He scowled at the question. ‘‘What you have suggested is not humorous, Miss Mott. I would be outraged by the suggestion.’’ The chef stepped around the worktable. ‘‘I am quite fond of Hazel, and I do not wish for that to happen. I suppose I would marry her—
then
what would Mr. Howard do?’’ His belly jiggled and his laughter echoed off the kitchen walls.
Olivia stared at him, unable to believe her ears. ‘‘You’ve only known her six weeks.’’
‘‘You are counting?’’ He motioned for her to hang up her hat. When she returned with her white jacket and toque, he pointed to the eggs. ‘‘We don’t have many guests. That should be enough.’’
Once she’d completed the task, she stepped away from the stove and tapped his arm. ‘‘Would you truly consider marriage to Mrs. DeVault when you barely know each other?’’
‘‘Let me tell you something about love, Miss Mott. It does not take months or years to know when you have found the right person. Hazel brings out the best in me, and I like that. When you reach my age, you can’t afford to wait too long with such decisions.’’
Olivia clasped a hand to the neck of her tunic. ‘‘You mean you’ve already asked her?’’
‘‘Non. But only because I fear she will say we must wait. If the strike should cause difficulties with her employment . . .’’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘‘Then I believe she would readily accept my proposal. At least I hope she would.’’
Even though Olivia had realized early on that the chef and Mrs. DeVault had become fast friends—she had even mentioned to Charlotte the possibility of a romantic link between the pair—Chef René’s admission of love and a possible marriage at this early date surprised even her. She wondered what Fred would think.
Having once again spent the night at the Orland residence, Fred returned to Uhlich Hall Saturday morning, where the mood remained grim. Anger and frustration oozed through the union hall like a festering wound. Mr. Debs had once again called for nonviolence when he had attended a peaceful rally at Rock Island rail yard in Blue Island, located seven miles southwest of Pullman. But soon after his departure, a group of unidentified men had derailed a locomotive, destroyed the railroad yard, and set numerous fires. No one seemed to know who the men were, but union members were being blamed.
‘‘Look at this.’’ One of the delegates shoved a newspaper into Fred’s hand. He shook his head in disbelief as he read the column. The Chicago
Tribune
article referred to the boycott as an insurrection and blamed the strikers for the ensuing food shortages and disruption of mail service.
The man tapped the paper with his index finger. ‘‘They don’t say nothing in there about the union agreeing to move the trains so long as they didn’t try to attach the Pullman cars. How do they get away with pointing a finger at us?’’
‘‘Because most of the newspapers are owned and operated by wealthy men just like George Pullman. They protect each other,’’ Fred replied. He glanced around the hall, hoping to spot Matthew and see if the
Herald
had printed anything to repudiate the
Tribune
article. Instead of placing blame on the General Managers Association for insisting upon attaching the Pullman cars, they pointed a finger at the striking workers.
The man’s anger continued to escalate, and several other delegates gathered around. ‘‘What about the scabs that are arriving here? Word has it the Association has hired Pinkertons to protect them.’’
‘‘Worse than that, they’re deputizing hooligans, calling them marshals, to keep the peace. Those unruly gangs of ‘marshals’ are stirring up more trouble than all the union members combined.’’
Another delegate stepped forward and joined the group. ‘‘Well, they best be careful. If this keeps up, there’s gonna be trouble, and once it gets going, it will spread like wildfire.’’
Fred spotted Matthew. ‘‘I’ll be back in a few minutes, fellows. I see someone I need to speak with.’’ Weaving his way through the crowd, Fred waved to Matthew. ‘‘Have you seen the article in the
Tribune
?’’
His friend nodded. ‘‘I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse. Public opinion is beginning to turn against the union and the strike. The
Times
is still on the side of the union, and I’m still writing evenhanded articles for the
Herald
. But people quickly tire of rising food costs and the inability to travel or receive their mail. They don’t like the inconvenience, and the General Managers Association is going to capitalize on that.’’
Fred gritted his teeth. ‘‘Well, the strike is complicating the lives of union workers, too. The public needs to see beyond the end of their noses. The outcome of this strike will affect workers everywhere.’’
Matthew raked his hand through his hair. ‘‘You don’t need to explain that to me, but from what we’ve received on the wire service and through other sources, it appears the federal government is getting involved. After last night’s incident at Blue Island, Attorney General Olney has asked President Cleveland for an injunction.’’
‘‘No one knows for certain who caused that damage at Blue Island. Involving the federal government is exactly what the General Managers Association wants. The managers have intentionally attached Pullman cars to the trains that carry mail, hoping for that result. Doesn’t anyone inWashington realize what management is doing? If federal troops arrive, I’m afraid there will be bloodshed.’’
‘‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Keep a lid on what I’ve told you about the federal troops. The mayor has ordered the police force to total readiness. There’s always a chance the president will reconsider.’’
Fred nodded his assent. ‘‘With each passing hour, the public seems to further align with management. I imagine they will completely desert us if the strike continues into July.’’
‘‘July arrives tomorrow morning, my friend. The events of the past few days have caused you to forget the date.’’ Matthew clapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘I’ve got to get back to the office.’’
Fred dropped onto a wooden chair in a far corner of the dank auditorium. Overpowered by the strain of the past two weeks, he covered his face with his palms; the days had melded into one another without beginning or end. Now it seemed the federal government was determined to intervene and take control of what had begun as a simple request to negotiate. He could only imagine what lay in store for the union workers and the residents of Chicago during the next two weeks. Yet they must wait. It was all they could do.
Chicago, Illinois
With a determined step, Matthew strode down the sidewalk toward Priddle House. He’d been perfectly clear with his editor, Mr. Baskin: he would not be available for any breaking news story; not even if the federal troops arrived at the Van Buren station in the middle of the day. Today was Sunday, and he planned to devote the entire day to Charlotte and Morgan. First church, and then an afternoon of relaxation at a nearby park, since there was no guarantee of a train to and from Pullman. Neither he nor Charlotte could take that risk.
At nine o’clock sharp, Matthew knocked on the front door. Mrs. Priddle greeted him with a tight smile and an appraising look. She opened the screen door and motioned him forward. ‘‘The knot in your tie is crooked.’’ With a jab of her finger, she pointed toward the hall mirror. ‘‘You can see for yourself.’’
Matthew took a long stride and assessed the tie. With a gentle tug, he adjusted the knot. It had appeared perfectly fine to him, but he wasn’t about to argue with Mrs. Priddle. ‘‘That better?’’ He grinned.
‘‘Not the best I’ve seen, but it will do. You may wait in the parlor. Charlotte will be down in a few minutes. We leave promptly at fifteen minutes past the hour.’’ She furrowed her brows. ‘‘And we all walk to the church together.’’
Hat in hand, Matthew made a right turn into the adjacent room. Mrs. Priddle had no problem making her wishes known. He hadn’t planned on group attendance at church, but he wouldn’t argue. Mrs. Priddle sat down opposite him, her black straw hat perched atop her gray hair and her hands folded in her lap.
