An Uncertain Dream (26 page)
When he rounded the corner, Matthew was standing on the front steps and waved Fred onward. ‘‘You missed the vote. Delegates for the trade unions have agreed their membership will join the strike, but rumors already abound that many members won’t actually participate.’’ Matthew tucked his notebook into the pocket of his suit jacket. ‘‘You need a place to stay tonight?’’
‘‘I have to go over and tell Mrs. Orland about Bill’s condition. Why don’t you walk along with me?’’ Fred could use the support of another person when he talked to Mrs. Orland. He’d promised Bill that he wouldn’t mention his arm. When Ruth finally discovered the full extent of her husband’s injuries, she’d likely never forgive him for hiding the truth. But he’d given his word. For now, he hoped Bill’s wife wouldn’t ask too many questions.
Having Matthew along when he arrived at the Orlands’ apartment proved to be a benefit. His presence subdued Ruth’s queries, and after she had heard Fred’s limited report, she agreed a check of the work invoices was in order. After unlocking the door to the shop, she made a hasty retreat back upstairs with a request that Fred lock the door on leaving. When they finished going through the papers and Fred had placed the most urgent items on top of the stack, the men departed.
‘‘I suppose the time will pass more quickly if I spend a portion of my days here at the shop working. At times I feel I should be in Pullman, especially now that the militia has arrived.’’
‘‘Once we see what happens with the other unions, I think you’ll know where your time and effort will be best utilized. If the trade union members desert the cause, most of us believe the strike will collapse,’’ Matthew said.
Fred didn’t comment. He didn’t want to think all of this had been in vain. He refused to entertain the idea of defeat—at least for now.
Pullman, Illinois
On Monday morning, as Olivia wended her way to the kitchen door, she surveyed the white tents that dotted the hotel lawn. Entering the kitchen, she gave the chef a cheery good-morning and donned her white toque and jacket.
Chef René grunted a halfhearted good-morning and waved his wooden spoon toward the door. ‘‘We are to feed the soldiers. Mr. Howard has ordered that we will do so. I want no complaints.’’
The chef ’s words were tersely spoken. Olivia wondered if he’d argued with Mr. Howard or if the kitchen boys had grumbled at the news. With a bright smile, she gave a nod and set to work. ‘‘If hard work is truly good medicine for the soul, then we should be quite healthy by the time these soldiers depart, don’t you think?’’
‘‘The menu for the hotel guests will remain the same. According to Mr. Howard, the food for the soldiers should be hearty but not equal to the quality we serve our guests. In other words, half of the food we prepare will be mediocre, and the rest will be our usual fine fare.’’
He was clearly unhappy. Olivia couldn’t decide if she should attempt idle conversation or simply remain silent. Obviously his early morning coffee with Mrs. DeVault hadn’t cheered him. In fact, she was surprised the older woman had already gone downstairs. The chef ’s foul mood had apparently been too much for her, too.
‘‘I missed seeing you at church yesterday,’’ she ventured.
He slapped a whisk on the worktable. ‘‘Because I come to church one time does not mean you will see me there again.’’
His words stung, but Olivia didn’t retreat. ‘‘I hope you will at least consider the idea.’’ She stepped closer and lowered her voice. ‘‘I know Mrs. DeVault was pleased to have you attend. And why weren’t the two of you having coffee when I arrived this morning?’’
‘‘We have duties that require our attention. I do not wish to continue this discussion, Miss Mott.’’
Olivia turned her head. ‘‘As you wish.’’ For the next couple of hours, she avoided any further discussion with the chef. She spoke only when a comment was needed in order to achieve their culinary goals. And she didn’t fail to note that Mrs. De-Vault hadn’t made an appearance throughout the morning, either. Olivia wondered if the chef had snapped at the older woman, too. When the time for their midmorning break arrived and Mrs. DeVault still hadn’t come upstairs, Olivia peeked around the corner. The wonderful scent of baking pies wafted to the upper kitchen, and Olivia knew the older woman was hard at work.
Holding the rail, she walked down several steps and then bent forward. ‘‘It’s time for a breath of fresh air, Mrs. DeVault. Come up and join the rest of us.’’
‘‘Thank you, Olivia, but I have additional baking that requires my attention.’’
Olivia detected a hint of sadness in the reply, so she continued down until she reached the bottom step. ‘‘What’s this? You don’t have even a few minutes to join me for a cup of tea?’’
Mrs. DeVault pointed to the crocks of rising dough. ‘‘I’m preparing baked goods for the soldiers as well as the guests. My work has increased by leaps and bounds, but I’m not given any additional helpers.’’ She lifted her flour-covered hands above the worktable. ‘‘I have only these two hands to accomplish all of this work.’’ She raised her right shoulder and bent her head to wipe a stray tear on her sleeve. ‘‘Forgive me. I am acting like a silly schoolgirl.’’
‘‘It’s Chef René who has upset you, isn’t it? Don’t take his words to heart. He was abrupt with me this morning, too. I think he’s annoyed that we must feed the soldiers.’’
Mrs. DeVault shook her head. ‘‘No. It’s more than that. I knew when he didn’t appear for church yesterday that something was amiss. His behavior this morning only confirmed my feelings.’’ She punched down a bulging heap of dough and began to vigorously knead the mass. ‘‘When I arrived this morning, he handed me a list of duties and said we should forgo our practice of taking early morning coffee together.’’
‘‘I’m sure he means there won’t be time until the troops have departed.’’
‘‘No. He said he feared he had misrepresented his intentions and that he had overstepped the proper boundaries of a supervisor. He apologized for interfering in my personal life.’’ She shook her head in obvious dismay. ‘‘
Interfering!
Is that not the most ludicrous thing you’ve ever heard? Why would he think he had been interfering? When I asked him to explain further, he declined. I will not embarrass myself by asking any additional questions. Still, I cannot help but wonder what has changed.’’
Fred!
His name popped into Olivia’s mind with the speed of lightning flashing through the heavens. The chef ’s sudden change of heart could be attributed to only one person, and that person was Fred. Mrs. DeVault might be unwilling to pursue the matter, but Olivia was more than anxious to discover exactly what had transpired between the two men. With a quick wave and an offer to send one of the dishwashers to help, Olivia rushed back upstairs to locate Chef René . She wanted answers. And if she must endure the chef ’s wrath, so be it!
Chicago, Illinois
Charlotte neared the entrance to her office and grimaced when she caught sight of Herman Rehnquist standing beside the closed door. The man had become a nuisance of the worst sort. Her efforts toward deterring his annoying advances had so far proved futile. She hadn’t wanted to report his behavior to Mr. Field. He might believe her an ineffective employee if she couldn’t handle such a trifling matter. At least that’s what she’d told herself when Mr. Rehnquist had first begun his flirtatious behavior.
She squared her shoulders and leveled a cold stare in his direction. ‘‘Are you waiting to speak to me, Mr. Rehnquist?’’ A dark gleam shone in his eyes and caused an involuntary shudder to course through her body.
His lips curled in an uninviting smile. ‘‘Why else would I stand outside your door?’’
Charlotte didn’t comment upon his insolent tone. Instead, she removed a small appointment book from her reticule. ‘‘I don’t believe I see your name listed on today’s schedule, Mr. Rehnquist.’’
‘‘This is an
unscheduled
meeting, my dear.’’
She narrowed her eyes. How dare he speak to her in such a bold manner! ‘‘I don’t have time for unscheduled meetings, Mr. Rehnquist. My appointment book is full. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing work that I must attend to.’’
Without waiting for his response, Charlotte reached for the glass doorknob. The sooner she could remove herself from this man’s presence, the better.
She’d made only a quarter turn when his hand covered hers in a tight grip. ‘‘Please, let me open the door for you—
Charlotte
.’’ His warm breath grazed her ear. She yanked her hand from beneath his fingers.
With a quick sideward step, she moved away from the door. ‘‘Your behavior is completely inappropriate, Mr. Rehnquist. If you don’t want me to report you to Mr. Field, I suggest you leave immediately. I’m certain there is work awaiting you in your department.’’
He opened the door and walked into her office. With a half smile, he stood beside the open door. ‘‘You
do
want to hear what I have to say, my dear. Your future here at Marshall Field’s depends upon it. Why don’t you come into your office so we can talk privately? You’re not going to want anyone else to hear what I’m going to say.’’
Charlotte raised her brows. ‘‘I don’t believe there’s anything you can say that will compromise my employment, Mr. Rehn-quist. Please leave.’’
Still standing inside her office with his hand on the doorknob, he bent closer and shook his head. ‘‘Dear lady, don’t brush me off so quickly. We both know that you are keeping company with a man who is banned from this store. Not only would Mr. Field frown upon such behavior, but he would also fire you—
if he knew
.’’
The cunning gleam in his eyes seemed to beg a denial, but Charlotte remained silent. Maintaining an aloof bearing, she entered the room and stepped behind the highly polished desk.
With an air of authority, she placed her palms on the desk and leaned slightly forward. ‘‘Say what you’ve come for, Mr. Rehnquist, and then take your leave.’’
Ignoring proper etiquette, he sat down. ‘‘I have discovered that Matthew Clayborn, the man you were with in the train depot, is a reporter for the
Herald
.’’ He leaned back in the chair and gazed up at her. ‘‘You may as well sit down, Charlotte. You look like a schoolteacher prepared to reprimand her students.’’
‘‘You need not concern yourself with my comfort or appearance. This conversation won’t take long.’’ Charlotte lifted her palms from the desk and folded her arms across her waist. ‘‘I am well aware of Mr. Clayborn’s profession and his employer. I am also cognizant of those people who have been banned from entering this store. If you have nothing more to say, you may leave.’’
‘‘Then that begs the question of whether Mr. Field knows you are romantically involved with Mr. Clayborn.’’ He looked at her from beneath hooded eyes.
‘‘You make many assumptions, Mr. Rehnquist. If I were in your position, I would be extremely careful before I spoke to Mr. Field.’’ She rounded the desk while maintaining a safe distance. ‘‘I’m not at liberty to discuss this matter with you. Suffice it to say, you are not aware of all the circumstances involved. I can only say that some things are not what they seem.’’
His eyebrows dipped, and lines creased his forehead in zigzag fashion. He shifted in the chair, obviously rethinking his position. For the moment, she’d managed to forestall any further onslaught.
Finally he rubbed his jaw and eyed her suspiciously. ‘‘I’m not at all sure I believe you.’’
She lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. ‘‘Then do what you must, Mr. Rehnquist, but I’ve done my best to forewarn you. Your future with this company is of little consequence to me.’’
He stiffened at the remark. ‘‘I believe Mr. Field values me and my contribution to this company. I have been an employee far longer than you.’’
‘‘Indeed you have. I’m certain you know Mr. Field quite well. Therefore, you’re keenly aware of what you must do if you hope to maintain your employment.’’ With a confident stride, she walked to the door. ‘‘I believe we have nothing more to say to each other.’’
From her vantage point, Charlotte watched Mr. Rehnquist slowly rise from the chair and turn. He walked toward her, his features masked. She couldn’t tell if she’d convinced him to remain silent.
His gaze slowly traveled the length of Charlotte’s body and stopped when he looked into her eyes. ‘‘I don’t know if you are quite cunning, very foolish, or extremely bright, Miss Spencer. I can only assume that since Mr. Field has placed you in a position akin to management, he believes you are loyal to him.’’ He leaned in, and she could smell the scent of tobacco on his breath. ‘‘Time will tell if he has misplaced his trust.’’
‘‘That would be true for all of his employees, Mr. Rehn-quist.’’ She took a backward step and opened the door. ‘‘Even you.’’
His lips tightened into a thin seam, but he didn’t reply. He turned and strutted down the hallway with his head held high. Charlotte watched until he was out of sight, then closed the door and leaned against it. Her hands were clammy and her breathing shallow. She forced herself to inhale a deep breath. He was gone, and if she’d succeeded in her ploy, there was nothing to fear. She knew one thing: her cautionary words wouldn’t be enough to stop Mr. Rehnquist. He would continue to dig until he unearthed the truth.
Charlotte circled the desk and dropped into the leather chair.
The truth
. She reconstructed exactly what she’d said to Mr. Rehnquist. Had she lied? When she accepted Jesus as her Savior, she’d asked forgiveness for so many lies and made a vow to tell the truth henceforth. Was she once again reverting to her old ways in order to protect herself? She turned and stared out the windows that overlooked State Street. She had encouraged Mr. Rehnquist to think he was mistaken about her relationship with Matthew, but she hadn’t actually lied to him. There appeared to be a very thin line between what she’d done and actually telling a lie. She didn’t want to cross that line.
After bidding Mrs. Brandt good-night, Charlotte exhaled a sigh of relief, thankful Matthew hadn’t been waiting for her when she departed the store. Although she’d attempted to keep a lookout for Mr. Rehnquist, he could be watching from one of the upstairs windows. Or he could have someone else watching her, an unsettling thought that caused her to glance over her shoulder. She silently chided herself for looking. His informant could be any one of the many people who appeared to be heading home for the evening. There would be no way of knowing if someone was following her. She hastened her step, anxious to arrive home safely.
