In the Company of Secrets (10 page)
‘‘The library? No, and it’s not free, you know. Residents must pay twenty-five cents a month in order to use Mr. Pullman’s
gift
.’’ He looked toward the second floor of the Arcade building. ‘‘I don’t consider something a donation to the town if I must pay to use it.’’
‘‘But still, I’ve been told there are thousands of books to choose from.’’
Obviously Mr. Howard had already indoctrinated her with the wonders of Mr. Pullman and all his good deeds. From all appearances, Miss Mott had taken his propaganda to heart. ‘‘As I told you on the day of your arrival, profit is crucial to Mr. Pullman and his shareholders. Whether machinery or people, Mr. Pullman believes control will increase profit. Consequently, he controls everything that happens in the town and factory.’’
She was silent for a moment, seeming to ponder his words. ‘‘But what of this athletic field we’re going to? How does it bring profit to Mr. Pullman?’’
‘‘The athletic fields and playgrounds don’t bring a direct profit, but they do result in public accolades for Mr. Pullman. And they indirectly produce revenue when the games are held. People throng to Pullman to participate in or watch the events.’’ Fred grinned. ‘‘On the other hand, I’m certain the cost of the facilities far outweigh any plaudits Mr. Pullman receives. I do praise him for providing fine recreational opportunities for the town’s residents.’’
‘‘And there’s the beautiful Greenstone Church. I made a special point to go and see it. You must admit a church isn’t profitable for Mr. Pullman.’’
Fred laughed and pronounced her gullible. ‘‘That beautiful church remained unused for several years. The company required more rent than any small congregation could afford. Of course, Mr. Pullman thought one church was sufficient and everyone should worship together. That way, the excessive rate would appear tolerable. Unfortunately for him, folks didn’t agree; they built churches outside of the city limits. And that, Miss Mott, is why Mr. Pullman finally gave in and lowered the rent.’’
‘‘The church issue aside, don’t you think it was wise to have the town well planned? It is a beautiful place, with all these redbrick buildings and wide streets.’’
There was little doubt Olivia was bedazzled. He wished Albert or Martha would join in and tell her a bit more, for they, too, knew the way of things in Pullman. But they were engaged in their own private conversation and had moved several paces ahead. Fred knew that he should refrain from further disparaging remarks and forced a smile in an attempt to lighten his mood.
Olivia took his cue and smiled. ‘‘I saw many buildings as we arrived on the train, though I’ve not had a closer view. It appears there are train tracks running in and out of some of them, as well as around the perimeter. I was surprised to see the tracks.’’
Apparently Mr. Howard hadn’t yet versed her in the operations of the Pullman Car Works. ‘‘There are tracks so that the railcars being worked on can be moved from building to building and tracks to deliver lumber or supplies needed in the various shops.’’ Although she appeared interested in hearing more, Fred decided he’d already said more than was needed for one evening. ‘‘That’s enough talk of the town and the railcar works. I’m going to bore you to death.’’
Olivia shook her head. ‘‘Oh no, I’m truly interested. What’s it like to work in the shops? Do you enjoy your work?’’
He was surprised she wanted to hear about his dreary job. None of the other young ladies he’d courted had ever expressed an interest in his work. Her eyes sparkled with obvious interest. He longed to tell her he found fulfillment and challenge in his work, but such a declaration would be a falsehood.
‘‘I’m afraid I can’t say that I enjoy my work. You see, I thought I had been hired to design and etch the mirrors and decorative glass inside the cars. Instead, I was assigned to a position where I spend my days electroplating everything from screws and bolts to cuspidors to be used in the older cars as they are refurbished. The same is true with Albert. Pullman doesn’t make use of your cousin’s etching talents, either.’’
She removed her gloves and tucked them into her reticule. ‘‘Perhaps after you’ve proven yourself a while longer, you’ll be moved into the department that interests you.’’
‘‘Perhaps,’’ he said, unconvinced.
The sparkle vanished from her eyes.
He bowed his head and picked at an imaginary speck on his shirtsleeve. ‘‘I’m sorry for my boorish behavior. If you truly want to hear about electroplating, I’ll be happy to explain the process.’’
Olivia bobbed her head. She truly appeared interested as he explained how the articles to be refurbished were cleansed, suspended by copper hooks, and then plunged into a wooden tank lined with gutta-percha, and filled with a solution that included nitrate of silver and cyanide. Olivia appeared to remain interested, especially when he mentioned that the silver used in each of the bathing solutions was valued at nearly four thousand dollars.
She clutched her reticule to her chest. ‘‘Did you say four
thousand
dollars?’’
‘‘I did. No expense is too great for the railroad cars produced at the Pullman Car Works. It’s with his employees that Mr. Pullman cuts his overhead.’’ They continued on toward the athletic field.
‘‘What happens after you dip the items into the silver?’’
He gave her a sideways glance. She was obviously attempting to deflect him away from any further negative comments. ‘‘No more talk of my work or Pullman politics. If you want to know more about electroplating, I’ll explain at another time.’’
Though she mildly protested, Fred insisted. He wanted to learn more about Olivia. She was a vivacious and engaging young woman, and he enjoyed her company. ‘‘Albert mentioned the girls in the kitchen have been giving you a time of it. Are things getting any better?’’
Color heightened in her cheeks. Too late he realized he had embarrassed her. He wished he could withdraw his question.
She bowed her head. ‘‘I suppose Martha told him about my difficulties.’’
‘‘I believe so, but we need not discuss them if it makes you uncomfortable. I had hoped for a good report.’’
‘‘I suppose matters are somewhat better.’’ They walked across a small bridge that led to an island. She studied the expansive area that stretched before them. ‘‘So this is the athletic island.’’
Fred nodded, pleased they’d arrived. He hoped that by the time their baseball practice ended, Olivia would forget her embarrassment. After escorting the two young women to the grandstands, he and Albert loped across the grass to join their teammates.
Olivia’s responses to Fred had constituted additional falsehoods in the mounting inventory. Soon her notes would reach book-length proportions. Her stomach roiled. How much had Martha revealed to Albert and Fred? There was no way of knowing, but Olivia suspected Martha had heard plenty from the kitchen staff.
She attempted to concentrate on the baseball game. Martha claimed that both Fred and Albert were showing excellent progress with the game. Though Olivia knew nothing of baseball or its rules, she asked questions and cheered along with Martha. Anything to avoid talk of her past or her work in Chef René ’s kitchen.
She clapped loudly when Albert swung the bat and the ball flew far into the field. She inched a bit closer to Martha. ‘‘Albert loved to play cricket back in England.’’
‘‘He told me.’’ Martha’s eyes were following Albert as he ran to second base and stopped, leaving one foot touching the bag, the other outstretched in preparation to race to third. She continued. ‘‘Both he and Fred play on the cricket team, and they’re on the rowing team, too.’’
‘‘They must be busy every evening.’’
‘‘Not quite, but we’ll be here a lot throughout the spring and summer. Especially while they’re preparing for the athletic games. Mr. Pullman likes his employees to make a good showing at the competitions. Fred and Albert say it’s an issue of pride for Mr. Pullman. He’d be embarrassed if one of his teams got routed.’’
These must be the games to which Mr. Howard had referred when she had first met him. She certainly hoped there weren’t any competitions for the women. Trying to navigate in the hotel kitchen without a daily catastrophe was enough of a challenge for her!
While the members of the teams exchanged positions on the field, Martha scooted closer. ‘‘You’re planning to attend church with us tomorrow, aren’t you?’’
Where had that question come from? One minute Martha was talking baseball; the next she was asking about church. Unprepared for the question, Olivia floundered for a response. ‘‘Us?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ She motioned toward Fred and Albert. ‘‘Mrs. DeVault, too. And you can invite Charlotte. We don’t want to leave her out, poor dear. I know the trauma of losing her husband and now having to adjust to a new home in a different country are most stressful. No doubt she’s come to rely heavily upon God through all of this.’’
Martha eyed her with an expectancy that required a response. ‘‘Thank you for inviting us. I can’t answer for Charlotte, but I’d be pleased to join you.’’ She nibbled her lip—that wasn’t exactly true. The thought of sitting in church and attempting to worship God while her life was a complete charade would be more than a little uncomfortable and likely abhorrent to God, also. But what could she do? A tiny inner voice reminded her that telling the truth would be a good starting point, but she squelched the thought and asked Martha where they would meet.
A number of young women soon joined them, and the remainder of their time together consisted of squeals and cheers each time one of the men came to bat. Olivia took careful note of the girls who worked at the hotel. Most ignored her, though she observed a critical look from one or two. The girls remained at Martha’s left, distancing themselves from Olivia while visiting with Martha. She could feel their cold stares when Fred approached after the game and took her arm. The four of them headed off toward home, and Olivia resisted the urge to turn to see if they were still watching her.
Discomfort followed on her heels like a stray animal, but she forced herself to accept an invitation for a glass of lemonade at the Arcade. Once they were seated, the conversation centered around the missed home runs and improperly fielded balls—whatever those terms meant. Thankful nothing was required of her, Olivia silently kept pace with the men’s animated discussion over the prospects of winning their game on Tuesday evening.
‘‘You’ll come and watch us play, won’t you?’’
Before she could respond, Martha interceded. ‘‘Of course she will. And she’s agreed to come to church with us tomorrow, too.’’
Olivia’s schedule was being planned without her input, but she didn’t object. Right now, she wasn’t confident she’d still have a job next Tuesday. But as long as the conversation didn’t require her to answer any questions about her cooking qualifications or Charlotte’s past, she was pleased.
When the foursome finally returned to the DeVaults’ residence, Mrs. DeVault and Charlotte were sitting side by side on the divan. The older woman was attempting to teach Charlotte how to knit. This was a feat for which Mrs. DeVault should receive a special award for patience. With each wrap of the yarn, Charlotte dropped or twisted a stitch and then whined in overt frustration. The minute she spotted Olivia, Charlotte dropped the needles and tightened her lips into her familiar pout.
‘‘I thought you were going to be gone only an hour. It’s nearly ten o’clock.’’ She pushed herself up from the sofa. ‘‘I’m ready for bed.’’
Olivia sighed. She wondered if Charlotte had ever experienced genuine weariness. The woman hadn’t performed a day of work in her life. How could she possibly be tired? But Olivia couldn’t argue or make disparaging remarks in front of the others, for they’d think her callous and cruel. After all, what kind of person would treat an expectant widow in such a manner?
It took a good five minutes to convince Fred and Albert that she and Charlotte weren’t in need of an escort for the walk home. They said their good-nights with a promise to meet the group at church on Sunday morning. Olivia hoped Charlotte hadn’t slipped up during her conversation with Mrs. DeVault, and she wanted to ask what they had discussed. However, if their chat had gone amiss and Olivia found out now, she’d likely be unable to sleep a wink. Best to wait and inquire tomorrow.
The church service had been as uncomfortable as Olivia had expected. She was certain God had whispered into the ear of the preacher. Why else would he have chosen that particular Sunday to preach about lies and deceit? Frocked in his black suit with white collar and cuffs, the preacher had opened his Bible with a flourish and read Ephesians 4:25. He had stared directly into Olivia’s eyes when he’d repeated the passage for the second time:
‘‘Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man
truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another.’’
For the next thirty minutes, he had expounded upon the necessity of truthfulness, especially among those who considered themselves God’s children. Then, as if to emblazon the words upon her heart, he had once again repeated the verse before leading the congregation in a final prayer. She had wanted to run out the door. And, as if she hadn’t already felt guilt raining down on her, Charlotte had elbowed her in the ribs each time the preacher had mentioned liars.
