It was a moment of both death and birth for me. The final signal that my marriage was no longer all that I’d hoped for. Perhaps other women could overlook a husband’s indiscretions and consider it part of the course of the union. But I knew my father to have been a devoted husband and my brothers to be the same. Not every man felt compelled to act upon his most base desires.
Otto motioned for Emma Dumpke to follow him out of the room. And I resolved, as their backs were turned against me in the most literal and figurative sense, that my marriage was over. Not in a public way. The scandal of a divorce would devastate Pearl and in turn, jeopardize the security our many employees enjoyed. But there would be no affections exchanged between us. It was too big a sin to forgive.
I waited to cry until they were gone. And I did. Heaving, breathless tears that constricted my lungs with their force and left them aching for hours after. I bent over and held a towel to my mouth so as to keep my anguish silent.
When I had spent them all, I knew that the only way to press on was to crawl out of the despair that encircled me like a menacing cloud.
From that pain arose an awaking; all the regard and time and energy I’d spent on serving Otto could now be redirected into Pearl and the workers whom I counted as family. Already, they had my devotion, but now they would have all of my attention.
Naturally, this would aid Otto as well—the scoundrel—but he was of insignificant concern to me now.
His next words tested my resolve, but I triumphed. When he returned to the bathroom, he handed me a towel and I covered myself even as Emma helped me into my wheelchair.
“It’s terrible, my love,” he said. The endearment either out of habit or pretense. “I’ve received word over the Marconi that there is a labor strike at the brewery.”
“A strike? But whatever are they striking for?”
Conditions in a factory were never easy, but I was certain that Otto and I had made every provision for the comfort of our workers. There were rumors in other breweries that employees were beaten, either by foremen or when they came to fist-a-cuffs themselves. They were often placated by free beer, claiming that it was a staple of German life, but more likely a way to mollify them.
We had no such horrors at Pearl and the few foremen who had ever attempted to overstep our vision of decorum were promptly fired without references.
“It’s the hours and the pay,” he admitted. It was a sore point between us and the mention of it caused me to wince.
Otto had a wild look in his eyes. I knew it to be a familiar combination of anger and bewilderment, a duo that made its appearance whenever trouble arose. Otto was a man of significant intelligence and hard work. But it was my particular talent to remain calm during a crisis, as evidenced by my quick resolve to turn my shamble of a marriage into good for the brewery. I saw no sense in wasting time on emotions.
It was ridiculous to have this conversation with only a towel to cover me and a wheelchair as a makeshift boardroom seat.
“Wait in your bedroom, Otto. I’ll meet you there shortly.”
He nodded and slumped toward the door. When it had closed, my nurse wheeled me to my bedroom.
Oddly, I held little scorn for her. The girl, unwittingly, had done me a favor. I could not say that she had stolen affections when I had not possessed them in a long time. And now she’d freed me from my age-old preoccupation with keeping my husband happy.
“I’ll wear the pink silk robe,” I said. I had purchased it for myself years ago when the money that came from Pearl had truly started to multiply. Though it was an extravagance, we could easily afford it. Otto chastised me for such a purchase—even as he continued to build our ridiculous mansion—and insisted that I return it. Not only did I keep it, but I donned it every time I was angry with him. A nod to my independence and the perfect uniform for the auspicious nature of today. I didn’t fool myself into thinking that Otto had any idea as to its significance for me, but that was no matter: I knew, and that was enough.
“You’ll catch a chill,” implored Miss Dumpke. “Mr. Koehler’s room is quite drafty. He found a crack in the window.”
I looked at her with sharp eyes, rather feeling like a cat with its prey.
“And how would you know about the conditions of Mr. Koehler’s room? Have you suddenly become his nurse as well?”
Her eyes widened at the realization that her statement had revealed more than its simple words meant. “He—he,” she stammered. “He told me so. Out of concern for you in the event that you should visit him there.”
“I’m not the one visiting him, as you well know.” My reprimand was well placed. The girl turned ashen and set to busying herself in my service.
“Mrs. Koehler. I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ll have no words from you. You have a job to do. Do it.”
Emma Dumpke’s lower lip quivered, but she didn’t press it. “Then let me at least set this blanket over your lap. And I can ring for some tea to keep you warm.”
Good. Let the hussy squirm a bit. Why not have a little sport with the situation?
But really, I got far less enjoyment from the game than it sounds. I knew that she was eager to leave her tiny German town. What girl would not want to come to America when the offer was made? And what girl could refuse Otto’s charms? When he chose to reveal them, they were quite irresistible. It’s why he’d gotten along so well in business: people found it difficult to say no to him.
Away from home, away from family, away from all she’d ever known, the pitiful young woman was more pawn than prostitute. She might have genuinely fallen in love with my husband and he might even have a kind of affection for her. But though her body was lithe and willing, she could not know that his only mistress, his only love, his only wife was his blasted business folder. He’d been unfaithful to Pearl with the acquisition of so many other distractions. I was not the first who’d lost his attention. Merely the most recent. In time, no doubt, he would forget this simple girl in favor of something—or someone—else.
I almost felt sorry for her.
For no reason other than to amuse myself, I insisted on applying my cosmetics before she took me to Otto’s chambers next door.
When I was finished, she took me over and I knocked. I did not wait for him to open the door; I turned the knob and dismissed Miss Dumpke. I rolled the wheelchair into his suite and closed the door behind me. My movements were becoming more graceful the longer I had to adjust to them.
Otto was sprawled across his bed, his hands running through his hair. The strike would indeed be devastating.
“What are we going to do, Emma? We have obligations to clients all across Texas, but only enough reserve to supply them for two weeks. Some of these labor disputes take months to resolve.”
“You say it’s their wages and hours that they are protesting?”
“Yes. Which is a pity. We pay the same as any other brewery in the country. Twenty cents an hour.”
I took a deep breath, thankful for the opportune moment to bring up a point I’d wanted to address for some time.
“Dearest,” I forced through my teeth. “I read the Wall Street Journal while you read the San Antonio Express News. The average wage across the country is twenty-two cents per hour. It’s high time we matched that.”
He shot up off the bed so quickly that the springs groaned in relief. “A raise of ten percent? Are you mad?”
“No, Otto. You are mad if you think that you can keep the status quo and expect that our employees will be mollified by the fact that you buy them warm jackets for the cold rooms.”
“That’s better than most.”
“Don’t try to justify it. That’s like saying that it’s enough to sprinkle a garden with a water hose when it’s thirsty for a rainstorm.”
“Your analogies are ridiculous.”
“Your infidelity is ridiculous.”
Zing. I felt a rush of electricity as I said it.
His voice quivered. I could
play my husband like a violin.
“Emma—I—please … I don’t know what to say.” He hung his head and fisted his hands together.
“I do know what to say, Otto. You’ve gone and stuck your prick into the first vulnerable woman who would have you and sacrificed countless years of our marriage for a dalliance.”
He looked up, his eyes doing a poor job of concealing their panic. “That’s not a ladylike thing to say. You surprise me.”
“I’ve sharpened my edges, thanks to you.” I was really feeling the momentum. Blood coursed through my body with more vigor than our love life had ever known in years. “You look at people as commodities, and I have learned that at your feet. You are no longer my husband, you are now my means to an end. And in the end, I want Pearl. You can have your railroads and your mines and your blasted, over-the-top resort. Give me control of Pearl and you will have my silence in exchange. Surely our upstanding clients would have second thoughts about purchasing their lagers from a philanderer.”
“I can’t give you Pearl. It’s not mine to give. I’m only its president. You know there are other partners.”
“Naturally. I don’t mean it in the legal sense. But your eye has been wandering to more than other women. I want to start making some of the decisions for the brewery. I want a seat on the board and I want you to vote the same way I do. And to champion my causes for it.”
“You’re insane.” He stood up, hunched with rage and I saw his hand grasp the little pocketknife he had. But I was not afraid. And I would have none of it.
“No!” I shouted. “You’re insane if you think that you have the upper hand here. With one word to the newspapers, I can whisper a kindling of a scandal that will turn into a wildfire. We’re on the brink of a prohibition against our very industry and you need me more than you realize if we are not to lose it all.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I? I already see the headline: Texan Brewer abandons crippled wife in favor of her nurse. Can you see Adolphus Busch doing something as monstrous as that? I think not. He is devoted to Lilly. They’ve been married nearly fifty years and he looks at her still like he’s the luckiest man in the room. You’ve never looked at me like that. Not in all this time.”
“Oh come on, Emma. You and I were never sentimentalists. That’s one of the things I loved about you.”
Loved. Past tense. I wonder if he even realized that he’d said it.
But I didn’t linger on the thought.
“Sit down, Otto.” And he did.
“I may have more practicality in one strand of hair than most women have in a whole head, but that is not to suggest that I do not appreciate the tenderness that a man can show his wife. Your precious Hot Wells receives infinitely more of your regard than I do.”
He couldn’t answer. He knew I was right and that I’d backed him into a corner.
“What is it you want? A place on the board?”
I wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “Not only that. I want twenty-two cents an hour for my employees.” I paused. “No—twenty-three cents. Be magnanimous, Otto. Those people deserve it. They deserve better than average. And, on top of that, give them a week of paid vacation every year. And two weeks for those who’ve been with us for more than a decade.”
His hands fisted again, but I knew I had him. “Vacation? Are they to think that they are some kind of royalty?”
“They are people, Otto. People with homes and children and worries and illnesses and dreams.”
“I know they’re people,” he snorted. “You don’t have to portray me as an unfeeling bastard.”
“You’re the one who said it.”
“Be reasonable, Emma.”
I was not going to persuade him on the grounds of fairness. Otto had pulled himself up from his proverbial bootstraps and he didn’t intend to pave a smooth path for anyone else when he’d never had one. I had to try a new angle if I hoped to win him over to my way of thinking.
I quieted my voice, but only as a tactic. “Look. A product is only as good as those who make it. Many of our workers have been with us for years and years. Long before it was Pearl. But some have started to leave. San Antonio is a growing city and there are many other choices. Wouldn’t it be more economical to pay them a better wage and make them happy than to face retraining new employees who might also leave as soon as better opportunities arise? Why not make Pearl the opportunity? Pay them well and give them vacations so that the San Antonio Brewing Association gains a reputation for being a most desirable place to work. Then you will have your pick of quality workers. Innovative ones who will be motivated to bring fresh ideas to the forefront. In fact, I think we can even build some kind of advertising campaign around it. One that will put Pearl in such a good light in the community that beer drinkers will feel good about choosing Pearl among a growing variety of brews.”
He was silent, biting his lower lip in the way I knew to mean that he was thinking. Really thinking.
“You have a point.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how we’ll get it past the board.”
“You’re a clever one, Otto. You’ll think of something.”
Flatter a man, and he will give you anything.
.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MRS. KOEHLER’S WORDS made Mabel think of Erik. She had not seen him since the Majestic, as work had taken him to Austin. She wondered if Ernestina had gone with him, but got her answer when the woman showed up to the weekly Sunday dinner while he was still away. She shouldn’t let herself worry. Erik had made it clear that he had no affection for his former love.
The centerpiece at dinner was a beautiful display of yellow roses, placed there by Frieda after they’d arrived earlier that afternoon.
Mabel did not see the flowers until they all sat down to eat. The crowd was smaller than its usual size. Emma Koehler sat at the head, as was her custom. Helga led Ernestina to a seat in the middle of the table with Mabel across from her. Otto A. and Marcia sat near the other end, and eight relatives passing through filled in the remaining seats.
Mabel spoke as if from a secret script, unaware of the scheme that Helga and Frieda had thought up.
“What beautiful flowers,” she commented. “Where did they come from?”
Helga stood at the doorway as Frieda ladled the soup into bowls. “Didn’t I tell you, Miss Hartley? They came for you today. From Herr Garrels.”
“Erik sent them?” She’d long stopped saying Bernard. Their mutual affection was not only known to Mrs. Koehler, but subtly encouraged. So the more familiar name revealed nothing that was not already brought to light.
“Yes,” said Helga, exchanging a grin with Mrs. Koehler. “It came with a card.”
Emma continued. “Why don’t you read it out loud to us?”
Mabel was amazed at the extravagance of the flowers (there had to be fifty of them!), but was leery of making such a demonstration of it all.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she tried.
“Don’t be so shy. There’s no one among us except for the children who have not had a bit of romance in their lives.”
I looked up at Ernestina, and reached for the card.
Yellow roses for a new Texas girl. One who has stolen my heart. Erik
“I’d rather not,” she said. She didn’t care for Ernestina, but had no desire to humiliate her in public. Instead, she slipped the note into her shirt pocket. Close to her heart. She would read it again in the privacy of her bedroom.
“Very well,” said Emma. Mabel realized that her employer had triumphed regardless. Ernestina didn’t need to hear the words to be flustered. “I suppose some things between lovers are to be kept secret.”
“We’re not—” Mabel began. But Mrs. Koehler’s attentions had shifted to praise for Frieda and the delicious accomplishment of the cabbage soup.
Mabel tried to catch Ernestina’s eye in some kind of apology, but the woman would not look at her for the
rest of the meal.
One day later, the flowers had bloomed even more fully, and Mabel took them to her bedroom while Helga was at the market. They were hers, anyway, and she far preferred to see them on the little round table in the turret. There, the light shone through different panes as the hours passed, illuminating the green of the stems and the veins of the petals as the day went on. She set the card near the bottom of the vase, face up so that she could read and read it again.
She’d never received flowers before and the number of them made up for every missed occasion. She decided then and there that yellow roses were her favorites; they were quite uncommon in Baltimore, to the point that she’d never even seen them.
“Miss Hartley?” Frieda’s voiced sounded muffled behind the thick wooden door.
Mabel wrapped a silk robe around her shoulders, one of the many luxuries that appointed the room.
“Yes?”
Frieda’s cheeks were red and her voice faltered.
“Telephone. For you. I hurried upstairs. A call from Los Angeles.”
Los Angeles? She didn’t know anyone in California.
“Who is it?”
“A man. It sounds urgent.”
Mabel’s heart tightened, but without any sort of idea as to what it meant, she couldn’t begin to know how to worry.
“The hallway phone?” she asked.
“The kitchen.”
Most households did not have one telephone yet, but Mrs. Koehler had four. The phone company had finally installed her independent line and they were all relieved to no longer have to share it with other parties.
Frieda stepped aside and Mabel hurried down the stairs two at a time.
Her hand shook as she pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
“Hello? Mabel Hartley here.”
“This can’t be Mabel Hartley. Why, she’s a little girl. This sounds like I’m talking to a full-grown woman.”
Her arms went numb and her head felt light.
“Buck? Buck!” Mabel collapsed onto the cold tile floor, dropping the receiver as she did so and buried her head in her arms. Her sobs echoed throughout the room.
The First Emma Page 20