A Collar of Jewels

by Pamela Pope

  Ellie happily slotted her hand through the proffered arm. It was so good to be home! The two years in France had been a wonderful experience and she had enjoyed it, but the call of this gracious house and the love of her family had tugged at her all the while she was away. Jefferson had gusted in from college like a whirlwind to be at her party, and Lionel had brought two friends from University whose suitability in the marriage stakes even impressed Papa. Frederick was here from New York with his wife and brood of three solemn children, another having been added, and this evening only her brother Drew was missing. Papa’s stubborn refusal to forgive him, and Drew’s obstinate resolution to please himself, caused her such heartache.

  She hurriedly put aside the one shadow hanging over her birthday and asked a very important question. ‘Papa, have the Pullmans arrived yet? Is Florence here?’ She hoped to impress the eldest Pullman daughter, who never let anyone forget she had an hotel and a boulevard named after her in her father’s town on the west shore of Lake Calumet. There was something else too, something she was dying to find out. ‘I must see my godfather.’

  ‘Hoping for a special present?’ Papa teased. ‘Yes, they’re here, except for Mrs Pullman who is unwell.’

  Ellie excused herself from a group of adoring young men and went with her father to the terrace where music more to the American taste was supplied by a quartet of musicians playing a selection from the latest operetta. She was one of the most eligible girls in the city and there was much competition to gain favour. Her beauty was unmatched this evening and she was aware of it as she moved among the guests, dressed as a geisha in a kimono of heavily embroidered vermilion silk. Traditional shoes on platforms made walking a precarious business, but this didn’t mar her poise, and her black hair was styled in elegant Japanese fashion, with a ricepaper butterfly on top fluttering in the breeze.

  George Pullman’s face lit up when he saw her. ‘Elena, my dear, happy birthday. I made sure I would be home for it.’ He was an elegant man, though conservative in his choice of clothes, and his only concession to the request for Japanese apparel was a green robe hand-painted with dragons, worn over his suit. A self-made man from Portland, he had moved up from being a clerk in a general store to the exalted position of ‘sleeping-car king’, for George Pullman had made rail travel a far more comfortable experience. Along with his vast industrial empire, he had also built the town to house his workers on drained prairie land beyond Chicago, and though he was a hard man in business he had the respect of his employees.

  ‘Dear Mr Pullman, I’m so glad,’ Ellie said, accepting a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m really sorry your wife isn’t well.’

  ‘My wife’s health is a worry,’ the great man admitted. He had a broad face with a deeply indented upper lip, and from beneath his lower lip flowed a narrow white beard as soft and silken as his shirt. ‘These are difficult times one way and another.’

  Ellie nodded knowingly. ‘Papa tells me the recession is beginning to cause industrial unrest.’

  ‘Sadly, I’ve had to lay off some men and cut down on hours. It grieves me, but I have no alternative.’ He turned to Papa. ‘Your daughter has matured, Conrad. She’s a credit to you — and to all the school fees you’ve been paying out.’

  ‘You’ll soon have to watch out, George,’ laughed Papa. ‘She’s developing quite a head for business.’ Pride made him stand a little taller. ‘I’ll leave you two together.’

  Ellie and Mr Pullman strolled along the terrace. The two families had been friends and neighbours for as long as she could remember, and Ellie happily answered all his questions about her French education. She waited a suitable time before putting a question of her own.

  ‘Mr Pullman, nearly three years ago, after we were in that bad train accident, Papa asked you to give a job to the man who saved my life. His name was Max Berman.’

  ‘Berman. Ah yes, I believe he is doing rather well.’

  An inner leap of excitement made her draw in her breath. Memories of Max had stayed with her though they’d been an ocean apart, and her keenness to have news of him was not even overshadowed by this gala entertainment.

  ‘He’s still with your company, then?’

  ‘A talented young man, so I hear.’

  ‘I’m glad you were generous enough to give him a chance.’

  ‘For you, Elena, I will do much. You make it so easy for me to fulfil my duties as a godparent.’

  Ellie longed to ask more about Max Berman but it would have been unseemly to show too much interest, and the main thing was that she knew where he could be found.

  ‘I’m very lucky,’ she said. Her attention was then diverted as more guests were announced and she clapped with delight. ‘Oh, the Markhams have come at last! Will you excuse me, Mr Pullman?’

  ‘Of course. Enjoy yourself, Elena. Youth is only fleeting.’

  Ellie shrieked with laughter at seeing her best friend’s fair hair covered with a black wig. ‘Clarissa, you look so different!’

  ‘Well, we can’t all be perfect for the part,’ Clarissa said. ‘Happy birthday, Ellie.’ She looked round, her eyes shining. ‘Isn’t this wonderful! I’m so glad you didn’t have a Columbian evening like everyone else this year.’

  ‘I wanted to be different. Have you been to the Exposition yet? I went with Mama and Papa to the opening on the first of May and we were right beside President Cleveland when he flicked the gold switch. It was just wonderful. Flags went up everywhere at once.’

  ‘No, I haven’t been yet, but I heard the ships’ guns on the lake,’ Clarissa said. ‘Just fancy — nineteen countries exhibiting in great white pavilions.’

  ‘I’ve seen them.’ Ellie’s enthusiasm grew. ‘All those hundreds of acres of parkland and the Midway turned into a fair! It’s unbelievable.’

  ‘I do so hope I can see it soon.’

  The World’s Columbian Exposition, held to celebrate the four-hundredth anniversary of Christopher Columbus discovering America had been a main topic of conversation ever since the first building had been erected in Jackson Park last October. Papa had given financial backing, of course, and Mama, who was very influential, had become a member of Mrs Potter Palmer’s Board of Lady Managers.

  ‘I’m to be allowed to go again with Lionel and his friends next week,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ll ask if you may come with us.’

  ‘Oh Ellie, thank you.’ Clarissa was the only child of doting but elderly parents who were out of touch with the youthful element of society. Her tone became wistful. ‘How nice if Drew could have been with us, too.’

  ‘Don’t let my Papa hear you say that.’

  ‘Nothing’s changed, then?’

  ‘Nothing. Lionel says Drew’s now got involved with someone called Eugene Debs who heads labour unions.’

  A sigh escaped Clarissa. ‘Why does he have to be so different?’

  ‘Why, indeed.’

  A gong beat reverberated through the garden and supper was announced. At once there was movement towards the tables laden with food just inside the house, and Ellie found herself strangely irritable with the young men who pushed and strutted and swanked on their way up from the garden. She was given priority and she laughed as her plate was piled high with delicacies, but something had happened to the evening.

  Mentioning Max’s name had unsettled her. She stood aside for a moment, and above the cacophony of voices she heard another long-remembered one in her head. ‘You are very brave, Ellie,’ Max had said, and his eyes had done more than admire her. The timbre of his voice remained with her even now and touched a chord somewhere deep inside. Her stomach contracted with a peculiar spasm, leaving her devoid of appetite. Throughout her time in France she had held memories of him so close it had seemed as if he’d always been in her life, and she had built up a dream. How foolish. She knew next to nothing about the man, and yet she continued to weave an imaginary future in which Max loved her and was forever at her side. Thoughts of meeting him again were sh
eer fantasy, yet they coloured her reverie and refused to fade.

  After supper there were flattering birthday speeches to which she replied with confidence touched with humility. Ellie included everyone in her words of thanks, from Papa and Mama who had provided this wonderful party, to the waiters who served. But beneath her exuberance remained a layer of discontent and she felt strangely close to tears.

  It was then that a waiter addressed her quietly. ‘Excuse me, Miss Elena, there is a gentleman wishing to speak to you privately in the drawing room.’

  She didn’t ask who it was. The waiter was from a catering company and wouldn’t have known. Mystified and with renewed excitement, she slipped indoors.

  The drawing room was lovely. Ornate stuccowork decorated the ceiling and pale walls; a huge organ with pipes painted in red, blue and gilt patterns dominated the space between two doors, and a potted palm filled one corner. A leopardskin rug was splayed out on the parquet floor like a penitent at prayer, and a painting of Sibylla Harvey was displayed on an easel.

  At first she thought no one was there. Then she was aware of a young man sitting in one of the armchairs, his face hidden by the wing. He heard her and looked round, a beaming smile on his face. Heavens! Oh, such joy! It was Drew.

  She gasped with delight. ‘Drew! Oh, I’m so pleased to see you.’ Tears now filled her eyes and she hugged him fiercely.

  ‘Happy birthday, little one. My, how beautiful you look. Even Father couldn’t keep me away from your party.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him yet?’

  ‘No, but I’m still a son of this house even though he calls me a bum with no ambition.’

  ‘Then you should be outside, acting like one of the family instead of skulking in here.’

  He had changed. In almost three years of separation he had become a man, the fat from good living honed away leaving him muscular and handsome. His dark hair was well-groomed, but his cleanshaven face bore lines to confirm the rough life he had been leading and his hands were ingrained with grease and coal dust from hard, honest work. He no longer had the fashionable style of his brothers, yet he was far more compelling in the serviceable clothes which he wore well. Ellie ached with love for him.

  There was so much to say and so little time, but in brief sentences they tried to catch up.

  ‘It was wonderful in France, but I missed everyone …’

  ‘I’ve been with the CB & Q all this time — as an engineer. It’s exciting on the footplate, everything I knew it would be.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you since I was nearly killed in the derailment.’

  ‘I was in one myself. A bridge was swept away in a storm …’

  Yes, so much to say.

  She would be missed. She had to go back to the party and she wanted Drew to come with her, but he was not ready.

  ‘Ellie, will you do something for me?’ His tone changed and he clasped his sister by the shoulders. ‘I want to come back home.’

  Her face lit up; her heart sang. Drew wanted to return at last, and just hearing him say it brought her more happiness than all her birthday gifts put together. ‘That’s the most wonderful news,’ she cried, almost strangling him in her excitement. ‘Let’s go and tell Mama and Papa.’

  ‘No, that’s just it. I don’t want to see them tonight. I don’t want to have to grovel to Father. Will you speak to him for me, pave the way? It would be so much easier.’

  ‘Why can’t you speak to him yourself? You’ll make Papa the happiest man in the world.’ Surely he would be treated like the Prodigal Son!

  ‘He wants my capitulation. No half measures — he wants me to admit I was wrong and to repent of my sins, like he was God, but I can’t do that. Please, Ellie, sweeten him up. He’ll do anything for you.’

  ‘Why do you want to come home, then?’ Ellie didn’t understand him. ‘Have you had enough of the rough life?’

  ‘I know that I can do more for the working classes if I go into management. Father always said there would be a place for me at the Union Atlantic. I want to take it.’

  ‘And undermine his authority? That’s not right, Drew.’

  ‘No, you goose.’ Drew ran an affectionate finger down her cheek. ‘But I want to have a say in the way workers are treated. I understand their needs now I’ve been one of them. There’s a lot of things I want to put right but no one will listen to an engineer.’

  He put up a persuasive argument, and while he was talking Ellie’s excitement increased. If Drew was so desperate for her help she could bribe him into giving help in return. He was the answer to her own dilemma.

  ‘All right, I’ll speak to Papa,’ she promised, ‘but only if you do something for me in exchange. I want to meet someone who works in Pullman.’ She told Drew all she knew about Max Berman, ending with the latest news, that he was doing well as an upholsterer. ‘Max saved my life and I want to see for myself that everything’s fine for him.’

  Drew grinned, not fooled for a minute. ‘He must be special for you to be this concerned. Okay, how do I arrange this meeting?’

  ‘Bring him to the Exposition next Wednesday evening. I’m going with Lionel and his friend and Clarissa, and I’ll make sure we’re at the Ferris wheel by eight-thirty. Only don’t tell Max that.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘You’ll do it, I know, and I’ll plead your case with Papa so well it’ll bring tears to his eyes.’ It was not only her father Ellie could twist round her little finger.

  When Ellie returned to the party she didn’t know how to contain her exhilaration. She was bursting with secrets which mustn’t be told, not even to Clarissa, and when Jefferson drew her into a circle of his college friends she was in a scintillating mood.

  ‘Are you still as good at dancing, Ellie?’ Jefferson asked. ‘Dance for us now.’ He jumped on the platform where the Japanese musicians were playing. ‘My sister’s going to dance for us.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she protested.

  ‘What have they done to you at that froggy school? You wouldn’t have been so bashful before you went away.’

  ‘She was a child then,’ said Lionel, coming upon the scene.

  ‘She’s still our Ellie,’ insisted Jefferson. ‘Come on, Sis, dance on your birthday.’

  And because she was so deliriously happy she at last kicked off the crippling shoes and started to dance alone inside the circle cleared for her on the lawn. Lessons in Classical Greek movement had done wonders for her deportment and had given her added confidence. She became carried away by the rhythm, and the vermilion kimono slipped to the ground where it lay on a carpet of fallen petals. In a clinging gown of ivory crêpe she danced barefooted to music played on the samisens. Slowly and gracefully she moved, stretching up until the ivory crêpe rippled over her body and the ricepaper butterfly on top of her head seemed alive, its wings lifting and falling with the music. Pins fell from her hair and the elegant coiffure became a dark curtain round her shoulders. She felt gloriously alive.

  Conrad Harvey also came down to the lawn at that very moment. When he saw Ellie’s performance his face took on a purple hue and he pushed aside the nearest of the audience to make a path through, his brow dark and his eyes glittering with anger.

  ‘Elena! Stop this outrageous display this minute,’ he commanded. ‘You’ve been drinking too much saké.’

  Ellie hovered like a hummingbird, poised on her toes in mid-movement, and slowly she lowered her arms. ‘I haven’t had anything to drink except lemonade, Papa. I’m just so happy.’

  ‘Go indoors and don’t come out again until you are fully clothed and every hair of your head is back as it was. I shall speak to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ said Ellie.

  Jefferson interceded. ‘Don’t be hard on her, Father. It was my fault.’

  ‘Then you should be ashamed.’

  Papa’s anger could have blighted the evening, but Ellie’s happiness was undiminished as she
picked up the kimono and went indoors. Drew was coming home. But even more intoxicating was the thought of meeting Max again …

  *

  Max Berman first spoke to Drew Harvey at the Turner Hall in Kensington. It was at a packed meeting which had been called by Eugene Debs, whose support for railroad workers was fast turning him into something of a folk hero. With depression sweeping across the country, it was necessary to have someone supporting the countless workers who were daily losing their jobs, and Debs was the one to do it.

  ‘The strike is the weapon of the oppressed,’ Debs said. This lean man of six foot two, with a balding head and long, pointed chin, had shovelled coal into the cavernous firepits of locomotives in his early days. Now his influence as a spokesman for the men’s rights had made him an awesome figure. ‘Labour unions have striking power, and if such power is surrendered we become slaves.’

  There were shouts of, ‘Never!’

  Eugene Debs had learnt through long experience how to hold an audience, and his speech was full of sense. It was also inflammatory. The division between rich and poor was becoming more deeply felt since the start of the recession and he urged all working men to join together in support of fair deals.

  ‘Brotherhoods and labour unions must be better organised if we’re to strike,’ he cried. ‘We’ve tasted violent strikes across the east in the past, but they didn’t have the strength of unity and they would have bred revolution. We don’t want that. Nor do we want our men blacklisted and forced to leave their home towns for breaking the law. What we want is one powerful union.’ He raised both arms high and clenched his fists. ‘Let’s unite, brothers, for the common good.’

  Men were standing shoulder to shoulder. Max’s neighbour spoke to him. ‘Looks like this is only the beginning.’

  ‘Heard tell Debs’ll soon be launching a national labour newspaper in New York,’ said Max. ‘But we need more than a newspaper. Strike action’s the only answer.’

  ‘A strike means halted production, frustration and loss of money. There must be another way.’

  ‘Whose side are you on?’ The meeting was over and they started moving with the throng towards the entrance.