by Pamela Pope
‘That’ll get you nowhere.’
‘It’ll let Gene Debs see we need a union of all the shops in Pullman.’
The upholsterers were ready to strike, but while Max kept an argument going with Warren, another man had stopped Meddons’ hand bleeding and within an hour he had been reinstated. That was not to say he wouldn’t have to go anyway at the end of the week, but a stand had been made. A small battle had been won and Max’s popularity soared.
Yet he trudged home in the snow to Fulton Street with leaden feet. Every day he took less pleasure in returning to his wife since he knew that as soon as he opened the door she would be complaining about the cold, the lack of money, and her discomfort. He felt sorry for her, having to cope with the hardship of this dreadful winter as well as her pregnancy, but other women were having to endure it in the same condition. Of course it was so much harder for Ellie who had been spoilt, but she didn’t seem to be trying to accept the changes in her life.
Sure enough, he smelt burnt food as soon as he climbed the stairs. ‘Max, the soup stuck to the bottom of the pan again,’ she wailed, before he’d hardly crossed the threshold.
He lost patience. ‘You’re useless, Ellie. You can’t do anything properly.’ She quivered from head to foot with shock but his nerves were so strained he felt impelled to go on. ‘Why the hell did I have to marry you?’
He scraped the pan, cut up the last of the turnips and set them boiling with potatoes and onions to make some more soup while Ellie sobbed. For the moment he didn’t even feel guilty. It had been a bad day and he needed to unburden his problems on someone, to be able to talk about the fracas at work as he could have done with Katrina, but Ellie only had room for her own troubles.
After supper she took off her pinafore and stood in front of his chair pitifully. ‘I know I’m a failure, Max, and I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve you.’
He suffered remorse immediately. Her gaze trapped him, just as her persistence and her desirable body had trapped him last summer, and he cursed himself for his weakness. Even now she could arouse him physically at the first touch. If anything, privation had improved her looks and she was more beautiful than she had been six months ago. The contours of her face were sculpted to show the fine bone structure, and the way she drew her hair into a tight chignon at the back of her head gave prominence to her features. Her neck was long and graceful, her shoulders sloping, her chin honed to perfection now that all trace of the fat of rich living had vanished. Even the thickening of her waist suited her.
‘When 1 make my fortune you can have servants and a big house of your own,’ he said. ‘Until then I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with what we’ve got.’
She wounded her arms round his neck. ‘I’ll put up with anything for you and I’ll try not to grumble. I love you so.’ She put her mouth to his and trailed her tongue along his lips until he groaned and held her close. ‘If only you’d let me take some money from Drew.’
‘No.’ So this was what it was all about. He put her away from him. ‘I’ve told you we don’t accept charity.’
‘Just once, Max, so that I can buy a new gown.’
‘Not ever. I buy your clothes now.’
‘But I look so ugly. Look at me! I’m hideous in this dreadful dress.’
‘A beautiful woman still looks beautiful in rags.’
‘I hate living here.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘I hate having a baby.’
She needed consoling regularly and he blamed himself for not being able to give the kind of love which would have soothed her and made her happy. The physical side of marriage was fine, but Ellie wanted more. She wanted to be told that she was the most important person in the world to him, and he couldn’t give that assurance. He couldn’t say the words she longed to hear because he was not in love with her.
He went out, ignoring her plea not to leave her. Usually he went via a dark footpath to Kensington and spent an hour or two at Downey’s, but this evening he stood in the shadows while his frustration simmered. He was desperate to escape from the cloying, obsessive love with which Ellie bound him to herself. It was like soothing oil being poured over him with a perfume that made him sick.
After a few minutes he turned away from Kensington and took the train into Chicago. He hadn’t seen his parents since his marriage and he missed them unbearably, but though he yearned for his mother’s love he couldn’t face her while she still nursed bitter disappointment over his choice of a wife. He had hurt them both too much. Perhaps after the baby was born they would accept what had happened.
He gripped his coat collar tight round his neck and pulled his felt hat over his ears to keep out the freezing cold. The doors of the City Hall were open and hundreds of people were already sleeping in the corridors. An old man begged for money to buy bread and Max gave him the last cent in his pocket before turning in the direction of the Jewish quarter. It was just as well his pockets were empty. He’d been tempted to venture instead into the First Ward where gin-mills flourished and dime hotel rooms were available for cheap pleasures.
For the first time in many months he knocked on Mariette Schuman’s door, and the warmth of her welcome assured him that he would find the comfort he needed inside.
*
On a blustery April day Ellie went into labour, and after several hours of the hardest, most painful work she had ever done she gave birth to a lusty boy child. She was strong and healthy herself and there were no complications. The midwife gave the baby to her as soon as he was clean and well-wrapped, and she gazed in wonder at the tiny replica of Max, marvelling that she had at last produced him.
Someone went to the upholsterer’s shop to give Max the news, and a short time later she heard him running eagerly up the stairs. She had never seen him so emotional as when he held the baby. There were actually tears in his eyes.
‘He’s perfect, Ellie,’ he breathed.
‘I can’t believe he’s ours,’ said Ellie, with awe. ‘Our son. He’ll bind us together forever, won’t he?’
Max handed him back to her.
The baby was called William Isaac, though there were no plans to have him baptised. The names had no family significance but seemed to embody both cultures, and Ellie liked the ring to them. In a few days she was up and about again, revelling in her new slimness and eager to show her child to the block-house women as if she were the only one clever enough to have achieved motherhood. They admired him and teased her.
‘Wait till you have half a dozen,’ one girl said.
‘You’ll be cursing you’re a woman and praying your husband stays away,’ nodded another.
‘Never,’ cried Ellie. ‘I never want Max to stay away. I don’t even like him going out of an evening.’
There were more jokes at her expense, but they were not unkind. Young Ellie Berman had endeared herself to them over the months, once she had stopped giving herself airs. It was common knowledge she had married beneath her, but she didn’t think anyone knew she was Conrad Harvey’s daughter, and certainly not that George Pullman was her godfather. Max had told her never to speak of it.
William was three weeks old when someone completely unexpected knocked on the door. It was a Sunday and Max was out. Thinking it was a neighbour, Ellie merely patted her hair and left her pinafore on, but the caller was a man with sandy-coloured hair and freckled skin whom she had seen just once before. He was of average height and build, broad in the shoulders and slim-hipped. His eyes were the colour of green olives and they widened with admiration as he stared at her.
‘I’d heard my brother-in-law picked himself a peach but I’d thought the tale exaggerated,’ he said. ‘My name’s Oliver Devlin. Can I come in?’
‘Max isn’t here at the moment but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you when he gets back.’ Ellie held the door open for him and he appraised her as he passed. Then he looked around the living room and when he saw William’s cradle he drew an involuntary breath. ‘It
’s brave of you to come here,’ she said gently. ‘This apartment must be full of painful memories.’
‘Max will have told you what happened.’
‘I was here that day. I’d come with Max to visit Katrina. It was so dreadful …’ Reliving the tragedy brought a lump to her throat even now and wisely she didn’t continue. Instead she removed a shawl from Max’s chair. ‘Do sit down, Mr Devlin. Have you seen your little daughter recently?’
‘Galina is being brought up in the Jewish faith by doting grandparents who have shown me the door, just as I believe they did to you. We have much in common.’
‘Do they know that Max has a son?’
‘A friend of his told them.’ Oliver went to the cradle and moved the covers aside. ‘He’s awake. May I pick him up?’
She wasn’t sure what to make of her visitor. He had a way of talking which charmed her, an Irish brogue that caressed every word and gave it warmth. She studied him while he held William, noting that the sandy lashes didn’t hide the way his eyes moved over every item in the room and finally came to rest on herself. He had hardly looked at the child in his arms.
‘You deserve a better place than this to live,’ he said.
‘We’ll move when Max can afford it. I don’t mind as long as we’re together.’
He accepted the offer of coffee and cold meat and bread. While he ate he questioned her about herself and her life before her marriage, about her family and the sacrifices she had made. She found herself telling him how she had suffered through the terrible winter, and how she could never do things right even though she tried so hard.
‘Max obviously doesn’t appreciate you,’ said Oliver sympathetically. ‘I’d give my eye-teeth, so I would, to have a wife as beautiful as you. I’ve been so lonely without Katrina.’
She felt sorry for him, though his glib tongue proved he was not in need of too much sympathy himself, and she preened at the compliment. It was a long time since anyone had commented on her looks.
‘We’re here if you need company,’ she assured him.
‘Thank you — but I came to tell you both that I’m going to Ireland to see my mother and my sister, should anyone be asking after me.’
‘What about Galina?’ Max would be angry if his brother-in-law still intended leaving the child with his mother. ‘Will you be staying away long?’
‘Momma Berman’s happy to keep her. Now, if I could persuade you to come with me to Ireland it’s likely I’d settle for good.’ His eyes were twinkling and the corners of his mouth quirked up.
Ellie blushed crimson. ‘Oliver Devlin, what a thing to say.’
She heard Max’s step on the stairs and was glad. His brother-in-law had great charm, but he had no business flirting with a married woman, and she wished she hadn’t been quite so open in her talk with him. She hoped she hadn’t said anything rash, and it worried her that she might have been unfair to Max. She ran to meet her husband at the door.
‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she cried. ‘Come and see who it is.’
Max was restrained in his welcome. He wanted to know what Oliver had been doing over the past nine months, and the rogue gave evasive answers with such good humour it was easy to think he was being frank.
‘I’ve been doing this and that since the Pullman shops were closed in Detroit. Didn’t fancy coming back here to work.’
Ellie nursed her son in the bedroom and listened, frowning every now and then as a vague sense of unease stole over her.
Oliver left late in the evening, refusing their offer of the sofa to sleep on overnight. When he had gone the room still rang with the lilting Irish voice boasting of recent moneymaking ventures in Philadelphia, which Ellie had found hard to believe. Perhaps if he had shown a desire to have his daughter with him she would have been more convinced, and Max would have been less hostile, but he’d hardly mentioned Galina and she had the feeling that once he was in Ireland the child would be forgotten.
‘I’m suppose I’m glad he came,’ Max said, later. ‘At least he hasn’t cut himself off from us.’
‘I’m glad too, for your sake,’ said Ellie. But it was a long time before the unsettled feeling Oliver had created would go away.
Eight
Max’s sideline, the making of cheap furniture, did well for a while. He’d taken small items to Chicago where a dealer was willing to buy everything he could produce, but it wasn’t long before he discovered that the dealer was making a vast profit while paying next to nothing for the workmanship, and complaint brought an end to the association. There was nothing Max could do about it unless he could start a business of his own, which was impossible without resources and in a recession. But risks had been taken before and great companies had sprung from little more than great ambition.
It was with this in mind that he began investigating the wealth of the Pullman Company through contacts in the finance department. What he discovered shocked and angered him, and for a while his own dreams were shelved. That winter, fifty-two thousand dollars worth of car contracts had been lost and employees’ pay-cuts totalled sixty thousand dollars. Men had been laid off for weeks and some like himself worked on reduced pay, yet the company had added another two million dollars to its surplus funds and stockholders had received eight per cent dividends the same as usual.
The more he delved, the more incensed Max became. He took his findings to Eugene Debs but by then many of the facts were general knowledge and there was talk of action being taken. In the spring, the American Railway Union held meetings at which resolutions were passed to get George Pullman to reduce the fixed rents of Pullman property, to cut the high charges for gas and water, and to restore wages to their former level. All these requests were refused, however, on the grounds that profits were down and the money was needed for the company’s new car-building works. At two meetings between workers and officials it was agreed that the men’s complaints would be looked into, but nothing could be done about wages or rents.
The troubles in his model town affected the health of George Pullman and he retreated to his holiday home at Long Branch, but when talk of a strike became serious he hurried back to Chicago, and on 4 May he went to see for himself what conditions were like in Pullman. After inspecting the workshops he turned his attention to accommodation, and many tenants were surprised to find the great man himself on their doorstep, impeccably dressed in a black suit with silk revers on the jacket and a heavy gold watch-chain across his waistcoat.
On his agenda was a visit to the tenement in Fulton Street where a young woman had lost her life. The tragedy had stayed in his mind and he wanted to see for himself that there was no danger of such a thing happening again. With accompanying officials, he entered the main door of the building and was greeted by the occupants of the ground and middle-floor apartments who followed him with a mixture of awe and aggression. By the time he rang the bell of the Bermans’ home quite a crowd had gathered, filling the landing and the stairway in order to see and hear what transpired. It was not what anyone had expected.
Ellie Berman came to the door, her face flushed and her sleeves rolled up. She looked tired and was obviously unprepared for a visitor, especially one as important as George Pullman, and they felt sorry for her. Her eyes widened. And then, to everyone’s astonishment, she gave a delighted gasp and reached out to touch his arm with extraordinary familiarity.
‘Why, Mr Pullman! Oh my, what a wonderful surprise,’ cried Ellie. ‘I’m so pleased to see you.’
The man appeared to be shaken. He pulled on his beard and it was as if the action made his jaw drop. His eyes flicked over her in bewilderment.
He spoke. ‘My dearest god-daughter, what on earth are you doing here?’
‘It’s my home.’
‘Then why was I told that you had gone to live in New York with Frederick and his family almost a year ago? Surely I had a right to the truth from your father! Have I not always taken my duty towards you seriously?’
<
br /> ‘Dear Mr Pullman, of course you have.’
‘This can’t go on. You can’t continue living like this. Where is your husband?’
‘Max is at work in the upholstery shop.’
‘I must arrange for you to have a proper house for a start,’ George Pullman went on. ‘Had I known …’
‘Please, please — come inside.’ Ellie Berman became aware of the silent witnesses to this most unexpected meeting and she interrupted quickly. ‘You must see my baby, and I want to hear everything that Florence has been doing.’
To everyone’s disappointment the door closed on any further revelations. There followed a murmur of speculation. Of course, no one heard Ellie telling her godfather that her husband had adamantly refused to let her contact him and would never countenance favouritism of any kind whatsoever.
*
It wouldn’t have been possible to keep George Pullman’s visit a secret from Max even if Ellie had wanted to. It was the talk of the town, and in the block-houses word had travelled fast to every family on a fierce wind of gossip, so he already knew of it before he arrived home.
‘I’ve never been so surprised,’ Ellie said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. It had been such a joy to see someone who was almost family. ‘And do you know, Mr Pullman thought I was in New York with Frederick and Henrietta. Fancy Papa telling such a lie!’
‘Why did he come here of all places?’
‘He remembered the fire. I thought it was very kind of him. Oh, I was so pleased to see him, and he was very taken with William.’
‘Do you swear you accepted nothing from him?’ Max said urgently.
She was indignant. ‘Of course I didn’t!’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I wish he’d gone to any other place but this.’
‘Max Berman, I hope I’m an obedient wife. Why don’t you trust me?’
‘I do …’
‘Then please don’t question my good sense. We could have been given one of the best houses in Pullman, and you could have been elevated to a high position in the company just because you’re married to me. I refused everything.’