‘‘In this hotel, word travels quickly. But you have our wonderful Mr. Beelings to thank for your lovely new home. He suggested the possibility to Mr. Howard, who then spoke with his next-door neighbor. You see? Even Mr. Beelings has detected Mr. Howard’s interest in you.’’ Chef René whisked the eggs he had cracked into the bowl and poured them into a sizzling skillet of melted butter. He set the empty crock on the worktable. ‘‘Don’t be discouraged. You are young and naïve when it comes to men.’’
Naïve? She’d admit to her inexperienced behavior in England and even in the first few months after she’d arrived in America. But after that, she’d outgrown her innocence. At least she thought she had. Obviously not.
The remainder of the day passed without incident. Mr. Howard didn’t appear, and she managed to avoid Mr. Billings. She’d not be thanking the hotel manager for prying into her private business. He no doubt hoped to gain a stronger foothold with Mr. Howard and the company with his snooping. She wondered if Mr. Howard frequently amassed information on company employees from their higher-ranking counterparts. She shivered at the thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY
After work, Olivia stopped at home only long enough to pen a note to Fred before hurrying to the DeVault residence. She was certain tonight’s supper would be more enjoyable than last night’s dinner with Mr. Howard. Passing the park, she captured a glimpse of a young mother pushing her baby in a carriage. The scene stirred feelings of loss for little Morgan. Perhaps moving out of the flat would help ease the pain of the baby’s departure.
Olivia watched as the woman leaned over the baby carriage, and she wondered if Charlotte missed Morgan. Each day she hoped to receive a letter from the young woman, but each day she was disappointed. At times it felt as though Charlotte’s existence in Pullman had been no more than a fleeting dream. Yet Olivia’s longing for Morgan remained very real.
Mrs. DeVault pulled open the front door and greeted her with a smile. ‘‘I thought you might have forgotten.’’
‘‘No. I stopped at home for a few minutes. I hope my tardiness didn’t ruin your supper, but I wanted to write a note for Fred.’’ She withdrew the envelope from her skirt pocket. ‘‘Would you give this to him?’’
Mrs. DeVault winked as she accepted the letter. ‘‘I’ll put it on the table so that he’ll see it the minute he gets home.’’ She took Olivia’s cape and hat and hung them in the hallway.
‘‘I’ve invited him to spend Sunday afternoon and evening with me. I didn’t know if he’d be attending church after working so late.’’
‘‘He’ll be at church, and if I catch him dropping off to sleep during the sermon, I’ll flick him like I used to when he was a little boy.’’ She laughed and snapped at the air with her thumb and index finger. ‘‘Albert won’t be joining us for the evening meal. He’s taken Martha to the Arcade for supper. Said he had a surprise for her.’’
Olivia perked to attention. Surely Mr. Howard hadn’t already located a new position for her cousin. ‘‘Did he confide in you?’’
‘‘Do you think I’d let him out the door before discovering such information?’’ She laughed and waved Olivia toward the kitchen. ‘‘He received a promotion today. A new job with a nice raise in pay, too.’’ She tipped her head close. ‘‘He’s going to ask Martha to marry him.’’ She squeezed her shoulders forward and rubbed her hands with delight. ‘‘Isn’t that wonderful news? Now you mustn’t let on I’ve told.’’
‘‘I’m very pleased for both of them. I’m sure Martha will be surprised.’’ But her words were stilted, and she was unable to force any genuine joy into her voice. Fortunately, Mrs. DeVault was so excited she seemed not to notice.
‘‘Now I’m praying Fred will come home and tell me that he has been promoted to another position, too. Wouldn’t that make for a memorable day?’’
Olivia wanted to tell Mrs. DeVault not to get her hopes up, because Fred would receive neither a new position nor a raise. Instead, she simply agreed. She didn’t want to admit she’d played a role in Albert’s success while she’d likely doomed Fred’s career.
While Mrs. DeVault filled their bowls with thick beef stew, Olivia sliced the loaf of fresh bread and voiced a topic she’d been wanting to discuss. ‘‘Could I ask you a question about praying, Mrs. DeVault?’’
‘‘Why, of course. I don’t profess to have all the answers, but I’ll do my best.’’
Olivia summarized her thoughts about the many differing prayers she’d heard people offer. She didn’t want Mrs. DeVault to think her question foolish. ‘‘Do you think God hears all of our prayers, or only the ones that sound genuine?’’
‘‘Come and sit down at the table. We can talk while we eat our supper—after we pray.’’ Once she’d offered thanks for their meal, the older woman raised her head and motioned for Olivia to eat. ‘‘You know, the Pharisees’ prayers consisted of beautiful words that sounded genuine, and they could quote the Scriptures word for word, yet the Bible says they were condemned to hell. Prayer isn’t about sounding good to other people, Olivia. It’s about what’s in your heart. Even when the words won’t come, God knows your heart. What sounds pitiful to mankind may be amazingly beautiful to God’s ears.’’ She picked up a piece of bread and spread it with butter. ‘‘Have I answered your question?’’
‘‘Yes, but I have another.’’ Olivia enjoyed another bite of stew before continuing her query. She pointed her fork toward the bowl. ‘‘This is delicious.’’ She almost didn’t want to stop long enough to ask her question. ‘‘You told me that if we repent of a wrongdoing and ask for God’s forgiveness, then we’re forgiven.’’
‘‘That’s correct.’’ Mrs. DeVault sipped her coffee.
‘‘When someone is a Christian and has been wronged, must that person forgive the one who wronged him?’’ Olivia held her breath while she awaited the answer. Fred professed to be a Christian. She hoped he would forgive her if he discovered she’d discussed upgrading his job with Mr. Howard.
Mrs. DeVault lifted her napkin and wiped the corner of her mouth while seeming to contemplate her answer. ‘‘As Christians, we are supposed to forgive. Yet even for Christians, forgiveness can be difficult and sometimes doesn’t come quickly or easily. If a wound is deep, it can take a long time to heal. Likewise, if we cause profound pain to another, we can’t expect immediate forgiveness. You could say that’s one of the consequences of sin in our lives.’’
‘‘What if we go to the person and admit what we’ve done? Do you think they would more readily forgive the offense?’’
‘‘Possibly. There’s no way to be certain. But I think it best we admit our shortcomings, both to God and to the person we’ve offended.’’ The older woman’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘Have you been studying your Bible, Olivia? Is that what has caused these questions?’’
Olivia wished she could say she’d been reading her Bible every day, but some nights she fell into bed too weary to read. Sometimes she even fell asleep while praying, though she didn’t want to make that admission. Mrs. DeVault would likely never fall asleep while conversing with God Almighty. ‘‘Not as much as I should,’’ she admitted. ‘‘Sometimes I don’t find enough hours in the day.’’
‘‘Perhaps you could rise a few minutes earlier in the morning? I’m often too weary at night. I fall asleep if I read at bedtime. Years ago I discovered I enjoyed the quiet of the morning for my Bible reading. Try it and see.’’ She offered an encouraging smile. ‘‘Is there someone you need to forgive, Olivia?’’
Offhand, she could think of any number of people she needed to forgive: her father, Chef Mallard, Charlotte. The list could go on and on, for she harbored resentment against more people than she cared to admit. And there were any number of people she’d deceived with her lies. However, she was more concerned about being forgiven than forgiving others. The thought fluttered through her mind and then returned with a gentle nudge. ‘‘There are many people I need to forgive, Mrs. DeVault.’’
&nbs
p; The older woman scooped up their bowls and silverware. ‘‘Well, there’s no time like the present. That’s what Mr. DeVault used to tell me all the time.’’ She grinned. ‘‘I always found it an annoying comment.’’
Olivia giggled.
‘‘Believe me, Olivia, you’ll know when the time is right for you to forgive each of those people. God will give you a little nudge.’’ She laughed. ‘‘Sometimes He has to give me a big push.’’
Olivia thought Mrs. DeVault must be joking, for she couldn’t imagine the woman would ever withhold her mercy. At least she hoped not. If someone like Mrs. DeVault had difficulty with forgiveness, she wondered about others—particularly Fred. The multitude of fabrications that Olivia had extolled as truth marched through her mind like an endless parade. Could he possibly forgive her all those untruths? The thought was daunting. She doubted his forgiveness would come easily. For the present, she’d continue to live as though those lies were her truth. She didn’t want to chance losing Fred.
Mrs. DeVault tapped her finger on the table. ‘‘I want a full report on your search for a new place to live. You’ve not mentioned one word. Do tell me if you found something suitable.’’
Olivia would have preferred to keep the news to herself, but she couldn’t deny the older woman’s eager request. First she elicited a promise of secrecy. ‘‘I want to be the one to tell Fred. Please don’t say anything to him or to Albert. Please?’’
‘‘It’s your news, my dear. I won’t breathe a word.’’ After pouring herself another cup of coffee, Mrs. DeVault leaned back in her chair and rubbed her hands together. ‘‘Now, let me hear all the details.’’
A couple of days later one of the kitchen boys clattered into the kitchen and pointed a thumb toward the hallway. ‘‘Miss Mott! Mr. Howard wants to see you in Chef René ’s office.’’
Chef René approached and tipped his head. With his lips close to Olivia’s ear, he whispered, ‘‘He probably has another yellow rose for his friend.’’
A smile broke across her face, and they laughed until tears trickled down Olivia’s cheeks. The kitchen boy frowned and tugged on the sleeve of her jacket, his concern evident. ‘‘I think he wants you to go now.’’ The boy obviously feared he’d be accused of dallying if she didn’t soon make an appearance in the office. Gratefully she accepted the handkerchief Chef René offered and wiped her damp cheeks. Waving the white handkerchief like a flag, she marched out of the kitchen.
She might need to warn Mr. Howard that all of his ‘‘invitations’’ were beginning to cause gossip among the hotel staff. Somehow she hoped to put an end to these private meetings during work hours.
The office door was open, and he motioned her forward. Always the gentleman, he stood as she entered. ‘‘Do sit down.’’ He closed the door before returning to his chair. ‘‘Since you no longer are responsible for the care of young Morgan, I believe I have a bit of good news. A proposal of sorts.’’ He rubbed his hands together as though warming them over a fire.
Proposal? Surely he wasn’t going to ask her to marry him again. As far as Olivia was concerned, the reasoning for such a marriage had departed with the earl and countess. She nibbled her lower lip. ‘‘What type of offer?’’
‘‘I’m proposing that you accept a position that will permit you the opportunity to travel, yet you’ll remain the assistant chef at the hotel and continue your duties when you’re in Pullman.’’
Her eyebrows puckered. She thought Chef René had been pleased with her performance. Only this morning he had complimented her. ‘‘I don’t understand. I’m happy with my position in the kitchen. Has Chef René voiced displeasure with me?’’
He rested his arms on the top of Chef René ’s desk. ‘‘Not at all. It’s your fine ability that leads me to offer you the new position. It would entail traveling in the Pullman cars. You would be evaluating the performance of our chefs, waiters, porters, and other employees working in Mr. Pullman’s railcars.’’
She inhaled deeply, confused by the proposal. ‘‘Why would you offer me such a position? I’m not qualified to assess the work of those employees. I don’t even know what their jobs entail.’’ Outside of his marriage proposal, this was the most ludicrous thing he’d said to her since they’d first met. ‘‘I don’t understand why I can’t remain in the hotel kitchen.’’
He leaned forward and grasped her hand. ‘‘You can. However, this is an opportunity for advancement within the company, and Mr. Pullman believes you would be the perfect candidate.’’
Mr. Pullman? Could she possibly refuse if he had suggested her for the position? ‘‘I believe I need time to consider the idea. Is that possible?’’
‘‘Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to make an immediate decision. It’s always best to carefully consider decisions that will affect one’s future employment with the company.’’ Placing his palms on the desk, he pushed himself upright. ‘‘You take all the time you need.’’
Bewildered by the offer, she thanked him and walked out of the office in a daze. She walked headlong into Chef René as she entered the kitchen. He took hold of her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘‘You appear bewildered, Miss Mott. Did Mr. Howard request your hand in marriage?’’
Stunned, she shook her head. ‘‘No. He offered me a job.’’
‘‘What?’’ His question thundered throughout the kitchen, and all work came to a halt. He waved to the kitchen staff. ‘‘Get back about your work! Miss Mott, follow me!’’ He led her into the carving room instead of heading off toward his office.
She sighed, grateful she’d not be a witness to any discussions between Mr. Howard and Chef René . He closed the pocket door and placed his hands on his hips. ‘‘What is this about a job? You are unhappy in my kitchen?’’
‘‘No, of course not.’’ There was barely enough room for the two of them in the small room—especially given the chef ’s rotund form. The heat from the warming ovens engulfed the room, and Olivia longed for a breath of cool air.
‘‘Then what is this foolishness about a job?’’
While she explained as succinctly as possible, the damp heat inside the room seemed to wilt her in both body and spirit, and her explanation wasn’t nearly as clear as she’d intended. The chef questioned her at length. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away the beads of perspiration forming along her forehead and upper lip. Taking her cue, Chef René opened the door, but only a crack. A breath of air entered the room, and she longed to throw the door wide open. ‘‘I wonder if this is what hell must be like.’’ She muttered the words under her breath. The chef arched his brows.
‘‘I believe hell will be much hotter than this carving room, Miss Mott. Now, then, I can see that there may be an excellent opportunity for you in this job you’ve been offered. However, I must first talk to Mr. Howard. If you agree to take the position, I do not want him sending you off during the busy season. And not for long periods of time.’’
His agreement surprised Olivia. ‘‘Then you think I should accept the position?’’
‘‘I think you should consider it carefully. When an offer comes directly from Mr. Pullman, it should be declined only if there is significant reason.’’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘‘That is my opinion.’’
She doubted any of them would consider her interest in Fred a significant reason. Though she didn’t want to be away from him or give up her work with Chef René , the idea of refusing Mr. Pullman’s offer was a fearsome one. This matter would take a great deal of thought—and prayer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Olivia could barely wait to arrive at Mrs. DeVault’s the following evening. All day she’d been anxious for quitting time. Even Chef René had noticed her eyeing the clock and had accused her of lackadaisical performance when she’d forgotten to instruct the kitchen boys to heat the metal covers for the soufflés. Consequently, two of the soufflés had collapsed in the short distance between the hot closet in the carving room and the customer
s’ table. Chef René had insisted she go into the dining room and offer her apologies. Fortunately, the guests, both women who understood the difficulty of soufflé preparation, agreed to accept alternate selections, along with a downward adjustment to their check. Mr. Billings would likely suggest they deduct the amount from her pay, but at least the women hadn’t been unkind.
As she rounded the final corner, the brisk November wind slapped at her skirt. She gathered her cloak against the biting chill and bowed her head, grateful she had only a half block more to walk. Mrs. DeVault wouldn’t worry about her arrival this evening. She’d departed work on time and hadn’t stopped at home, her anticipation being too high. If there wasn’t some response from Fred awaiting her, she’d try to hide her disappointment.
She knocked and immediately opened the door. Mrs. DeVault had given her instructions to simply walk in, but she couldn’t bring herself to act in such a bold manner. ‘‘It’s Olivia, Mrs. DeVault.’’
The older woman peeked around the door at the end of the hallway. ‘‘Hang up your wraps and come join me in the kitchen.’’
The older woman’s cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Olivia imagined her own were pink from the brisk weather. ‘‘Um, it smells wonderful.’’
Mrs. DeVault lifted the lid from a kettle and spooned dollops of dough into the boiling broth. ‘‘Chicken and dumplings for supper. Good hearty food—not fancy like you can make, but it sticks to your ribs.’’
‘‘And tastes as good as what we make at the hotel.’’
The older woman beamed at the praise. ‘‘There’s a note from Fred on the dining room table. He said to be sure I gave it to you this evening.’’
Olivia’s attempt to act nonchalant failed. In her hurry to retrieve the missive, she tripped over her feet and nearly landed face first on the floor. Fortunately she managed to get hold of the doorjamb and remain upright, preserving a modicum of aplomb, although her feet continued to skitter as though she’d stepped upon a sheet of ice. Thankfully, Mrs. DeVault didn’t laugh at the spectacle she’d made of herself.
In the Company of Secrets Page 27