Charlotte clutched her waist and stifled a gasp. The passage struck like a sharp blow to the midsection. Did Mrs. Priddle know about the baby she’d left in Pullman? Is that why the gray-haired matriarch had chosen to read from the book of Isaiah? While Mrs. Priddle continued reading, Charlotte studied the older woman’s every move. If Mrs. Priddle knew Charlotte had a son, she’d given no indication. She didn’t lift her eyes from the Bible for even a scant peek in Charlotte’s direction. No. There was no possible way Mrs. Priddle could know about Morgan. Yet why had she chosen to read from the book of Isaiah this week when only last month she’d told them they were going to study the entire book of Matthew before selecting a book from the Old Testament?
Mrs. Priddle preferred to move back and forth—a book from the Old Testament, then a book from the New Testament. She said it gave balance to their studies. Charlotte didn’t know about balance, but she preferred the New Testament, maybe because she didn’t like the harshness found in the Old Testament. There were all those plagues, and the passages that told of God’s retribution made her very uncomfortable. They reminded her too much of the sin in her own life. Not that the New Testament didn’t reveal her sin, too. But Jesus was in the New Testament, and she’d much rather study about Him and about forgiveness and grace.
Still, the question remained: Why had Mrs. Priddle ceased their study of Matthew and selected the book of Isaiah? Because God knows your secret.
Her heart pounded against her chest in a rapid cadence. Surely everyone in the room could hear the hollow thumps. But no one turned in her direction, not even Mrs. Priddle. The remaining Scripture and the discussion that followed passed in a fog. She didn’t hear a word. Her only thought was to flee the room.
Had Mrs. Priddle changed her schedule at God’s direction? Because He knew about her past and wanted her to understand that He knew? That didn’t make any sense. Her thoughts had now become as incoherent and confused as her life.
The moment Mrs. Priddle closed her Bible and indicated the study had ended, Charlotte jumped to her feet and excused herself. ‘‘If you have no objection, Mrs. Priddle, I have a busy schedule tomorrow and would like to retire early.’’ Charlotte noted Fiona’s sad eyes, but even the young girl’s desire to learn another tune on the piano couldn’t deter Charlotte this evening.
Mrs. Priddle waved toward the stairway. ‘‘Go along, my dear. Do be quiet so you don’t waken Sadie.’’
Before Mrs. Priddle could change her mind, Charlotte raced up the steps. The baby’s soft snores rose and dropped in quiet rhythm while Charlotte quickly donned her nightgown. Though the room was stifling, she pulled the sheet over her head, the method she’d adopted as a child when attempting to hide from her mother or nursemaid. But a thin cotton sheet hadn’t concealed her from her mother, and it didn’t hide her from God, either. I know you, Charlotte, and I know what you have done.
In her sweltering white-sheeted cocoon, Charlotte accepted the fact that God had knowledge of every sin she’d ever committed. But surely there must be mortals guilty of more significant transgressions than her own. Why would God consider her a choice for His attention? Because I love you.
She lowered the sheet from her head and wiped the beading perspiration now dotting her upper lip and forehead. How could God love her? Unlike Ruth, whose husband had run off, Charlotte had given birth to a child out of wedlock. Even worse, she’d run off like a thief in the night, leaving her infant behind. What kind of woman committed such atrocities? Certainly not one that God could love. She had attempted to mend her ways. Each week she deposited her wages in the Priddle House coffers. Even Mrs. Priddle admitted they couldn’t get along without her financial contributions. And there was Fiona. The old Charlotte would have completely ignored Fiona, even considered her an outright nuisance. The new Charlotte had shown compassion and love. She had done her utmost to nurture the girl. During her stay at Priddle House, Charlotte had worked with diligence to erase the sins of her past. Wasn’t that enough? Why must she endure these feelings of guilt?
She tossed and turned in the heat of the room but pretended to be asleep when Ruth and Fiona came upstairs later in the evening. She didn’t want to talk. Her thoughts were enough to contend with this night.
————
Although none of her customers could have found fault with her service the next day, Charlotte’s thoughts didn’t stray far from the Scripture she’d heard the previous night. Whether selecting an exquisite Persian cashmere shawl for the wife of a wealthy businessman or offering condolences to a grieving widow while locating black mourning attire, Charlotte’s guilt continued to nag at her. If only Mrs. Priddle had selected some other passage to study.
A knock at her office door halted any further thought of Mrs. Priddle. A beautiful young woman, escorted by Mr. Field, entered the room. Charlotte pushed away from her desk, but Mr. Field waved for her to remain seated. ‘‘I’ve brought someone who needs your assistance, Miss Spencer.’’
The woman looked vaguely familiar. Likely someone she had observed shopping in the more-expensive fur or dress salon. From her jewelry and attire, there was no doubt the young woman had either been born or married into wealth. She smiled demurely and sat down in one of the velvet-covered chairs across the desk from Charlotte.
Without fanfare Mr. Field sat down in the matching chair. ‘‘May I introduce Lady Eugenia of—’’
‘‘Birmingham.’’
Mr. Field’s eyebrows raised several notches on his forehead, and Eugenia slanted a narrow gaze in her direction. ‘‘Have we met?’’
What had she done? ‘‘I believe one of the clerks may have mentioned that your mother visited the store earlier in the week, saying she possessed exquisite taste in lace and fabric. Am I remembering correctly?’’ Charlotte had personally observed the Countess of Heathbrier purchasing the items last week, but she had been careful to avoid the woman. Though their families had seldom attended the same social functions back in England, there were events of court at which they saw one another. And the Countess of Heathbrier would recognize Charlotte. Lady Eugenia was younger than Charlotte by at least six years, and the two of them hadn’t seen each other for years.
Eugenia’s shoulders relaxed. ‘‘Oh yes. Mother was quite pleased with her purchases. And that day proved delightful for me, as well. With Mother away for the afternoon, I was able to stroll the Midway, and I even rode the Ferris wheel.’’ She batted her lashes at Mr. Field. ‘‘Don’t you dare tell on me. Mother would likely swoon if she knew I’d been walking the Midway Plaisance unaccompanied.’’
He touched his index finger to his lips. ‘‘Your secret is safe.’’
‘‘What a magnificent ride! Have you been?’’ She glanced back and forth between Charlotte and Mr. Field.
When both of them indicated they’d not had the pleasure, the young woman scooted to the edge of her chair and, with a burst of excitement, insisted upon relaying the many details. Charlotte didn’t think Mr. Field appeared overly enthralled with the topic, but she commented in the appropriate places and did her best to focus upon Eugenia’s commentary.
When the girl stopped talking long enough to catch a breath, Charlotte seized the moment. ‘‘And how may I be of assistance to you with your shopping experience, Lady Eugenia?’’
Eugenia was surprisingly silent for a moment. Charlotte wondered if the girl even remembered why she’d come seeking her assistance.
It was Mr. Field who came to Eugenia’s rescue. ‘‘Lady Eugenia is in need of a gift for a dear friend who will soon marry.’’
Eugenia beamed. ‘‘Quite right, Mr. Field.’’
Mr. Field nodded toward Charlotte. ‘‘I’m going to return to my duties, and I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Miss Spencer.’’
Before either of the women could offer an objection, he strode from the room. Not that Charlotte could blame him. She’d like to escape the chattering young woman, too. She eyed Eugenia and wondered if she’d ever been as self-indu
lgent and carefree as this young woman. Of course she had. Before she’d met Randolph Morgan, she’d been a silly twit of a girl. She picked up a pad.
‘‘You’re from England, Miss Spencer?’’ Eugenia folded her hands in her lap and stared across the desk.
Charlotte pushed away from her desk and stood. ‘‘I was born in England, but Chicago is now my home.’’ She strode across the room with a determined step and held the door open for the younger woman. ‘‘Shall we?’’ Charlotte waited until Eugenia crossed the threshold and then closed the door. ‘‘Do you have some idea what your friend might enjoy? Shall we look in the clothing department, or do you think a lovely piece of jewelry or perhaps some crystal would better suit her?’’
Eugenia continued to stare at her with an intensity that had become increasingly uncomfortable. ‘‘Are you perchance related to the Earl and Countess of Lanshire? Their surname is Spencer. You somewhat resemble the countess.’’
A quivering sensation settled in the pit of Charlotte’s stomach. ‘‘I’m flattered by the comparison, but I doubt you’d find a relative of nobility working in Chicago.’’
Eugenia placed her fingertips over her mouth and giggled. ‘‘How silly of me.’’ Yet her brows knit into a frown as she continued to stare at Charlotte. ‘‘But there is a definite resemblance. I’m certain my mother would agree. It’s a shame we’re departing for home in the morning. Otherwise, I’d insist Mother come in and meet you. I know she’d concur.’’
Charlotte’s stomach settled at the news. ‘‘I do hope you’ll have a safe journey. Now, about the gift?’’
Eugenia sauntered through the crystal department, looking at several vases and an array of stemware. Up and down the aisle, again and again. The girl was completely indecisive. Each time Charlotte attempted to steer her toward another department, she’d wave a finger and pick up yet another vase or candy dish. When Charlotte had finally marched back and forth as many times as she could possibly withstand, she clutched Eugenia’s arm. ‘‘If your friend were purchasing a gift for you, what would you like to receive?’’
Eugenia giggled. ‘‘I would prefer something for myself. A scarf, gloves, or—’’
‘‘What about an evening bag? We have some particularly lovely arrivals that I’m certain would please your friend.’’
‘‘Oh yes!’’ The girl clapped her hands together like a small child. ‘‘Where are they?’’
‘‘If you’ll follow me.’’ With a slight wave, Charlotte led the way.
The girl’s incessant chattering continued until they came to a halt in the accessories department. Mrs. Jenkins was busy tying and arranging silk scarves in a lovely display but hurried forward to greet Charlotte. ‘‘May I be of assistance, Miss Spencer?’’ Thankfully, Mrs. Jenkins hadn’t addressed her as Charlotte. Eugenia wouldn’t be deterred if she discovered Charlotte’s name an exact match with that of the Earl and Countess of Lanshire’s daughter. Scheduled departure or not, the girl would return with her mother in tow. And there would be no deceiving the countess.
‘‘Mrs. Jenkins, this is Lady Eugenia. She is seeking a gift for a dear friend and has decided an evening bag would please her. I mentioned we’ve had some lovely selections this season.’’
The evening bag proved a success, and the purchase was completed in record time. Charlotte sighed with relief and headed toward her office. The fear of being discovered had served to momentarily assuage her guilt, but when a mother carrying a tiny baby passed by, the feeling returned with a vengeance. Perhaps if she talked to Mrs. Priddle . . . No! How could someone such as Mrs. Priddle ever understand? The perfect little woman would be horrified beyond repair.
Yet could she continue to plod through life with this mantle of guilt weighing her down? If she could be assured that Morgan was flourishing and doing well without her, perhaps that would help. She ripped a sheet of paper from her notepad and considered the idea. She should offer financial assistance! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? With the increased allowance from Mrs. Priddle, she could send money for Morgan’s care. She could arrange to send the funds each week. Her burden seemed lighter now that she’d developed a plan.
Mr. Field appeared in her office doorway holding his ivory walking stick in one hand and black homburg in the other. ‘‘I trust you were able to assist Lady Eugenia?’’
‘‘Yes. She settled on a lovely evening bag for her friend—and one for herself, as well.’’
‘‘Excellent. I was certain you could help her make the proper choice.’’
‘‘Mr. Field.’’ Charlotte summoned her courage. ‘‘May I request a slight change in schedule?’’
He arched his brows. ‘‘Exactly what do you have in mind?’’
‘‘I’d like to leave two hours earlier than usual today. I don’t have any appointments scheduled. And I’d be willing to have you decrease my wages for the time away from work. Or if you prefer, I could come in early or forego my lunch breaks.’’
‘‘If you don’t have scheduled appointments, I suppose I could permit a change this one time. You may come in an hour earlier than usual the next two days in order to make up the time. But don’t spread word to the other employees. I don’t want to make this a practice. If anyone asks, say you’ll be away on business. Don’t elaborate!’’
‘‘I won’t. And thank you so much, Mr. Field.’’
He saluted with two fingers and marched off without a reply. She glanced at the clock and then checked the contents of her purse while silently chiding herself. She counted out the coins and sighed with relief. Although she’d have only a few cents to spare, there was enough to cover a round-trip ticket to Pullman.
Once her decision was made, Charlotte completed her paper work, walked through each department, and visited with the supervisors. She returned to her office in time to collect her belongings and post a message on the door indicating that she had departed for the remainder of the day—on business. She passed through the aisles of fabric and was nearing the front door when she glanced up and froze in place. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The Countess of Heathbrier and Lady Eugenia had entered the store and were turning toward the fabric section, obviously headed toward the elevator for a visit in her office. Charlotte veered to the left, passed through the footwear section, and made a hasty retreat out the rear doors. She stopped long enough to catch her breath and utter a prayer of thanks that Eugenia would fail in her attempt. She hoped the mother and daughter would depart on schedule tomorrow.
The two women haunted her thoughts as she rode the train to Pullman. With many visitors arriving from abroad to attend the Columbian Exposition, she should have been prepared for such a circumstance. Yet how did one plan for something like this? She could do little to prevent the possibility of being discovered. There were some things in life for which one couldn’t be prepared, she decided as the train neared Pullman.
Charlotte stepped off the train and entered the familiar depot, hesitating only a moment before walking out the door. Her palms turned sweaty as she crossed the street and slowed her gait. Children played in the park while their mothers sat on benches visiting with one another. She crossed to the opposite side of the street. She hadn’t made many acquaintances while living in Pullman, but one of the ladies from church might recognize her. She wouldn’t take that chance. She’d come for only one reason: to check on Morgan’s welfare.
She turned onto Watt Avenue and gathered her courage before advancing up the front steps. Through the screen door, she could hear sounds of a baby. She stepped to the window and peered inside. Morgan! How he had grown during these past months. Her heart swelled at the sight of him. His hair had turned blond, and his cheeks had grown round and plump. She stepped inside, careful to be quiet, for she didn’t want to startle him. The baby sat on the floor playing and gazed upward when she entered. He smiled, his chubby cheeks pink from the afternoon’s warmth.
Charlotte stooped down beside him. ‘‘Hello, Morgan. You don’t remember me, but
—’’
Without warning, a buxom woman with hair flying in all directions rounded the corner, stopped, and shrieked. Charlotte lost her balance and fell backward while the baby sniffled and then wailed with alarming gusto. With an accusatory glare, Charlotte regained her balance. ‘‘Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made him cry. And who are you?’’
The woman glared in return. ‘‘Who am I? Who are you, and what are you doing in my house playing with my little girl?’’
‘‘Your baby? This flat belongs to Olivia Mott and—’’ She stopped short. ‘‘Girl?’’
The woman leaned down and lifted the child from off the blanket. ‘‘Yes. This is my little Dorrie. And you’re needing to be changed, aren’t ya?’’ she cooed at the child. Her eyes turned cold as she glared at Charlotte. ‘‘You haven’t said what you’re doing in my house.’’
‘‘I’m acquainted with Olivia Mott. I stopped by to see her.’’
‘‘Well, you could have knocked, you know.’’ The woman’s features softened as she leaned down to change the infant’s diaper. ‘‘Miss Mott moved out of here a long time ago. She’s living in a place over near the hotel somewhere. I’m not sure where, but if you stop by Hotel Florence, they could give you her address. You may even find her at work.’’
Charlotte backed down the hall and out the front door while offering her profuse apologies.
She stumbled down the front steps and was nearing the corner when Mrs. Rice charged toward her. ‘‘So you’ve finally returned, have you? What kind of a woman are you to take off and leave your baby in my care, never giving a second thought to anyone other than yourself?’’
Charlotte attempted to sidestep Mrs. Rice, but she immediately extended her folded umbrella and blocked Charlotte’s path. ‘‘I don’t want to argue, Mrs. Rice. Please move your umbrella.’’
Mrs. Rice bent forward from the waist and shook her finger beneath Charlotte’s nose. ‘‘You’re an evil woman, leaving your baby with no one to care for him. Now you return! Now that your baby is gone and you don’t have to care for him. God metes out special judgment upon women like you.’’
Whispers Along the Rails Page 25