Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  Mr. Ashton’s rich baritone laugh resonated in the warm afternoon breeze. ‘‘You are an astute young lady, Miss Mott. I thought perhaps you and Matthew might enjoy some time alone while I visit with Fred and Ellen.’’

  Fred nodded. ‘‘Of course.’’ He patted Mr. Clayborn on the shoulder. ‘‘You and Olivia go on without us.’’

  Olivia folded her arms across her waist and frowned. ‘‘But we were going to visit the Pullman exhibits.’’

  ‘‘I can see them another time, Olivia. When you’ve completed your tour, Ellen and I will meet you out here, and the four of us will go to supper.’’

  As easily as that, she had been dismissed. Olivia took Mr. Clayborn’s arm and walked toward the beckoning golden arch of the Transportation Building. Well, so be it. She and Mr. Clayborn would tour the exhibits, and she would enjoy every one of them.

  ————

  Fred watched Olivia and Matthew walk away. There was little doubt he’d offended her. He hadn’t wanted to, but his talk with Mr. Ashton must be private. Telling her of his plans in advance would be foolhardy. The slightest slip of the tongue could alert others. He wanted to mend their relationship, but he couldn’t take unnecessary chances.

  Mr. Ashton walked alongside Fred as they sauntered past the Transportation Building. ‘‘What’s so important that we needed to meet today, Fred?’’

  ‘‘I think we’ve made genuine progress in gaining enough men who are willing to join the union and strike.’’ He made the announcement with whispered bravado.

  Mr. Ashton stopped in his tracks. ‘‘That’s good to hear, Fred. However, the eyes of the world are on Chicago right now. The last thing we want to do is get everyone riled up during the Exposition. We had enough naysayers who said Chicago wasn’t a fit city for the fair. We want to achieve our goal, but not at the expense of the city as a whole.’’ His bushy eyebrows knit in concern. ‘‘We want change to come, but we don’t want to embarrass the United States. We want the country on our side when we finally make our move.’’

  Fred nodded. ‘‘I understand the wisdom of what you’re saying.’’

  ‘‘Why don’t you give Fred some specific directions, Father? What should he tell the workers if they become restless with simply waiting?’’ Ellen collapsed her parasol and looped the umbrella’s tasseled cord around her wrist.

  Mr. Ashton ran his fingers through his thick white hair. ‘‘You must tell the men that you’ve thought this over, and although valid grievances exist against the company, this isn’t the proper time to make a move. Perhaps shortly after the Exposition closes, but not before then. Have you gained enough trust that they’ll listen to you?’’

  ‘‘I think so. Some of them are anxious to strike right now, while others are fearful. I believe I can convince them we must wait.’’ He spoke with more certainty than he felt. While most of the men would be relieved, there were some who would resist— the very men he counted on to convince the unenthusiastic workers a strike was necessary.

  ‘‘I like you, Fred. You’re dedicated to the cause, and I believe you’ll have no trouble convincing the men what is best.’’ Mr. Ashton slapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘You might advise the men to begin saving their money so they’ll be prepared in the event of a future strike. Tell them you’re acting as our liaison, and we’ll do our best to keep them advised.’’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Chicago, Illinois

  Late July 1893

  Following the evening meal, the residents of Priddle House took their usual places in the parlor. Since her encounter with Mrs. Rice in Pullman, Charlotte had done her utmost to keep up appearances. She assisted customers with her usual zeal, listened to department supervisors’ suggestions and offered ideas, completed paper work in her usual timely fashion, helped Fiona with her schoolwork and piano lessons, and attended the nightly Bible studies and weekly church services—all with a forced smile and an aching heart. This evening she longed to be alone with her thoughts.

  Mrs. Priddle had taken her chair in the parlor and was preparing for their nightly Bible study. Charlotte gazed at the woman with her hands folded in her lap and her clear blue eyes shining with serenity. Only a halo was needed to complete the picture. God surely must be pleased with Mrs. Priddle.

  ‘‘If you have no objection, Mrs. Priddle, I believe I’ll go upstairs and rest.’’ Charlotte avoided looking directly into the woman’s piercing gaze.

  The older woman shook her head. ‘‘We all grow weary from time to time, Charlotte. You’ll be fine once we get started.’’ She motioned toward the piano as the others began to filter into the room. ‘‘Go and play for us, Charlotte.’’

  Fiona perched beside her at the piano and watched intently while Charlotte’s fingers slid over the ivory keys. When she’d struck the final chords of the last hymn, the two of them took their usual places on the divan. While Mrs. Priddle gave the Bible lesson, Charlotte’s mind wandered, her thoughts a jumble of scattered vague memories, a self-reflection and condemnation of her life. Mrs. Priddle said God loved her, but how could He love someone so selfish? All her life Charlotte had done what pleased herself; she’d expected others to do what pleased her, too. Mostly, they had. Except for Randolph Morgan, who had walked into her life, turned it into a shambles, and then retreated to the safety of his home and hearth.

  Fiona’s sharp nudge jostled Charlotte from her private thoughts. She glanced at the girl and noted the other women were now departing the room. ‘‘Want to help me with my lessons?’’

  ‘‘Not tonight, Fiona. You go on upstairs. I want to visit privately with Charlotte for a few minutes.’’ Mrs. Priddle’s announcement was met with a frown, but Fiona jumped up from the divan and scurried up the steps. The older woman waited until the girl was out of earshot and then moved to sit beside Charlotte. She placed a work-worn, wrinkled hand atop Charlotte’s smooth youthful hands. ‘‘You’ve not been yourself of late. Won’t you tell me what has happened? I can’t help you if you won’t let me inside that wall you’ve built around yourself.’’

  Mrs. Priddle’s eyes shone with warmth and encouragement. There was little doubt the matriarch of Priddle House wanted to help. But how could Charlotte possibly confide in this perfect woman? Mrs. Priddle would likely swoon if she knew the depth of Charlotte’s sin. She stared at the faded multicolored rug, unable to force the words from her lips.

  The older woman lifted Charlotte’s chin with her aged finger. ‘‘Do you think I have always been a God-fearing woman, Charlotte? Is that why you fear telling me what has happened? You believe what you have done will cause me to drop dead from the shock?’’

  Charlotte bobbed her head. ‘‘Or at least cause you to faint.’’

  With a smile and a faraway look, Mrs. Priddle settled back into the corner of the divan. ‘‘Let me tell you about myself, Charlotte. I’m not the same woman you would have met years ago. I, too, was young and carefree once upon a time. The boys thought me quite pretty in my day.’’ A faint tinge of pink unexpectedly colored her cheeks. ‘‘That was back in the day when I thought you could believe everything a young man told you. My parents were good people. They reared me in a fine home with strict Bible teaching, but I was a rebellious young girl who wanted to have fun and spend time with the boys. There were several I liked a lot, but I was particularly fond of one young fellow.’’

  The older woman’s voice had taken on a distant softness. Not wanting to miss a word, Charlotte leaned in closer. ‘‘And was that young man Mr. Priddle?’’

  Mrs. Priddle’s gray eyebrows rose high on her forehead. ‘‘Mr. Priddle? Oh no. I didn’t marry Mr. Priddle until many years later. I was a disobedient and foolish girl who didn’t heed the lessons I was taught from an early age.’’ Her jaw tightened. ‘‘Needless to say, my parents were devastated when they discovered I was going to have a child. I was scared out of my wits— afraid to tell them yet not knowing what else to do.’’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘‘Why didn’t yo
u tell the young man? You could have married.’’

  The sparkle disappeared from the old woman’s eyes. ‘‘He said he doubted it was his child, and then he skedaddled out of town.’’ She laced her thin fingers together. ‘‘Probably for the best. He wouldn’t have been a good husband or a good father to the child.’’

  ‘‘What happened to your baby?’’

  ‘‘My parents sent me to a home in Philadelphia—a place for girls like me. They wanted to hide their embarrassment, and I didn’t blame them. I didn’t want to remain at home, where I’d be the topic of local gossip. My baby was given to a good home, or so I was told. They didn’t give me much information, just that I’d given birth to a healthy boy and they had a family anxious to give him a home. I hope he’s had a good life. I still pray for him every day.’’

  Charlotte didn’t pray for Morgan. The idea her infant son might need her prayers for protection and safety hadn’t ever entered her thoughts.

  Mrs. Priddle wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled at Charlotte. ‘‘You see, Charlotte? None of us is perfect. Sometimes it takes hard lessons before we turn our lives around. Even worse is the fact that we hurt others in the process. My parents never did get over the pain I caused them. I believe they felt like failures for the rest of their lives, yet my behavior wasn’t due to anything they had or hadn’t done for me. They had always attempted to teach me right from wrong, but I wouldn’t listen. I had to learn my lessons the hard way, and learn them I did. I’d like to tell you I changed as soon as that baby was born, but I didn’t. I blamed everyone but myself. I remained in Philadelphia, and eventually my behavior brought me to my knees. I finally accepted that I was the one at fault, that I had made those bad decisions and I needed to ask for God’s forgiveness.’’

  ‘‘And that was it? From that day on, everything was fine?’’

  Mrs. Priddle laughed. ‘‘Not quite, my dear, but it was much better. I wrote my parents a letter and asked for their forgiveness. They asked me to return home, but I knew it wouldn’t be a good thing—for them or for me. I didn’t have any real training and didn’t know what to do with myself. The pastor at the church I attended said they needed workers at one of the mission houses the church sponsored. I lived and worked in that mission house until the pastor asked if I might be interested in moving to Chicago. I met Mr. Priddle after I moved to Chicago. Although we never had children of our own, we had many good years together.’’ Mrs. Priddle glanced toward the dining room. ‘‘I believe the others have all gone upstairs. Shall we go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea?’’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘‘Thank you for sharing your story with me, Mrs. Priddle. I won’t say a word to the others.’’

  The older woman glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she led the way into the kitchen. ‘‘I know you won’t, Charlotte. I believe you understand that some things are best shared only when they’ll help another heal.’’

  While Mrs. Priddle filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil, Charlotte lifted the cups and saucers from the cupboard. Perhaps Mrs. Priddle could help her decide what she should do. When they sat down at the table a short time later, Charlotte slowly stirred cream into her tea.

  She stared into the tiny whirlpool created by the stirring motion. ‘‘Do you remember when I was late returning home from work?’’

  Mrs. Priddle nodded. ‘‘Yes. A couple of weeks ago. You missed your supper, and we had to keep it warm in the oven.’’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘‘I left work early that day. I had Mr. Field’s permission,’’ she hastened to add. Mrs. Priddle nodded her approval and Charlotte continued. The older woman didn’t interrupt as Charlotte related why she’d gone to Pullman and what events had followed. She appeared neither shocked nor surprised to hear Charlotte had been born into a family of wealth and nobility, stolen her mother’s jewelry, coerced a maid, told more lies than she could even remember, threatened Randolph Morgan, given birth out of wedlock and, worst of all, abandoned her infant. Charlotte drew in a ragged breath. ‘‘Do you think Mrs. Rice was telling the truth about my baby? I mean, that he’s gone?’’

  ‘‘I have no way of knowing, my dear, but there’s certainly that possibility.’’

  Tears welled in the corners of Charlotte’s eyes. She didn’t want to cry. ‘‘What should I do, Mrs. Priddle?’’

  The old woman patted her hand. ‘‘If you haven’t asked God to forgive your sins, that’s the first step. Once you’ve asked God’s forgiveness, you must forgive yourself, Charlotte. You can’t change your past. What’s done is done. You’ll not move forward until you accept that fact. Then you must prayerfully decide what is best for you and for your child.’’

  Charlotte picked at a thread along the edge of the tablecloth. ‘‘You think the baby will have a better life without me?’’

  ‘‘I truly don’t know what is best for you or your baby, but God does. He will direct your path if you ask Him to do so.’’

  A short time later Charlotte thanked Mrs. Priddle for her kindness. She bid the older woman good-night and then climbed the stairs. The matriarch’s kiss remained warm on Charlotte’s cheek as she walked down the hallway and into the darkened bedroom. Moonlight streamed through the curtains to form a lacy pattern across the floor. She quietly changed into her nightgown. Fiona shifted and turned as Charlotte slipped into bed. She closed her eyes and asked for God’s forgiveness and direction. Now she must trust that He would lead her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Early August 1893

  Charlotte patted her cheeks and forehead with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Rather than admit to frenzied nerves, she blamed the August heat and humidity. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the upholstered seat while continuing to blot her face and neck.

  ‘‘You ill, lady?’’

  She forced her eyes open. A concerned conductor peered down at her, and she shook her head. ‘‘It’s just the heat. I’m fine.’’

  ‘‘Won’t be long now.’’

  Charlotte had barely closed her eyes when the man returned with a fan. He spread open the tight folds and thrust it into her hand. ‘‘Maybe this will help.’’ He glanced about the coach. ‘‘Nobody else appears too warm, miss. You sure you’re not sick?’’

  ‘‘I’ll be fine.’’ She waved the fan in his direction. ‘‘Thank you.’’ The conductor hovered in the aisle, obviously uncertain. She rapidly fanned herself, then forced a smile. ‘‘See? Much better.’’

  ‘‘If you say so.’’ He didn’t appear convinced, but at least he quit staring at her and continued down the aisle.

  The breeze helped. She closed her eyes again and wondered if this would be as difficult as she expected. Mrs. Priddle had bid her good-bye with a departing admonition to keep a stiff upper lip. Charlotte wasn’t certain what was meant by the expression. How did one keep her upper lip stiff? She clamped her upper lip between her teeth and wondered if that was how one produced the desired effect.

  ‘‘You sure you’re feeling well, miss?’’

  She popped open her eyes and released her lip. Not surprisingly, the man was staring at her as though she’d lost her mind. She nodded. ‘‘Perfect, just perfect.’’

  He gave one final glance over his shoulder as he continued toward the rear of the coach. Perhaps coming here today was a mistake. She should have given the matter further thought, but more time wouldn’t change anything. Instead of this continual vacillating, she needed to gain resolve and move forward with her plan.

  With three short blasts of the whistle, the engineer announced their train had reached the outskirts of Pullman. Charlotte leaned back and inhaled a deep breath. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. She silently repeated the refrain as she stepped off the train and entered the depot. Church bells pealed in the distance, a reminder to any who might have considered sleeping in on a Sunday morning. Residents who regularly attended the Green-stone Church would soon begin to
exit their homes and head down the streets of Pullman. Charlotte lowered her veil, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. Dear Lord, give me courage.

  As she neared the church, Charlotte slowed her step. A group of congregants had gathered outside. She strained forward and searched the crowd for any sign of Olivia. After leaning against the thick trunk of a maple tree, she lifted a corner of her veil to permit a better view and a bit more air. Even with the slight breeze off the lake, the air remained heavy. Some of the crowd began to filter indoors. Perhaps Olivia had arrived early and already gone inside. Oh, this was a bad idea. She should turn around and go back to Chicago where she belonged. Where she belonged? She nearly laughed aloud. Where did she belong?

  Charlotte dropped her veil into place as a young couple carrying a toddler advanced. Dressed in their Sunday finery, they smiled and nodded to her. She turned and continued watching as they strolled down the street. Suddenly she glimpsed a green-and-white silk frock and broad-brimmed hat with matching ribbons that signaled Olivia’s approach. Charlotte would have recognized her former gown and hat anywhere. She’d never particularly liked the wide stripes, but from a distance, the effect was quite striking. If she hurried, perhaps she could intercept Olivia before she reached the church.

  The heels of Charlotte’s shoes clicked out a rapid beat as she hurried down the sidewalk. She waved, but Olivia had already turned toward the church. With a sinking feeling, Charlotte stopped short and watched Olivia climb the steps and enter the wide front doors. She had hoped to talk to Olivia outside before the services began and then return to Chicago.

  Strains of organ music continued to waft from the doors, indicating the preacher hadn’t yet taken his place. If she went inside, she might still have time to talk to Olivia. She climbed the steps, nodded at the usher, and whispered where she’d like to sit. If he recognized Charlotte, he gave no indication. When he arrived at the fifth pew from the front, he stopped and gave a firm nod.