Whispers Along the Rails

by Judith Miller

  Olivia narrowed her gaze, and Charlotte lifted the veil from her face.

  ‘‘Charlotte!’’ Olivia exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

  Mrs. Rice slapped her hand on the back of the pew. ‘‘See there! I told you she was still around. You should be ashamed coming into the house of God. Why, it’s an affront that a woman like you would dare to darken the doorway.’’

  Charlotte turned and nodded. ‘‘Good morning to you, Mrs. Rice. So very nice to see you once again.’’

  Fire danced in the older woman’s eyes. She stiffened until her back was straight as a broomstick. ‘‘You see, Olivia? She hasn’t changed a lick—still acts like a Miss Fancypants.’’

  Mr. Rice grunted an unintelligible remark at his wife. The older woman leveled one final glare at Charlotte before she leaned back and folded her arms across her chest.

  Mrs. DeVault leaned forward and welcomed Charlotte with a warm smile. ‘‘It’s good to see you, my dear. You must join us for the noonday meal.’’

  Charlotte thanked her for the invitation before sitting down next to Olivia. She tipped her head as close as her hat would permit. ‘‘I hope you’re not too angry with me, Olivia.’’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘‘No. I’m most pleased to see you looking so well. Mrs. Rice told me you had been in town, but I wasn’t certain if she was telling the truth. When I asked how I could contact you, she said you wouldn’t tell her.’’

  A sharp chord sounded from the pipe organ, notification that conversations cease and the congregants stand in preparation for the first hymn. Charlotte’s response must wait awhile longer, especially now that Reverend Loomis had taken his place on the dais. She well remembered his rule about silence during Sunday morning services. Besides, Mrs. Rice’s angry words had been enough for one morning. She wouldn’t risk the preacher’s wrath, too.

  The sermon was likely very good, but Charlotte didn’t hear a word. She wondered about her son and where he was. Apparently, Mrs. Rice had been truthful when she said he was gone. Otherwise Morgan would be here in church with Olivia. She longed to know all the particulars of her baby’s whereabouts, but after waiting for nearly a year, she could wait a short while longer. Somehow it didn’t seem possible she’d fled from Pullman so long ago. And yet tomorrow Morgan would be a year old. She wondered who would help him celebrate his special day. A year ago she hadn’t considered the day of his birth to be special. Rather, she had wished to die. Now she was pleased she hadn’t. Strange how much life could change in a short time. Morgan’s life had been changed by her decision, too. She hoped her decision hadn’t proved tragic for him.

  Olivia tugged at her sleeve, and Charlotte rose to her feet for the benediction. The moment the organist struck the first chord of the postlude, Olivia wrapped Charlotte in a warm embrace. ‘‘I’m so pleased you’ve come back. Please say you’ll stay the entire day so we may find out all that has happened with you.’’

  ‘‘I can remain for the afternoon, but I must be back to Chicago by seven o’clock.’’

  ‘‘So you’re living in Chicago?’’

  They exited their pew and had turned to walk down the aisle when Mrs. Rice dug her fingers into Charlotte’s arm. ‘‘You got your nerve coming into this church, you sinful woman.’’

  Mrs. DeVault and Fred bustled to Charlotte’s side, but Charlotte shook her head. ‘‘You go on, Mrs. DeVault. Olivia and I will join you and Fred shortly. Mrs. Rice and I need to have a few words.’’

  Mrs. DeVault frowned, but she grasped Fred’s arm and the two of them continued down the aisle. Mr. Rice seized the moment to shoo his children from the opposite end of the pew and follow them toward the vestibule.

  Mrs. Rice tilted her head to one side and released her hold on Charlotte’s arm. ‘‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself, Charlotte?’’

  Charlotte met the woman’s angry scowl with what she hoped was an engaging smile. She had prayed God would give her the strength to act upon her newfound faith and speak in kindness and love.

  She took a deep breath. ‘‘I wanted to tell you that I’ve asked for and received God’s forgiveness for my sins. I know that my actions were reprehensible when I was here. Although I cannot change the past, I do want you to know I have acknowledged the depth of my wrongdoing. If you can find it in your heart to do so, I’d be grateful for your forgiveness, also.’’ Charlotte lightly touched the woman’s hand. ‘‘And I want to thank you for the care you provided Morgan during my absence.’’ She gently squeezed the woman’s hand.

  Mrs. Rice appeared dumbstruck. The earlier anger that had shone in the older woman’s eyes was now replaced by a look of bewildered surprise.

  ‘‘Thank you for considering my request, Mrs. Rice.’’ Charlotte grasped Olivia’s elbow, and the two young women headed for the rear of the church.

  Before they departed, Olivia glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘Mrs. Rice hasn’t moved an inch. I believe your words have rendered the poor woman speechless.’’

  ‘‘Well, that wasn’t my intent, but I do think she was taken aback,’’ Charlotte said with a grin. After weaving through the crowd of visiting church members, Charlotte gathered the courage to inquire about Morgan.

  ‘‘He’s gone to England with your parents.’’ Olivia twisted her handkerchief through her fingers.

  ‘‘What?’’ Charlotte clasped a hand to her chest. ‘‘How? Please tell me everything.’’

  Olivia led her to one of the unoccupied park benches, where the two of them sat in the shade of a leafy old oak. Nearby, a small garden of rosebushes scented the air with sweet perfume. Charlotte doubted Olivia’s story would be as pleasant as the fragrance of these summer blooms. Folding her hands in her lap, Olivia detailed the story of Charlotte’s parents’ visit to Pullman, the confrontation over the stolen jewels, and, of course, young Morgan’s birth.

  ‘‘And my parents? How were they? How did they react to news of the baby?’’

  ‘‘They both appeared in good health.’’ Olivia hesitated. ‘‘If either of them was experiencing illness, I doubt they would have confided in the likes of me. As for the baby, your father was more difficult to convince than your mother. Though he never said as much, I believe he initially thought I might be lying in an attempt to situate the child in a life of wealth and nobility.’’

  Charlotte understood. Many was the time an unwanted child would be left on the doorstep of England’s nobility by mothers hoping to give their children a better life. Charlotte knew that nearly all such children ended up in orphan asylums, a fate far worse than remaining with their mothers. Fear constricted her throat. Had her parents taken Morgan to England and then placed him in an asylum? Would they have done such a thing to avoid embarrassment?

  ‘‘Did my parents finally accept the boy as their grandchild?’’ In spite of her fear, she must know the truth.

  Olivia chuckled. ‘‘Your mother was easily convinced, and her love for the boy was obvious that first evening.’’

  ‘‘You believe he has remained in their care? They didn’t plan to give him to . . .’’ She faltered and then continued. ‘‘They didn’t give him to someone else?’’ She couldn’t bring herself to ask if they’d mentioned an orphan asylum.

  Olivia reached forward and clasped Charlotte’s hand in her own. ‘‘Your mother had grand plans for little Morgan. I’ve had only one brief note from her since they left, but you are welcome to read it. The letter arrived approximately six months ago. Although she said she would continue to keep me informed of Morgan’s welfare, I’ve heard no more since then. I’m certain she’s quite busy.’’ She squeezed Charlotte’s hand. ‘‘I’m also a reminder that your whereabouts remains unknown. They were distraught by your disappearance.’’

  The clock tolled the hour, and Olivia jumped to her feet. ‘‘My! I didn’t realize the time. Mrs. DeVault will wonder what has happened to us. Come along. We can continue our conversation on the way, and we’ll have the rest of the afternoon. We’re all anxious to
know how you’ve fared over the past year.’’

  Sun splashed across the streets and rooftops in jagged designs, and the two women strolled arm in arm along the flower- and tree-lined sidewalks as though time had never separated them. ‘‘Tell me what has happened between you and Fred. And what of Samuel Howard?’’

  Olivia arched her brows. ‘‘I know you thought Mr. Howard a better choice for me, Charlotte, but trust me when I say that he isn’t. As for Fred . . .’’ She shrugged and tipped her head to one side. ‘‘I continue to hope. He found our list of lies. He finally seems to have forgiven me, but he’s cautious. He may never completely trust me again.’’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘‘I’m sorry to hear that. The fault is largely mine, but you shouldn’t marry someone who doesn’t trust you. I’ll pray that God will open his eyes and he’ll see what a fine woman you are, Olivia.’’

  ‘‘Pray?’’ Olivia stared at her as though she’d sprouted a set of wings. ‘‘I noted a difference in you, but I didn’t realize how much you’d changed.’’

  As they approached the tenement, Mrs. DeVault appeared at the front door and waved them up the steps. ‘‘Come along before our meal grows cold.’’ The smell of roasted chicken wafted through the open door to greet them. Mrs. DeVault scuttled ahead and motioned Fred toward the dining room. ‘‘I’ve got corn and fresh green beans, along with your favorite, Fred, mashed potatoes and gravy.’’

  Fred followed her cue and fell in behind Olivia. ‘‘It was good to see you in church this morning, Charlotte. I trust you’ve been well.’’

  Mrs. DeVault pointed toward the dining room chairs. ‘‘You can ask your questions once we’ve said the blessing.’’

  Questions and answers spilled atop one another throughout the afternoon, some more poignant than others. Mrs. DeVault had been particularly concerned over Charlotte’s welfare once she departed Pullman. The older woman shook her head when Charlotte explained how she’d shifted from pillar to post before eventually making her way to Priddle House.

  Mrs. DeVault wiped away a tear. ‘‘Even in those terrible circumstances, God was drawing you to Him, Charlotte.’’

  ‘‘I suppose you’re right, Mrs. DeVault. Unfortunately, my behavior caused pain and suffering to many people, especially to my son. How I wish I could change what I’ve done.’’

  ‘‘Most of us wish we could change something in our past. Though we can’t change things, we can learn from our mistakes and do better in the future. I’m pleased to see that you’ve already chosen a new path for your life. I’m proud of you, my dear. And now that you’ve learned about young Morgan’s whereabouts, you’re faced with decisions for your future—and his.’’

  Charlotte knew Mrs. DeVault was correct. Her parents and her son deserved more from her. ‘‘I know I’ve caused my parents great distress, and I should have contacted them long ago. I attempted to convince myself they would forgive me and welcome me back, yet my fear of rejection was stronger than my desire to reunite with them.’’

  Mrs. DeVault cupped Charlotte’s chin between her palms. ‘‘By and large, we parents are a forgiving lot. I believe you need to set your parents’ minds at ease and let them know you are alive and well. Trust me, they’ll be grateful to hear from you.’’

  ‘‘Mrs. DeVault is right, Charlotte. Your father made provision for your return before they sailed for London. He employed Montrose Ashton, a solicitor with an office in Chicago, to handle the arrangements for your return should you be located. I have his card.’’ Olivia fetched her reticule from the hallway table and withdrew the worn business card. ‘‘I’ve kept this card with me at all times, hoping one day I’d find you.’’

  Charlotte took the card and tucked it into her skirt pocket. Guilt washed over her anew as she considered the pain and worry she’d caused by her thoughtless actions. Not only to her parents but to Olivia and Mrs. DeVault, who had lovingly cared for Morgan after she’d selfishly fled her responsibilities.

  Discovering her parents had provided a home for Morgan and even arranged for her return to England was more than she could have imagined. Yet she realized that if her problems had been so easily resolved a year ago, she wouldn’t have changed. And she wouldn’t have met Mrs. Priddle or Fiona. Most important, she wouldn’t have met her Savior and truly been forgiven. Had she returned to England back then, she’d still be a selfish, immature young woman. What was it Mrs. Priddle said? God’s timing. We must wait upon God’s timing. She couldn’t be certain, but possibly now God’s timing had arrived for a reunion with her parents and son. Prayer would be needed before she made a final decision. She would pen a letter to her parents this very evening, advising them of her safety and begging their forgiveness.

  ————

  Charlotte rested her head against the back of the seat and listened to the train wheels clack along the rails. This day had been eventful and exhausting. She realized her decision to return to London should be a simple one. Everything dear to her was in England. Or was it? She loved her parents and Morgan, but what of Mrs. Priddle, Fiona, and the other residents of Priddle House? What would happen to them? Mrs. Priddle had admitted they were dependent upon Charlotte’s income. Contributions to the house had become nearly nonexistent since the economic depression had spread throughout the country. Not that Mrs. Priddle was one to actively seek such funds. She held to the theory of self-sufficiency. Leaving Mrs. Priddle with a shortfall of funds didn’t seem the Christian thing to do. If Mrs. Priddle had realized the possible consequences for Priddle House, she might not have encouraged Charlotte’s visit to Pullman. No, that wasn’t true. Mrs. Priddle was the most selfless person Charlotte had ever known. She wrapped her fingers around the card in her pocket and wondered if this Mr. Ashton might provide the solution to her concerns.

  The train hooted three short blasts. She’d soon arrive at the Chicago depot. Charlotte closed her eyes. Lord, please grant me wisdom to make the proper decision.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Chicago, Illinois

  As she neared the house, Charlotte caught sight of Mrs. Priddle sitting on the front porch with her mending basket near her side. Wisps of gray hair played about the woman’s head like a half-blown dandelion. She glanced up from her stitching, offered a welcoming smile, and nodded toward the empty chair.

  ‘‘Too hot inside. I decided to come out here and do a bit of mending before Bible study. Sit down and tell me about your visit.’’ She formed the torn edges of the chemise into a thin seam before slipping her needle into the cotton fabric. ‘‘You’re looking a bit pale. Did the heat get to you, or is it the news you heard while you were in Pullman that’s got you upset?’’

  Charlotte dropped to the chair. ‘‘I suppose it’s some of both. My father and mother have taken Morgan back to England.’’

  ‘‘Good! It’s comforting to know the child has been well cared for, don’t you think?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course. I’m most thankful they accepted him, but I do find myself facing a difficult decision.’’

  Mrs. Priddle inspected her handiwork and gave a firm nod. After securing the stitches with a knot, she broke the thread and folded the chemise. ‘‘Tell me about this decision of yours.’’

  Mrs. Priddle bent down and retrieved one of Fiona’s stockings from her mending basket while Charlotte began to detail all she’d learned earlier in the afternoon. The older woman offered an occasional comment or word of encouragement.

  Finally Olivia leaned back in the chair and sighed. ‘‘Now you’ve heard the extent of it, and I’m left to decide whether to call upon this Mr. Ashton or merely pen a letter to my family and tell them of my whereabouts.’’

  ‘‘What’s the harm in calling upon this Mr. Ashton? Since your father made arrangements with him rather than with Miss Mott, perhaps the lawyer has some additional information for you.’’

  Charlotte smiled at the older woman’s assessment. ‘‘He wouldn’t have conducted any business with Olivia. She had worke
d as a scullery maid in the kitchens of Lanshire Hall. My father would have considered such dealings with a woman to be completely inappropriate, especially with someone of a lower class.’’

  ‘‘Dear me, such a thought never occurred to me. I suppose you’re correct. In any event, it can’t do any harm to go and talk to the man. Meanwhile, you should write to your parents.’’

  ‘‘If I return to London, what will happen to Priddle House? I realize others contribute to the expenses, but . . .’’

  Mrs. Priddle adjusted her darning egg beneath a hole in one of Fiona’s stockings. Her blue eyes sparkled like brilliant sapphires. ‘‘ ’Tis true your financial aid will be sorely missed if you leave, but if it’s God’s will for you to return to your homeland, then He’ll provide the means for us to survive. He always has. Of course, some times He’s done better than others.’’ She chuckled and inserted her needle into the lisle stocking.

  Charlotte rubbed her temples. ‘‘And what of Fiona? If I leave, I fear my departure will break her heart. She’s suffered so much loss in her young life. If only I wouldn’t have allowed her to form an attachment to me.’’

  ‘‘No. Think of what both of you would have missed if you’d done such a thing. The girl has flourished since you arrived. She’s gained confidence, too. Why, I believe it won’t be long before she’ll be able to play the piano in church on Sunday mornings.’’ The old woman shook her head and laughed softly. ‘‘Probably with fewer sour notes than what we hear every week, too.’’ A fat robin pecked at the ground before flying to a nearby branch. ‘‘Fiona understands the loss of a mother’s love. If you decide to go, she’ll understand that your son needs you.’’

  Charlotte wasn’t certain Fiona would so quickly understand. However, she would pray and wait upon God’s answer. In the meantime she’d write to her parents and consider a visit to Mr. Ashton.