An Uncertain Dream (31 page)
The tower clock struck a solitary chime marking the half hour. Nine thirty. Rather late to call on Olivia, but they could walk the short distance to the house he shared with his mother and the Quinters, where they would be properly chaperoned. Many things had changed in Pullman, but gossip remained a constant. Receiving a gentleman caller without a chaperone would provide sufficient fodder for the rumor mill, even for an independent young lady such as Olivia. Would she choose to remain an unwed, self-reliant woman when he explained his earlier fears were now coming true? Granted, she had chided him for considering her fickle. But that was earlier, when they both had thought the union would prevail. Now faced with the probability rather than the possibility of failure, he wondered if she would remain so certain they should wed.
He stopped in front of the redbrick row house, but the only lights that shone from within were on the third floor rented by the Marley sisters, who worked in the laundry. Obviously Olivia hadn’t expected him. He’d write a note to her when he got home and invite her to spend the afternoon with him on Sunday. They would go to the lake, and he would rent a rowboat. They would have a perfect afternoon together; at least he hoped it would be perfect.
Fred’s invitation delighted Olivia. His mother had delivered it with great ceremony on Wednesday morning. The message explained he would be working late for several days, but a request that she reserve Sunday afternoon for him immediately followed. The invitation had been scribbled on a remnant of brown wrapping paper, then folded and glued at one end. Though the paper and penmanship lacked beauty, Olivia tucked it away as though it had been written on fine stationery. She took pleasure in the fact that Fred had written a personal note. For the rest of the week, she wondered if he had a special plan in mind. She imagined several possibilities, and by Sunday morning her thoughts were clear: he was going to ask her to set a date for their wedding. Her heart quickened at the thought.
While she waited for Fred to appear and escort her to church, she gave careful thought to what she must accomplish before their wedding could take place. It would be small, of course. She would ask Martha if she could borrow her wedding gown, but she would purchase lace to fashion her own headpiece. She would bake and decorate their wedding cake, just as she had done for Martha and Albert. She would want Chef René to prepare the wedding breakfast. Would Fred ask Albert to stand with him as his best man? The two no longer shared the same close friendship they had in the past.
Albert didn’t attend union meetings, and he’d been one of the first in line to apply for his old job when the company began rehiring in his shop. Fred had commented on her cousin’s lack of loyalty, but Olivia defended Albert’s decision. Albert must think of Martha and the baby. Their child was due to be born at the end of the month, and Albert’s sense of responsibility was greater than his concern over what others would think of him. Olivia refused to be counted among those who criticized Albert and the other men who had returned to their employment at the car works.
How could she find fault with them? The strike had never placed her employment in jeopardy. None of the hotel employees had been criticized for retaining their employment, nor had they been frowned upon when they hadn’t suffered the same wage decreases as those employed in the car works. They were never told they should quit their jobs and support the union. Guilt had never been heaped upon her, but Olivia suffered from guilt of her own making.
It seemed improper that her life should continue normally while entire families were thrust into turmoil. Mr. Pullman had said the situation was of the workers’ making, yet Olivia didn’t entirely agree. Were the men to silently accept the continual decrease of their wages? Surely Mr. Pullman would not do so— especially if his wages were reduced until they no longer equaled his living expenses.
The desperation of the Relief Committee had become a dilemma of growing proportions. Pleas for help continued to go forth with regularity, but with the defeat of the boycott and the reopening of many shops within the car works, most of the country appeared to consider the battle over. And since the union meeting earlier in the week, rumors were running rampant that many of the men would reapply for their jobs come Monday morning. She doubted Fred would be among them. Though he’d not been at the forefront of union activity of late, Olivia knew his dedication to the union remained steadfast. After church they would have time to discuss this and much more.
With a glance at the clock, she deftly pinned her hat into place and stepped outside.
Fred waved his hat as he approached. He appeared surprised to see her waiting for him. ‘‘Am I late?’’
‘‘No, but it’s a beautiful Sunday morning, and I decided I’d rather spend a few minutes outdoors.’’ She met him on the front sidewalk and immediately grasped his arm. ‘‘It’s good to see you. I’m looking forward to our afternoon together.’’
‘‘I’m pleased the weather cooperated.’’
His words had a formality and an uncommon stiffness that troubled her. Had she completely misinterpreted his invitation? Perhaps he was rethinking his decision to marry her. Is that why he asked her to go to the lake? He wanted to ensure they would have privacy when he told her of his decision?
A neutral question might help her discover the cause of his solemn demeanor. ‘‘How is Bill’s health?’’
He pointed to his heart. ‘‘I worry more about what’s going on inside of him than about his physical condition. He’s become bitter and angry. Poor Ruth. It seems she can do nothing to please him, and he has no patience with the children. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’ll hear nothing I have to say. Each day he finds someone new to blame for his condition— the wagon driver, the horse, the strike, and even God.’’
‘‘Does he condemn you, also? You’ve supported the strike from the very beginning.’’
‘‘To some extent I think he does, yet he treats me with more civility. Most likely because he needs my help operating the business.’’
‘‘No doubt he lashes out at his wife because he knows she’ll love him in spite of the way he’s treating her.’’ Olivia collapsed her parasol as they neared the church.
‘‘That’s true, I believe. We take those we love for granted and expect them to love us in spite of our poor behavior. Ruth is a good woman, and I know she understands Bill is suffering. I’ve been praying he will accept his circumstances and seek a meaningful future rather than dwell in self-pity.’’
‘‘I’m certain he is thankful to have you there to help him.’’
‘‘I know he is, but that doesn’t lessen the depth of his pain. When Mr. Lockabee agreed to sell the business to Bill, he thought his prayers had been answered. Now he feels as though God has deserted him.’’
‘‘If he’d push aside his bitterness, perhaps he’d see God has another plan for him.’’
Fred nodded as they walked inside the church vestibule. ‘‘That’s not always easy. Think how you would feel if you were injured and could no longer work as a chef.’’
There was no simple response when she equated Bill’s loss to a corresponding change in her own life. Olivia clamped her lips together and said nothing further. The church service was a blur. She didn’t listen to the sermon. Instead, she weighed Fred’s words during the hour. How easy it had become to expect others to accept difficulties when her own life remained unchanged. What would she want if she suffered tragic injuries? She didn’t discover the answer to her question, but she knew she would want more than simple platitudes. She would want a plan, someone to help her decide how she could piece her life back together.
‘‘There needs to be a plan for him,’’ she said as they departed the church.
Fred looked at her as though she’d gone daft. ‘‘What are you talking about?’’
‘‘Bill. I think if we could come up with a plan to help him rebuild his life, he’d more readily accept what has happened. He needs purpose. Right now he’s defeated with thoughts that he’ll never be able to provide for his family. He believes he’s useless.’’
Fred smiled down at her. ‘‘I can see that the sermon had an impact upon you. We’ll see if we can come up with some ideas this afternoon.’’
They decided to row to a lovely spot Fred had discovered when he’d been a part of the rowing club last year. The warmth of the day ensured the picnic area near the lake would be crowded, and Fred said he wanted a quiet place where they could visit. The statement seemed to carry an ominous tone, and Olivia wondered if he feared she would create a scene. All concern for Bill vanished, and her thoughts returned to her earlier worries—the ones that would affect her life.
The sound of the oars slapping the water and distant shouts of young children along the shore mingled with the music of twittering birds and humming insects. Olivia closed her eyes and dipped her hand in the water, allowing the flow to cascade between her fingers.
A short time later, Fred’s cautionary words caused Olivia to withdraw her hand from the lake. They were nearing shore. He carefully guided the boat toward land, removed his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and then jumped out and pulled the boat to a spot where Olivia could step onto dry ground.
He offered his hand to assist her. ‘‘Thank you, kind sir.’’ She giggled when he offered a formal bow in response. While he secured the boat, she spread a quilt on the ground and unpacked the chicken sandwiches. A twinge of guilt assailed her as she thought of the hungry families in Pullman. ‘‘The Relief Committee continues to struggle to help all those without enough to eat. Help from Chicago has dwindled, and there seems to be little interest in their plight.’’
He leaned against the thick trunk of a maple. ‘‘A citizens’ committee is going to write to the governor and see if he will help. I don’t know how much good it will do, but at least it’s an attempt to find some means of assistance. The residents of the town have been forgotten.’’
Olivia handed him a sandwich. ‘‘Tomorrow morning many more strikers are expected to reapply for their positions.’’
He nodded. ‘‘So I’ve heard. Each man must decide what is best for him.’’
‘‘And you?’’ Olivia waited, knowing he wasn’t prepared to admit defeat just yet.
His gaze remained fixed upon the sandwich he held in his hand. ‘‘That time will never arrive for me. Even if I wanted to return to work, they wouldn’t hire me.’’
‘‘You can’t be certain of—’’
‘‘Oh, but I
am
certain. They’ve established their list, and my name is on it. Even if it weren’t, I couldn’t return to this place. Too much has happened for me to consider Pullman my home any longer. Like those who have already departed, I know I must start over. I must begin a new life somewhere else.’’
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold back threatening tears.
Fred gently cupped her hand in his own. ‘‘I know we discussed this before, but now that the reality of failure is at hand, I must be honest with you. I fear that if I took you away from Pullman, you would forever regret the decision. Should that happen, our marriage would be doomed to failure.’’
‘‘I’ve already told you I’m willing to move from Pullman.’’
‘‘And give up your position as an assistant chef? Our marriage would seal your future, and there is no guarantee you could find work elsewhere. At least not as a chef. I doubt the chefs in Chicago restaurants would welcome a woman into their fold.’’
‘‘I think I could find at least one who would, and I’m willing to marry you based on that belief.’’
He placed the sandwich on his napkin and grasped her hands in his. ‘‘I think the best idea would be for you to discover whether that belief is realistic. Explain my thoughts to Chef René and ask him to write you a letter of recommendation. Armed with his letter, I’d like you to apply for positions in Chicago and see if anyone will offer you a job. Not as a dishwasher— as an assistant chef.’’ He released her hands and leaned back against the ancient tree. ‘‘What do you think?’’
She hesitated. If she refused, it would appear as if she lacked confidence in her own ability to locate a new position, but if she accepted and failed—what then?
Gathering her courage, she met Fred’s gaze. ‘‘If I’m unable to locate a position, are you going to withdraw your proposal of marriage?’’
‘‘No. But why don’t we see what happens and then decide? Nothing has changed in regard to my love for you, but I think it’s unwise to move forward until we know what hurdles we will have to overcome—and if we possess the strength to conquer them.’’
She was already certain they could overcome any obstacle if they worked together, but if it would set Fred’s mind at ease, she would agree to his request. ‘‘First thing tomorrow I’ll ask Chef René to write a letter.’’
‘‘Good. Now, what ideas do you have that might help Bill and his family?’’
Olivia stared at him, dumbfounded by the sudden shift of topic. ‘‘Ideas for Bill?’’
‘‘Yes. You mentioned helping him find ways to rebuild his life.’’
‘‘I did say that.’’ Fred obviously thought she’d had some perfect solution at the ready. She floundered, still trying to settle her scattered thoughts. ‘‘Did you speak to his physician about what type of work he might be able to perform?’’
‘‘Bill isn’t interested in any other type of work. The doctor attempted to speak to him, but he brushed aside any suggestions. He wants only to draw and etch. Until he accepts he can no longer do either, he’ll not embrace any other work.’’
‘‘If that is his attitude, then he must learn to draw with his other hand. Have you suggested that to him? Has he made any attempt?’’
‘‘I think he would scoff at such a suggestion,’’ Fred replied.
‘‘Let him scoff, but force him to try, unless he’s willing to seek some other form of employment. You’re his friend. Force him to listen and take action; that’s what friends do, isn’t it?’’
‘‘You’re right, but I doubt—’’
‘‘Don’t doubt until you’ve tried. You’re certainly willing to issue challenges to me. Perhaps you need to do the same with Bill. Tell him that he must do one or the other: either make a considerable effort to draw with his uninjured hand or determine what other employment is available for him. Tell him to compile a list of ideas.’’