An Uncertain Dream (36 page)
Charlotte nudged Olivia. ‘‘You’ll recall Mrs. Priddle isn’t one to keep her opinions to herself.’’
Olivia nodded. ‘‘I agree with what you’ve said, but I don’t think Fred will marry me unless I’ve found employment. I would be happy to remain at home and care for him, but how do I convince him?’’
Mrs. Priddle shrugged her shoulders. ‘‘Men can be an ornery lot. Even when they have it wrong, they often think they know best. If it’s God’s plan for you to marry this young man, then it will happen. Otherwise, you must serve God without him. I wanted more years with Mr. Priddle, but God didn’t see fit to leave him on earth with me.’’ The old woman glanced around the table. ‘‘But look at the fine family He gave me to fill the void of not having Mr. Priddle with me. God’s plan for you may be entirely different from anything you ever imagined.’’
Olivia didn’t respond to Mrs. Priddle’s comment about God’s plan for her life, but she considered the older woman’s words while she finished supper. Although there was truth in what Mrs. Priddle had said, Olivia didn’t want a life without Fred. Even if God had some other plan, she wasn’t interested. She simply had to make Fred understand that marriage to him was all she needed to make her happy.
The group gathered in the parlor after supper for Mrs. Priddle’s Bible lesson. She opened her Bible and turned the whisper-thin pages. Apparently arriving at the page she wanted, she looked up. ‘‘Turn to the book of Ruth. It isn’t long, so we’ll read all four chapters.’’
The older woman waited while they thumbed through their Bibles and then nodded her approval when they all reached the proper place. She read with a serene countenance and strong voice while they followed along. When she completed the final verse, she gazed at each of them.
‘‘Who would like to explain what we can learn from Ruth and Naomi?’’
Fiona waved her hand in the air and waited until the older woman gave a nod. ‘‘That we should always be nice to old ladies and make sure they have enough to eat.’’
‘‘Yes, that’s certainly true. Thank you, Fiona. Anyone else?’’ She pinned Olivia with a probing stare. ‘‘What about you, Olivia? What can you learn from the story of Ruth and Naomi?’’
‘‘Naomi was very bitter about her husband and sons dying, but Ruth stayed with her. Later, Ruth married Boaz,’’ Olivia replied.
Mrs. Priddle’s lips curved in a soft smile. ‘‘I
know
the story, but there is a lesson to be learned if you’ll open your heart to what is written.’’
Olivia squirmed in her chair. She’d understood the lesson, but she wasn’t certain it applied to her life. Naomi might have been bitter about her circumstances and believed God had deserted her, but in the end He’d had a wonderful plan for both Naomi and Ruth. But Olivia didn’t need another plan.
In fact, she had no desire for any plan other than the one she had in mind for her life. Quite frankly, she didn’t believe God could improve upon it one bit. If He would merely melt the cold heart of a hotel manager so she could secure employment in Chicago, she’d be content.
When she didn’t respond, one of the other ladies raised her hand. ‘‘I think the story shows us that what God allows in our lives will eventually bring good to us or teach us an important lesson so that we may help others.’’
Olivia sighed, thankful she hadn’t been forced to say anything further, but she saw the disappointment that shone in Mrs. Priddle’s eyes.
Olivia followed Charlotte downstairs Saturday morning. Except for dreams of being chased through the streets of Chicago by an angry chef, she’d slept well, with no remaining signs of yesterday’s malady.
Mrs. Priddle stood near the front door while Olivia and Charlotte prepared to depart. ‘‘Will you be returning to Pullman, Miss Mott?’’
‘‘Once I’ve stopped at the hotel and completed my application.’’ She forced a smile. ‘‘If I’m permitted to submit one, that is.’’
‘‘Just remember what the Bible says.’’ She patted Olivia’s arm. ‘‘And if you begin to feel unwell, you must promise to return.’’
‘‘Thank you for the generous offer, Mrs. Priddle.’’
Charlotte chuckled and looped arms with Olivia. ‘‘Mrs. Priddle says
men
think they always know best, but she’s only a step or two behind them. She does mean well.’’
‘‘I know she does. I think she’s disappointed I’m going to apply at the other hotel. She probably believes she failed in making her point, but she didn’t. I understood every word she said, but I’m not ready to simply sit back and wait for Fred to change his mind.’’ She looked at Charlotte. ‘‘Do you think I’m wrong?’’
‘‘I can’t make your decisions for you, Olivia. I have enough trouble with my own dilemmas. And Mrs. Priddle inserts herself in those, too,’’ she said with a faint smile.
When they arrived at the DeJonghe Hotel, Olivia grasped Charlotte’s hand. ‘‘Do wish me well.’’
‘‘You know I do. I want nothing but the best for you.’’ Charlotte pulled her into a warm embrace.
‘‘Tomorrow is Sunday. Why don’t you and Morgan come for a visit? Matthew, too, if you’d like.’’
‘‘Matthew meets me at church every Sunday. I’ll ask if he’d like to spend the afternoon in Pullman. With the Strike Commission meetings, I can’t say if he’ll be working. He tells me the committee meets even on Sunday afternoons to permit testimony from those unable to attend during the workweek.’’
‘‘If you decide you’d like to come, we’ll be at Fred’s house after church. I’m certain Morgan would enjoy himself.’’
The two of them parted, and Olivia entered the DeJonghe. With the help of a doorman, she located the manager’s office and knocked on the door. A gentleman bid her come in. Remembering Charlotte’s caution to stand tall, she squared her shoulders before entering the room.
The manager sat with his hands folded atop the desk as though he had expected her arrival. ‘‘Yes?’’ His eyebrows arched high on his forehead. ‘‘How may I be of assistance?’’ he inquired without offering her a chair.
‘‘I am Olivia Mott—Miss Olivia Mott, assistant chef at Hotel Florence in Pullman. I’ve come to apply for a position in your restaurant as an assistant chef.’’ She watched his eyebrows coil into a scowl.
‘‘I don’t have time for nonsense. Who encouraged this hoax?’’
‘‘This is no prank, sir.’’ She nodded toward the chair. ‘‘May I sit down for a moment?’’
‘‘I see no need, Miss Mott. Our kitchen is fully staffed’’—he leaned across the desk—‘‘by men!’’
She hastily dug inside her purse. ‘‘I have a letter of recommendation from Chef René of Hotel Florence. If you’ll read—’’
‘‘We have no need of you in our establishment.’’ He stood and walked to the door. ‘‘If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’’ He opened the door.
She took his cue and left. ‘‘Well, that didn’t take long,’’ she murmured as she exited the hotel. She permitted the doorman to hail a carriage. There was no need to make any further attempts to find work in Chicago. None of these men were going to hire her as a chef. She would make a speedy return to Pullman.
The clock chimed ten o’clock when she walked across the street from the Pullman train depot. The kitchen staff would be enjoying their midmorning break. Chef René and Mrs. DeVault were sitting together on one of the benches when she arrived.
‘‘Ah, Miss Mott, I see you have decided to grace us with an appearance. How kind of you. Your visit to Chicago provided you with some surprises, oui?’’
‘‘Yes. Several surprises and none of them pleasant. I trust Mr. Howard advised you of my infirmity?’’
‘‘Oui. He demanded to know why you were away in Chicago on a workday.’’
Olivia dropped to the bench beside Mrs. DeVault.
‘‘I was sorry to learn of your illness, but I was pleased Charlotte and Mrs. Priddle offered their hospitality.’’ The older woman patted her hand. ‘‘Did you see Fred?’’
‘‘No. There wasn’t time.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘I accomplished nothing.’’
She detailed the three visits she’d made and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘‘I don’t think I’m going to meet with any success in Chicago, so Fred won’t marry me. I’ll never marry and will grow old working in the kitchen of Hotel Florence.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t count on that chicken,’’ Chef René replied.
Mrs. DeVault grinned. ‘‘He means don’t count your chickens before they hatch.’’
‘‘Oui! Don’t count on the chicken you don’t have. Mr. Howard is most unhappy. I cannot say how much longer you will have a position here.’’ He pointed at the tower clock. ‘‘It is time we return to work.’’
Chef René and Mrs. DeVault walked side by side toward the hotel while Olivia trailed behind them. She would question him further regarding his conversation with Mr. Howard later.
After donning her jacket and toque, Olivia read the menu for the noonday meal. ‘‘What would you like me to do? Begin the veal or the vegetables?’’
Chef René crooked his index finger. ‘‘To my office, Miss Mott.’’
She followed him and took her customary chair while he edged behind the desk.
‘‘Since we did not consider the fact that you might see Mr. Howard while in Chicago, we now have a problem.’’
Although she heard no accusation in his voice, she felt as though she must defend herself. ‘‘Thousands of people live in Chicago, and the possibility that I would come face-to-face with Mr. Howard never entered my mind.’’ She removed a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her perspiring palms. ‘‘Tell me what he said.’’
‘‘He interrupted me during preparations for the evening meal, and although I explained I didn’t have time for a meeting, he insisted upon joining me here in my office. He asked if I had given you permission to be in Chicago on a workday.’’
‘‘What did you say?’’
‘‘I said I had granted your request to leave and that you were not being paid for the time you were away from work.’’ The chef rested his arms on the desk. ‘‘He asked why you were in Palmer House.’’
Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. ‘‘And?’’
‘‘I told him you could better answer his question than I.’’
‘‘If he doesn’t know, then why do you think I’ll be discharged?’’
‘‘He said if you are able to spend your days in Chicago, then perhaps we have no need of an assistant chef. I attempted to convince him otherwise, but who knows with that man? One minute he is angry; the next he appears calm. I tell you this only so that you may be prepared for your meeting with him.’’
‘‘Thank you for keeping my confidence. I know you didn’t want to lie.’’
‘‘I did not lie, Miss Mott. I told him to seek his answer from you. Now you must decide how you will weave this story of yours. I hope you will remember that no matter how painful, the truth will be the best way to go. I’m certain you haven’t forgotten the terrible results that occurred . . .’’
She nodded. ‘‘I don’t need a reminder of what happened when I first arrived here.’’
He stood up and stepped toward the door. ‘‘You might want to consider prayer, Miss Mott. I don’t think you will easily extract yourself from this situation.’’
‘‘
You’re
advising me to pray? Mrs. DeVault seems to have worked wonders in your life.’’
‘‘Hazel says it is God that has worked wonders, not her. As for me? I think it was both of them.’’ He waved her toward the kitchen.
Later that night after she had returned home, Olivia considered the chef ’s words. She would do everything in her power to avoid Mr. Howard, but he knew exactly where to find her during working hours. There was little doubt she would eventually be forced to answer his questions. It seemed prayer was the only answer. Yet she still didn’t want to succumb to the possibility that God might have a plan that differed from her own.
Olivia sat upright in bed. The loud knocking on the May-fields’ front door was insistent and sent her heart pounding. Who would be at the door in the middle of the night? Mrs. Mayfield knocked on her bedroom door and announced her cousin Albert was downstairs. Olivia slipped into her robe and clutched it tightly around her waist while she hurried downstairs.
She’d seen little of her cousin since Martha had made known his desire to distance himself from union members and strike sympathizers. But from Albert’s frantic appearance, she knew something was amiss.
‘‘Albert! What’s happened?’’
‘‘Hurry and get dressed! Martha’s having the baby, and she wants you to come.’’
‘‘She needs a doctor, not me. Just because I was with Charlotte when Morgan was born doesn’t mean I know how to deliver a baby. Mrs. DeVault did the difficult part of that birthing.’’
‘‘The doctor is already there. She wants you there because . . .’’ He hesitated. ‘‘Well, because you’re her friend, and you’re family. Please come with me.’’
Olivia didn’t miss the longing in his plea. ‘‘Give me a minute to make myself presentable.’’
Olivia could hear Albert’s footsteps pacing the narrow hallway as she quickly donned a skirt and shirtwaist. She wouldn’t take time to style her hair. Better to be disheveled than have Albert miss the birth of his first child. Moments later, the two of them hurried along the quiet darkened streets, the only light provided by shimmering stars and a half moon.
‘‘Thank you for coming, Olivia. I was afraid you might turn me away.’’
She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and leaned a little closer. ‘‘It’s you who turned me away, Albert. I bear no grudge against either you or Martha. I understand your fears.’’ Patting his hand, she smiled up at him. ‘‘I’m pleased you came to fetch me. It will give me great joy to welcome a new member into our family.’’
Fred arrived on the last train from Chicago to Pullman on Saturday night. He wanted to surprise Olivia and attend church with her on Sunday morning. They’d had little time together now that he’d convinced Bill they must continue to build the etching business. Although Bill had resisted at first, Fred had been persistent, explaining that if Bill decided to sell, he’d want to show a prospective buyer that the business had grown, even in the midst of an economic depression. Fred attributed the increase to Bill’s innovative design and artwork, but Bill ignored the accolades. It no longer mattered whether anyone thought him talented. He wallowed in the belief he would never again be of use to himself or his family. Fred had to agree that Bill could no longer draw designs, yet he still had a vision for beauty whenever he pushed aside his resentment and shared his ideas.