An Uncertain Dream (39 page)
Fred didn’t fail to note the expectant look in Bill’s eyes. ‘‘Are you asking me to take over the business?’’
‘‘Could you? I know you can’t move back to Pullman, but I don’t know if you want to stay in Chicago. I haven’t had the place long enough to acquire much interest in it, so I wouldn’t expect you to pay me anything—just take over the monthly payments to Mrs. Lockabee. What do you think?’’
Ruth grasped his arm. ‘‘Wait! Where will we live if Fred takes over your contract?’’
‘‘The institute provides housing for its instructors. Much nicer than what we have here.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I’ve already had a tour. You won’t believe our good fortune.’’
Fred leaned across the counter. ‘‘Good fortune? This isn’t good fortune, Bill. It’s answered prayer. Let’s give God His due. You never said bad luck caused your accident. You blamed God. How come this turn of events is now good fortune rather than the hand of God?’’
Bill appeared shamefaced for a moment. ‘‘You’re right, Fred. I need to have a long talk with God. My behavior has been less than admirable, and I owe apologies to both of you and to the children, as well. I’m surprised you were able to tolerate me.’’
Fred chuckled. ‘‘I don’t know about Ruth, but there were several times when I considered using some mighty strong words to gain your attention. However, now that you’ve offered to let me buy into this business, I may have to forgive you.’’
Bill’s smile spread wide. ‘‘You’d be willing?’’
Fred nodded. ‘‘I’d be more than willing. I’d be delighted. If I can take over the contract, what’s happened today would be the answer to more than just one prayer.’’
‘‘Then let’s talk to Mrs. Lockabee and see if we can find a lawyer who will draw up the papers.’’
By the following morning Fred was the owner of Lockabee’s Design and Glass Etching Shop.
He had little doubt Olivia would be surprised by this turn of events.
When Charlotte arrived at work on Wednesday morning, Joseph greeted her with a cheery hello. He crooked his index finger, and she stepped to the side of the entrance. ‘‘Have you heard the latest news, Miss Spencer?’’
She tipped her head to one side. ‘‘How would I know if anything I’d heard was the latest news, Joseph?’’
His brow furrowed and he hesitated for a moment. ‘‘That’s a good point, Miss Spencer. I guess I never thought of that.’’ Then he grinned. ‘‘Seems Mr. Rehnquist is off to England on a ship early this morning. Mr. Sturgeon told me. We’ve become good friends.’’
‘‘Is that right? I wonder why Mr. Rehnquist is traveling to England.’’
Joseph leaned closer. ‘‘Don’t repeat this, but he got in some kind of trouble with the law. Mr. Field didn’t want any bad publicity for the store, so he sent him to England to work with his brother. Mr. Sturgeon said he doubted Mr. Rehnquist would last very long at his new position. He said Mr. Field’s brother can be very difficult.’’
‘‘Goodness, but Mr. Sturgeon certainly is a fount of information, isn’t he?’’
Joseph squared his shoulders. ‘‘He only talks to me because he knows I can keep a secret.’’
‘‘Truly?’’ Charlotte grinned and stepped toward the door. ‘‘I hope you soon learn.’’ She didn’t wait for a response. Poor Joseph didn’t realize the contradiction of his words and deeds. That fact aside, Charlotte was pleased to know Mr. Rehnquist was on his way out of the country. She hoped he hadn’t spoken to Mr. Field of her relationship with Matthew prior to his departure. If so, her discharge would be Joseph’s next tidbit of ‘‘latest’’ news.
Pullman, Illinois
Friday, August 31, 1894
Olivia’s heart thumped as loud as the drums in the Pullman Band. The summons to Mr. Howard’s office had been completely unexpected. He’d arrived back in town on Wednesday morning, and with each passing hour she’d become more confident that he had forgotten her visit to Chicago. He had spoken to Chef René on two occasions since his return, and her presence in Chicago had not been mentioned. He’d merely discussed minor changes he expected to occur now that the car works was returning to full operation. The city agent expected the hotel would once again be filled to capacity and people would soon forget the blemish caused by the strikers.
However, Olivia knew Mr. Howard didn’t plan to discuss such matters with her. She crossed the street and passed between the open iron gates. The journey seemed reminiscent of her first visit to the administration office when she’d hurried behind Chef René . How much had changed since then. She inhaled a deep breath before entering the building.
Mr. Mahafferty sat behind his desk bearing the same gloomy countenance he’d worn when Olivia first met him. At least one thing hadn’t changed. The clerk signaled for her to have a seat before he returned to his ledgers. Olivia counted the leaves in the wallpaper, thinking it an odd choice for the city agent’s office. Strange that she’d never noticed it before. When she’d counted nearly a thousand leaves, Mr. Howard opened the door to his office.
Her heart resumed the jarring cadence she’d experienced earlier. She automatically stood when he appeared, but he waved her back into her chair.
‘‘I have several other matters that require my attention. You’ll have to wait.’’ He pinned her with a cold stare before motioning Mr. Mahafferty into his office.
He likely hoped the additional wait would either try her patience or create fear. He had succeeded on both accounts. He’d summoned her to his office while supper preparations were in progress, a time when he knew her absence would cause a hardship. Once again she counted leaves on the wallpaper and hoped Chef René didn’t think she was dawdling on her way back to the kitchen.
She tapped her shoes, crossed her legs, folded her hands, and longed to rush out of the office. When she thought she could no longer sit in the chair, Mr. Mahafferty reappeared and bid her go in to meet with Mr. Howard. Now that she’d been granted entrance, she felt as though she’d been permanently affixed to the chair. Her arms didn’t seem to have the strength to push her upright.
Mr. Mahafferty glowered and pointed his index finger toward the door. ‘‘I suggest you go in there posthaste.’’
They both knew it was more than a suggestion, and his searing command was enough to propel her upright. She forced one foot in front of the other. The door creaked and Mr. Howard looked up from his desk.
‘‘Close the door after you.’’ He didn’t look up but focused on the ledger resting atop his desk.
After doing his bidding, she walked as far as the chairs sitting opposite his desk and clutched the cold wood for support. She selected a spot directly above his head and stared straight ahead.
‘‘Do sit down, Olivia. I don’t want you fainting during my questions.’’
So this
was
going to be about her day in Chicago. Why else would he make reference to her fainting spell? She circled the chair, sat down, and folded her hands in her lap. One thing was certain: he’d have to question her, for she would volunteer nothing.
He placed his pen in the holder and leaned back in his chair. ‘‘I’ve been extremely busy over the past week. I tell you that only to explain why I have waited to speak with you. During the course of my meetings in Chicago, I had an opportunity to visit with the manager of Palmer House. I’m sure you remember him.’’
Her palms perspired and the air felt heavy. She couldn’t seem to breathe, and she tugged at the collar of her tunic.
‘‘Please don’t faint again, Miss Mott. I’m truly not up to your theatrics today.’’ He strode to the window and opened it several inches.
A slight breeze wafted across the room. Olivia inhaled deeply and waited. He’d need to pursue her answers with greater vigor if he expected her to respond.
He tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘‘Well, Miss Mott? Are you going to answer me?’’
She tipped her head to the side. ‘‘I didn’t realize you’d asked a question.’’
‘‘If you don’t wish to discuss the matter, then I’ll simply tell you what I now know. You have been attempting to place applications for employment at hotel restaurants in the city. The managers of Palmer House and Grand Pacific both confirmed you had visited them.’’ He leaned across the desk. ‘‘They also stated you had a letter of recommendation from Chef René in your possession.’’
Olivia didn’t respond, but her stomach roiled. She feared that if she didn’t faint, she might disgorge her meal on the oriental carpet beneath her feet. She took a deep breath again and swallowed.
‘‘You are discharged, Miss Mott. You have until Sunday night at midnight to remove yourself and your belongings from Pullman.’’
‘‘But Chef René needs time to—’’
‘‘You weren’t worried about him when you were seeking employment in Chicago. And Chef René was not overly worried, or he wouldn’t have agreed to assist you.’’
‘‘I haven’t yet secured another job.’’
‘‘That, Miss Mott, is not my problem. You obviously are unhappy working in Pullman. Had you checked with me, I would have told you that you’ll not find another restaurant that will hire you as a chef. They hire men to work in their kitchens. You’ll be fortunate to find employment washing dishes.’’ He waved at her as though swatting a fly. ‘‘This discussion is over. And tell Chef René I will be dining in the hotel for supper. I want to speak with him in his office once the restaurant closes for the evening.’’
She’d reached the door when he called her name. Olivia glanced over her shoulder.
‘‘It could have been different if you’d have chosen the right man.’’
‘‘I
did
choose the right man.’’
She turned the doorknob and walked out of his office, glad that she would never again have to listen to Samuel Howard’s hurtful words yet frightened about her future. Where would she go? She couldn’t move in with Mrs. DeVault. In fact, after Sunday, she couldn’t live anywhere in Pullman.
The tower clock struck the hour, and she hastened her step. She would be needed in the kitchen to help with supper preparations. After tomorrow, she would never again step into the kitchen of Hotel Florence. A knot settled in her stomach. If only she hadn’t collided with Mr. Howard at Palmer House. How could a simple incident result in such upheaval? She censured herself. Such thoughts were useless. For now, she must forget the conversation and assist Chef René .
The chef motioned toward the stove. ‘‘Did you go home for a nap, Miss Mott?’’
She shook her head. ‘‘No. Even though Mr. Howard had scheduled a specific time for our appointment, he made me wait a long time before he would see me.’’
‘‘The man is a nuisance. Does he not realize we have guests expecting a fine dinner?’’ Chef René stood near the sink and sharpened his carving knife.
Olivia removed the trussed chickens from the oven and set them on the cutting board to rest before carving. ‘‘He said he will meet with you in your office after supper.’’
He twisted around. ‘‘You are having fun with me, non?’’
‘‘No.’’
The chef pointed the knife toward the car works. ‘‘What happened over there at your meeting?’’
Olivia had intended to wait to tell him, but the words spilled out before she could stop them. ‘‘He has discharged me. Tomorrow is my last day in the kitchen, and I must move out of Pullman by midnight on Sunday.’’
The chef ’s knife clattered as it fell into the sink. ‘‘This is a cruel joke, Miss Mott.’’
She stepped closer and related the full content of their conversation. ‘‘I fear he will take you to task for writing that letter of recommendation. You’re going to suffer retribution because of me.’’
He picked up the knife. ‘‘Mr. Howard will have his say, and I will have mine. But for now, the poultry must be carved.’’
Olivia had wanted to wait to go home until after the chef ’s meeting with Mr. Howard, but he had insisted that she leave after the meal preparation was completed. Now she would have to wait until morning to hear a full disclosure of their discussion. She should go home and begin to sort through her belongings and pack for her move—but move to
where
?
Olivia wished Fred were here so they could discuss what had happened. She had celebrated with him only a couple of days ago the good news regarding the purchase of the etching business and believed God was providing a path for them to eventually begin their life together. All that remained was locating a position for her in a Chicago restaurant. Now she found herself without a job in Pullman or Chicago. And with no place to live, either. Perhaps Mrs. DeVault could offer some sage advice.
Instead of stopping at home, she continued down the street and waved at Lydia and Hannah Quinter, who were enjoying their usual game of hopscotch during the final hour of waning daylight. A pang of envy struck her as she watched them in their carefree play. Even her childhood had been plagued with hardships similar to those she’d experienced as an adult. ‘‘No need for self-pity,’’ she muttered while climbing the steps and knocking on the door.
Mrs. DeVault greeted her with her usual good cheer and affection. ‘‘Come have a cup of tea with me where we can visit in private.’’
Paul and Suzanne were in the parlor with baby Arthur. Olivia visited with them for a few minutes before joining Mrs. DeVault in the kitchen.
‘‘I must admit I expected to see René standing at my door, but I’m happy you’ve stopped by to see me.’’
While Mrs. DeVault prepared tea, Olivia explained the chef was to meet with Mr. Howard. ‘‘I don’t know how long he will be detained.’’ She then recounted her own disturbing news.
‘‘It appears Fred’s determination for you to locate a job in Chicago has had quite a devastating result.’’ The older woman sat down opposite Olivia. ‘‘There is so little time. Have you arrived at any decisions?’’
Olivia wagged her head. ‘‘I thought about Priddle House.
Not a pleasant idea, but I could certainly cook for the residents if I can’t find work elsewhere, and I would at least enjoy being around Charlotte and Morgan.’’
‘‘Do you think Mrs. Priddle would accept you?’’
Olivia shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know if there is adequate space at the moment. There’s little time for me to make arrangements, but Mr. Howard cared not a whit. If Chef René will grant me permission, I may go into Chicago after breakfast tomorrow. I could be back in plenty of time to help with the evening meal. It would also give me an opportunity to visit with Fred.’’