An Uncertain Dream (25 page)
Fred paced in front of the fireplace. ‘‘At least nobody’s been shot here. But having the troops set up camp on the hotel lawn hasn’t set well with the workers.’’
Matthew understood the strategy of the military commander’s choice. The hotel was situated only a short distance from the main entrance of the car works and provided an excellent vantage point. The surrounding lawns permitted adequate space for the tents, and the hotel afforded his men several benefits.
‘‘So that’s why Chef René isn’t present today. He’s helping prepare meals for the soldiers,’’ Charlotte said.
Fred ceased pacing and turned toward his mother. ‘‘He’s cooking for those men?’’
‘‘You need not adopt that disdainful tone with me, Fred.’’ Mrs. DeVault sent a warning look in her son’s direction. ‘‘I have no idea where René is. I thought he would be at church this morning, but he didn’t appear. If he’s been ordered to prepare food for the soldiers, I’m certain he will follow instructions. And so will I,’’ she added. ‘‘I assume Olivia will do the same.’’
Olivia nodded her agreement.
‘‘As far as I’m concerned,’’ she continued, ‘‘it makes little difference whether we’re preparing food for Mr. Pullman and his board of directors, for those soldiers, or for hotel guests. We are paid to perform our assigned duties.’’
Fred circled around the divan and sat down. ‘‘I suppose you’re correct, but somehow it seems wrong to prepare food for the enemy.’’
‘‘Don’t forget that we help feed some of the starving people of this town with food from that kitchen,’’ his mother replied. ‘‘If it weren’t for the leftovers that pass through that door, there would be more hungry children.’’
‘‘I didn’t mean to cause dissension. I merely expected to see Chef René . I was going to tell him about a new recipe being served at the tearoom,’’ Charlotte said.
‘‘I’m the one who’s at fault.’’ After making an apology to Charlotte and his mother, Fred turned to Matthew. ‘‘Is Bill at home? I should go and see him.’’
‘‘They took him to Mercy Hospital. If his condition is as bad as Mrs. Orland indicated, I have my doubts whether he’s gone home,’’ Matthew said.
‘‘If I return to the city early, I’ll have time to stop by the hospital before the meeting at Uhlich Hall. I’d also like to see Mrs. Orland if time permits. As I recall, she doesn’t have any family in Illinois.’’ Fred looked at Matthew. ‘‘Were you planning to take the three-o’clock train?’’
Olivia frowned. ‘‘Three o’clock? Surely you needn’t leave so early,’’ she told Fred. ‘‘I agree you should go see Bill and his wife, but I’ve barely seen you of late. Can’t Mr. Heathcoate handle matters for the union without you?’’
As Matthew understood it, tonight’s gathering wasn’t a meeting where a vote would be required by the membership of the American Railway Union, so he didn’t think Fred’s presence was an absolute necessity. But he didn’t offer an opinion. Charlotte’s earlier comment had nearly caused a rift, and he didn’t want to cause further disagreement.
‘‘I’m certain Mr. Heathcoate doesn’t need me, but the men elected me as their delegate. I feel I should give my best effort on their behalf.’’
Olivia didn’t argue with Fred’s reply, but Matthew now wished he had spoken to Fred in private. The entire issue should have been handled with greater diplomacy, and Matthew silently chided himself. He took heart when Olivia and Charlotte excused themselves for a private visit a short time later and hoped their time together would raise Olivia’s spirits.
Once the two men were alone, Fred motioned Matthew to join him outside. ‘‘I can’t tell you the despair I’m feeling right now. Do you realize that Bill would be safe and sound had I not encouraged his move to Chicago?’’
Matthew couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘‘Surely you’re not going to hold yourself responsible for Bill’s injury. That makes no sense. What if you’d failed to tell him about the opportunity and he was somehow injured here in Pullman? Would that be your fault because you hadn’t insisted he move to Chicago? I can’t believe you’re placing blame upon yourself.’’
The two men continued their discussion. By the time they departed for Chicago, Matthew had, at least for the most part, convinced Fred that his guilt was misplaced. He hoped Fred would continue to believe that once he visited with Mrs. Orland.
Later that day Fred slowly ascended the stairs leading to the apartment over Lockabee’s Design and Glass Etching Shop, each step more difficult than the last. He felt as though heavy weights had been attached to his shoes, yet he continued upward.
The apartment door swung open before he had an opportunity to knock, and Ruth Orland greeted him with a weary smile. ‘‘I’m so pleased you’ve come. I worried the newspaper reporter might not deliver my message and you wouldn’t know what had happened to Bill.’’
She motioned him toward a chair in the large room that served as a parlor by day and a sleeping area for the children by night. Ruth instructed the oldest child to take the other two into the kitchen. ‘‘They don’t quite understand what’s happened to their father.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘I haven’t been to the hospital yet. I’m afraid to leave them alone, and after what happened to Bill, I’m afraid to take them out with me. I don’t want . . .’’
Ruth’s words trailed off in choked emotion, but Fred knew what the woman feared. She didn’t want to risk the possibility of harm to her children. ‘‘Do you want me to remain here with them while you go to the hospital?’’ He would be late for the meeting, but it was the least he could do.
‘‘The children would be frightened if I left, but I wondered if you would stop by the hospital and then let me know how he’s progressing. If he’s doing better, you could tell the doctor I can care for him here at home.’’ She glanced toward the door. ‘‘You should tell the doctor that Bill will have to be able to climb a flight of stairs.’’
Fred scooted forward and pushed to his feet. ‘‘I need to make a quick stop at Uhlich Hall first, and then I’ll head over to the hospital. I’ll try to get back here before nightfall, but if I haven’t arrived by then, you go on to bed. I’ll be staying with Matthew Clayborn. I can stop over here in the morning if necessary.’’
She walked him to the door and grasped his arm before he departed. ‘‘It doesn’t matter how late it is; I’ll wait up. I need to know how Bill’s doing.’’
‘‘I understand. And don’t worry about the business, Ruth. I’ll come back and help with the work orders.’’
‘‘You tell Bill I love him and that I’m praying.’’ A tear appeared in the corner of her eye, and she quickly released Fred’s arm and turned away.
His footsteps echoed a series of hollow thunks on the wooden steps as he descended to the street below. The sadness he’d seen in Mrs. Orland’s eyes haunted him long after he’d departed. After stopping for a brief conversation with Mr. Heathcoate, he headed for the hospital. He would have preferred to ride the trolley but, after weighing his options, decided to walk instead. Tonight he’d be glad to have the money for a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
Besides, Mr. Heathcoate had assured him his presence at the meeting wasn’t a necessity. The men casting the votes would be the officers of nearly a hundred trade unions who would decide if they would join with the American Railway Union in support of the strike. With yet another refusal to arbitrate having been delivered from the Pullman management, the railway union needed the added momentum the other unions could add to their cause.
After walking several blocks, Fred passed a small eatery with a Closed sign prominently displayed across the front door. He wondered if his mother had gone to assist Chef René in the hotel kitchen after his departure. Would the hotel staff be expected to cook for the troops while they remained in Pullman? Surely not. The military had cooks who accompanied them and were responsible for food preparation. After all, soldiers would rarely be able to camp near a hotel or restaurant. But if Mr. Pullman thought it would gain him an advantage, the soldiers would no doubt have their meals catered. Fred could see it now: cloth-draped tables dotting the hotel veranda and lawns. Soldiers in uniform sitting at flower-bedecked tables and eating from fine Pullman china while Olivia and his mother scurried back and forth with tureens and platters of delectable food for the invaders.
Climbing the hospital steps, Fred pushed thoughts of the hotel from his mind. After securing directions to Bill’s ward, he ambled down the long corridor, up two flights of steps, and down another hallway. Stenciled numbers on the walls outside each ward led him to 3-B, where he offered a silent prayer before entering. He wasn’t good with sick people—never had been. His mother seemed to know exactly how to act and what to say, but Fred fumbled for words. Attempts to squelch his discomfort had always proved futile, and he doubted he’d do any better today.
He forced himself into the room and quickly scanned each bed until he caught sight of Bill. His friend’s bed was in the far west corner, which would require walking past rows of ailing men. Fortunately, they didn’t pay him much heed.
Fred did his best to appear nonchalant when he came alongside Bill’s bed, but he gulped for air when he saw his friend’s bandaged hand and arm. ‘‘I was told you’d been shot. No one mentioned your . . . your . . .’’
‘‘The gunshot was the least of my problems. I lost some blood, but the bullet merely grazed me.’’
‘‘Then how . . . ?’’ Fred motioned to Bill’s arm.
‘‘When the shot hit me, I fell to the ground beside a wagon. In all the noise and chaos, the horse bolted, and my arm got caught in the wheel spokes. The doctor seems to think I’m lucky to be alive. I told him not to tell Ruth about the arm. No need to worry her.’’
The doctor entered the room, and once he arrived at Bill’s bedside, he began to remove the bandage. A sense of lightheadedness nearly overcame Fred, and he turned away. He didn’t want to faint and end up in one of the hospital beds. When the doctor had completed his ministrations, he glanced over his shoulder.
‘‘You a member of the family?’’
Fred shook his head. ‘‘Friend.’’ He didn’t look toward the bed.
‘‘I didn’t tell Mrs. Orland the seriousness of her husband’s injuries when I stopped by the house to speak with her. She thinks he’s suffering from the gunshot wound, which, as you can see, is the least of his injuries.’’
Fred turned his back toward Bill and faced the doctor. ‘‘Bill’s a craftsman, an artist who designs and creates beautiful etchings. Has he told you that?’’
The doctor’s features tightened for a moment. ‘‘He has. And I’ve told him that unless he can figure out how to work with his left hand, I think he’ll need to find a new trade.’’ When he spoke, the doctor made no attempt to lower his voice. Bill had listened to every word without comment.
‘‘Mrs. Orland asked when she could hope for her husband to return home. She says she’s a capable nurse if you’ll give her proper instructions.’’
The doctor offered a sad smile. ‘‘I’m certain she’d do her best, but Bill needs to be in the hospital for the time being. We’re going to have to see how that arm does. I’ve got to keep watch for the possibility of—’’
‘‘Infection?’’ Fred arched his brows.
‘‘Gangrene.’’ This time the doctor spoke in a muffled tone. ‘‘You can tell Mrs. Orland that her husband will be in the hospital at least another five days and that I’m pleased with his progress.’’ The doctor leaned to one side and looked at Bill. ‘‘Does that message meet with your approval, Mr. Orland?’’
Bill agreed, and after a promise to see him tomorrow, the doctor moved to his next patient. Fred clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. ‘‘I’ll do my best to keep the shop operational during your absence, Bill. I know it won’t be the same as having you there, but it’s the least I can do.’’
‘‘Probably would be best if you didn’t accept any additional orders until I know what’s going to happen with my arm. I know the doctor fears gangrene. He doesn’t want to tell me, but I can see it written all over his face. Even if he saves the arm, I’m never going to draw again or manage to operate the business.’’ He settled his head into the pillow and stared overhead. ‘‘I need to accept what’s happened and prepare for change.’’
‘‘I don’t think you need to make any decisions right this minute. There’s always room for one more miracle, don’t you think?’’
‘‘Right. You have your mother pray for a miracle. In the meantime, I’ll try to figure out how I’m going to operate a design and etching business as a one-armed man.’’ Bill’s attempt to remain casual failed.
The anger in Bill’s words faded into a fear that settled in his eyes. They both knew that nothing short of a miracle was going to restore him to the man he’d been late yesterday afternoon. Certainly nothing Fred could say was going to ease the situation. He wanted to escape from the room and pretend this had never happened.
‘‘Anything I can do or bring to you?’’
Bill shook his head. ‘‘It’s okay for you to go. Tell Ruth not to come down here. I’d rather she stay at home with the children. Besides, there’s nothing she can do for me and she’s needed at home.’’ He stared out the window. ‘‘I appreciate your offer to help out, Fred. It means a lot. You take whatever you need from the business to cover your own expenses. I don’t want you working for free, understand?’’
Fred didn’t argue. It would only prolong his need to remain within the confines of the hospital. He didn’t want to appear anxious to leave, but every fiber of his being longed to race for the doorway and inhale a deep breath of fresh air.
‘‘I’ll do my best to stop by tomorrow, but with helping at the business and acting as a delegate for the union . . .’’ His words trailed off as he continued to take backward steps toward the door.
‘‘I understand you have your own obligations. And your help at the business is more important than having you spend time in this hospital.’’ Bill gave a nod, and Fred took it as a signal that he’d been released.
He raced down the street, partly to free his mind from thoughts of Bill’s ravaged arm and partly because he wanted to hear the outcome of the union meeting. Unless the discussion went longer than anticipated, the vote would already have been taken. But some of the men would stay afterward to discuss the outcome.
