An Uncertain Dream (40 page)
Mrs. DeVault poured a cup of tea for each of them. ‘‘I think that’s a sound idea. And I’m certain René will permit your absence for a few hours.’’ She stirred a dollop of cream into her tea. ‘‘Just between us, I don’t think he’s overly intimidated by Mr. Howard.’’
Olivia didn’t comment. She didn’t want to alarm the older woman. She had avoided mentioning that Mr. Howard had been extremely angry that the chef had penned a letter of recommendation for her. Of course, Mr. Howard could ill afford to discharge the chef. Who would take charge of the kitchen? Only a fool would do such a thing.
Mrs. DeVault offered Olivia one of Suzanne’s hot cross buns. ‘‘Suzanne prepares these buns at least once a week, and if she attempts to forgo the practice, Hannah and Lydia don’t fail to remind her.’’
‘‘Speaking of the Quinters, has Paul applied for work? Surely he can get back on with the car works.’’
Mrs. DeVault nodded. ‘‘Yes. He begins next week. They’re already making plans to rent their own place. Now that Fred has taken over the business in Chicago and will be living in the upstairs rooms there, I’ve decided to move into a small set of rooms in the hotel. René tells me there is adequate space on the third floor for a small apartment.’’ She chuckled. ‘‘I know he disliked discussing the matter with Mr. Billings, but the hotel manager advised him that I could rent the space at a nominal rate—no more than I’d pay for room and board with another family.’’
The arrangement sounded perfect. It seemed life was on the upward turn for everyone—everyone except her. But perhaps all of that would change once she spoke to Fred. She forced herself not to become overly optimistic, but secretly she hoped her lack of employment would be the impetus Fred needed to move forward with their marriage. She didn’t require a large wedding. A simple ceremony performed before a minister with only their closest friends and family present would suit.
Olivia hadn’t been listening to Mrs. DeVault’s chatter, but when the older woman squeezed her hand, she looked up. ‘‘I’m sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts.’’
The older woman chuckled. ‘‘So I noticed. Why don’t we spend some time in prayer? I believe we should ask God to give you peace and understanding during this difficult time of indecision.’’
‘‘And if He’d provide a place to live, that would be good, too,’’ Olivia added.
Chef René’s arrival at the front door a short time later ended their prayer session. ‘‘Ah! Here you are, Miss Mott. I stopped at the Mayfields’, but was told you hadn’t come home. I was worried. I am glad you decided to seek solace among friends.’’
‘‘Your meeting with Mr. Howard—how did it go?’’ Olivia asked.
The chef shook his head and curled his lip in disgust. ‘‘The man tried my patience to the fullest extent, and I was forced to quit.’’
Olivia jumped up from her chair and sent it plummeting to the floor in a loud crash. ‘‘
What?
Why would you
do
such a thing?’’
He shrugged. ‘‘Why not? Let Mr. Howard see how it feels to be left in the lurch. He seems to have no trouble imposing difficult circumstances upon others.’’
Mrs. DeVault’s eyes were alight with uncertainty. ‘‘Don’t you think it would have been best to make your decision based upon thought and prayer rather than emotion? I’m not certain this is wise, René .’’
‘‘Do not worry, Hazel. My decision is not so impulsive as you think. All these years I have been saving money, thinking that one day I would open a restaurant of my own. A place where no one else would tell me what I must serve or who could or could not eat in my establishment. I think that the time has arrived. Tomorrow I will go into Chicago and see what opportunities I can discover.’’
Mrs. DeVault’s jaw went slack. ‘‘You’re going to purchase a restaurant?’’
He gave an emphatic nod. ‘‘And you and Olivia will come to work for me, oui? All our problems, they will be solved. Fred will marry Olivia, you will marry me, and we will all live very happily.’’
Olivia had righted her chair and dropped onto the seat. She didn’t know if the chef ’s pronouncement had come as more of a surprise to Mrs. DeVault or to her.
Mrs. DeVault’s cup rattled when she replaced it on the saucer. ‘‘Married?’’ She pointed back and forth between them. ‘‘Us?’’
‘‘But of course. We love each other. Why should we wait?’’ He tapped Olivia’s arm. ‘‘We will have two weddings at the same time. What do you think?’’
Olivia clasped her hand to her chest. ‘‘I don’t know what to say. I think it’s a grand idea if you want to open a restaurant, but such a venture takes time.’’
‘‘Not when we have Hazel offering up her prayers. It will all work out; you will see. Have faith, Olivia.’’
Olivia thought he needed to utter the same admonition to Mrs. DeVault, for she didn’t appear any more convinced than Olivia. ‘‘I think I should go home and permit the two of you time to discuss this matter more fully in private.’’ She patted Chef René’s hand. ‘‘Marriage proposals usually take place without a third party present.’’
‘‘Then I shall remain and beg Hazel’s forgiveness. And you, Miss Mott, will spend your final day in charge of the Hotel Florence kitchen.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I wish you well.’’
While she prepared omelets for the hotel guests on Saturday, Olivia considered when she might have time to visit with Fred. Probably not until the next morning, since the chef ’s announcement had curtailed her plans to visit Chicago. There would be little time for them to formulate a plan. She waved to one of the kitchen boys to pick up the serving dishes and take them to the hot closet.
They’d completed the supper service when Olivia caught sight of a woman loitering near the back door. Olivia recognized her as one of the women who occasionally visited church with her three children. She stepped outside the door. ‘‘Mrs. Beacon, isn’t it?’’
‘‘That’s right,’’ the woman mumbled. ‘‘I was wondering . . . I mean one of the ladies told me . . .’’ She twisted a loose thread around her fingers. ‘‘My children are hungry. My husband hasn’t a job yet, and I thought maybe you’d help.’’ She gazed longingly at the kitchen door. ‘‘Do you have any leftovers in there?’’
‘‘Wait here and I’ll see what I can do,’’ Olivia said.
She packed a basket with leftover chicken, dinner rolls, several pieces of fresh fruit, and the remnants of a coconut cake Mr. Billings had been eyeing earlier in the day. On her way toward the door, she spied carrots that had been purchased from the market yesterday. They’ll be wilted by tomorrow, she decided, and she tucked them beside the fruit, not caring if any of the staff might see her actions. When Olivia returned outside, two of Mrs. Beacon’s children had joined her near the kitchen entrance. Her young son leaned against his mother’s side, his body so frail that Olivia wondered if he had the strength to walk home.
‘‘I hope this will help.’’ Olivia’s voice cracked with emotion. Unfortunately, the Beacons were only one family among hundreds who continued to suffer.
Even for those who had returned to work, life remained tough. The strike had not accomplished what any of the workers had hoped. Their wages remained the same, their rent remained the same, they continued to sink further into debt, and the company still controlled life in the town of Pullman. Bitterness had taken root in the hearts of some, but most simply accepted the lack of change and returned to their lot in life. Olivia stared after the young family. Perhaps one day change would occur in this town. She hoped that a seed had been planted in the hearts of the men who maintained power and control. She prayed that one day it would sprout and take root.
Except for the fearful thoughts about her future, this day had passed like most. In truth, she had anticipated a visit from Mr. Howard. She had hoped he would appear and beg her to remain until he could find a replacement. But he’d not even taken his meals in the dining room.
Shortly after she’d given the basket of food to the woman and her children, Mr. Billings came into the kitchen and announced the dining room would not be open on Sunday. Those scheduled to work would have the day off—without pay, of course.
Before he left he beckoned to Olivia. She wondered if he planned to bid her a special farewell. Instead, he pointed at the pantry shelf. ‘‘Where is the leftover coconut cake, Miss Mott? I saw several pieces only a short time ago.’’ He glanced around the room.
Olivia smiled sweetly. ‘‘Gone. And isn’t that a good thing? Our coconut cake won’t add to your expanding waistline.’’
Mr. Billings frowned from the doorway while she bid the remaining staff farewell and hung her white jacket and toque in the closet. Fear and sadness assailed her as she pinned her hat atop her chestnut curls and handed Mr. Billings her key. She descended the steps and inhaled deeply, hoping to carry the scent of this place with her awhile longer. The sound of the key turning in the lock sealed her fate. She’d been cast adrift in turbulent waters.
As she trudged toward home, Fred appeared from behind the trees where the staff gathered for their midmorning breaks. ‘‘May I walk you home, Miss Mott?’’
She couldn’t believe her eyes! Merely seeing him brightened her spirits. He bowed from the waist, and in spite of her sadness, she giggled at his behavior.
He kissed her on the cheek and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘‘I’ve made a mess of things for you, haven’t I?’’ She attempted to object, but he didn’t let her finish. ‘‘Chef René stopped to see me late this afternoon. He explained all that happened. I’m truly sorry, Olivia.’’
‘‘Did he have any success in his search for a restaurant?’’
‘‘Indeed. He’s found a place he thinks will be perfect. The bank foreclosed on the business several years ago, but it remains fully equipped. The chef isn’t overly fond of the china and silver, but he says it will do until the business is in full operation. From his assessment, it will take several days of cleaning, but he signed papers only a short time ago.’’
‘‘So soon? He should take more time with such a big decision.’’
‘‘It doesn’t seem he took much time before deciding to propose to my mother, either.’’
Olivia squeezed his arm. ‘‘So he told you? I’m pleased for them. They will make a fine couple.’’
‘‘And so will we.’’ He stopped beside one of the park benches. ‘‘I’ve been a fool making silly demands of you, Olivia. I love you, and that’s what’s important. Whether you go to work for Chef René when he opens his restaurant or stay at home, it will be your choice. Just tell me that my foolishness hasn’t caused me to lose you.’’
‘‘You could never lose me, Fred. I love only you.’’
He lifted her chin and kissed her full on the lips, the warmth of his embrace enfolding her with a love she knew would last forever. Together they would form a perfect union.
Olivia’s Cornish Pasties
Pastry:
4 cups flour
1/8
tsp. salt
1½
cups shortening, chilled
½
cup + 2 Tbsp. ice water
1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
Filling:
1 cup coarsely chopped turnips or rutabagas
2 cups finely diced lean boneless beef—top round or skirt steak
1 cup coarsely chopped onions
2 cups finely diced potatoes
1½
tsp. salt
1 tsp. pepper
Preheat oven to 400°. To make pastry, fork together flour and salt
with shortening to make a coarse meal. Add ½ cup ice water and mix. If
dough crumbles, add 1 or 2 tablespoons more water. Refrigerate for one
hour before rolling out.
Roll dough to a circle ¼-inch thick and cut into six to eight 6-inch
rounds. Re-roll the scraps and cut into additional circles. To prepare filling,
cut ingredients into uniformly small pieces. The meat and potatoes cook
together, so cut to appropriately sized cubes so that everything will get fully cooked in the same time period. Combine filling ingredients in a bowl and
mix evenly.
Put ¼ cup of the mixture in the center of a rolled-out pastry. Moisten
pastry edges, fold in half like a turnover, and crimp to seal. Place on a
greased baking sheet and brush the pastries lightly with egg wash. Make 2
slits in each pasty to allow steam to escape.
Bake at 400° for 15 minutes and then reduce heat and continue at
350° until golden—approximately 45 minutes more. Serve hot or cold. They also freeze well. Makes 6–8.
Apple Butter
3 lbs. Macintosh apples, cored, peeled, and sliced
3 cups cider
1¼ cup honey
¼ cup brown sugar, packed
1 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. allspice
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
Bring apples and cider to a boil in a large heavy saucepan; reduce
heat and simmer approximately 20 minutes or until apples are soft. Stir
in remaining ingredients; mix well. Simmer an additional 45–60 minutes
until apples break down into a very thick sauce. Cool just until warm;
puree in food processor or blender. If consistency is too watery, return to
saucepan and simmer until thickened. Cover and refrigerate. Will keep up
to two months in refrigerator. Makes about 2 pints.
Suzanne Quinter’s Hot Cross Buns
1 cup milk
2 packages (or 4½ tsp.) yeast
5 cups flour
½ cup sugar
2 tsp. salt
1½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
1/3 cup butter, softened
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/3 cups raisins
1 egg white, beaten
Glaze:
1 1/3 cups confectioners’ sugar
1½ tsp. finely chopped lemon zest
½ tsp. lemon extract
1 –2 Tbsp. milk
In a small saucepan, heat the milk until it’s very warm but not hot
(110°
). Pour warm milk into a large mixing bowl. Stir in the yeast and
let sit for 5 minutes.
