In the Company of Secrets (19 page)
‘‘Indeed I am.’’ Olivia walked to the bedroom, picked up the baby, and carried him into the parlor. With as much decorum as she could muster, Olivia dropped a diaper onto Charlotte’s lap and placed the child in her arms. ‘‘It’s time you began taking care of your son.’’
The previous night’s events had proved enough of a disaster that Olivia was actually pleased she had an excuse to remain at work this evening. Charlotte’s childish behavior had bordered on intolerable. Instead of taking responsibility, she had acted like an uninterested party during the meeting with Mrs. DeVault and Mrs. Logan. Mrs. Logan agreed to supply milk, and Mrs. DeVault would continue to assist with the infant’s care, but only if Charlotte agreed that she, too, would do her part. It was only when Mrs. DeVault threatened to withdraw her assistance that Charlotte had finally joined the conversation. Mrs. DeVault later explained that it was Charlotte’s willingness to pay Mrs. Logan, rather than the woman’s Christian love, that had been the deciding factor.
Mrs. DeVault remained hopeful that Charlotte would soon embrace motherhood, but Olivia had her doubts. At Olivia’s insistence, Charlotte had changed a few wet diapers. Though she had retched, gagged, and whined, she’d finally managed to change one dirty diaper last night. This morning, with only a wet diaper to manage, she had done much better. However, she’d not been amused when she removed the wet diaper and young Morgan drenched her with an unexpected shower.
Chef René slapped his beefy hand atop the counter and all thoughts of Charlotte and the baby immediately dissipated. ‘‘The pastry kitchen is yours, Miss Mott. I hope to be impressed.’’ He raised his eyebrows and looked at the clock. ‘‘I will return in one hour to check your progress.’’
The moment he departed, Olivia set to work, thankful the chef had not chosen to follow her downstairs to the pastry kitchen and watch. She lit the bakery oven, selected the temperature, and gathered the ingredients. She’d never been one to pray over the small things in life, nor over many of the big things, either, for that matter. But Mrs. DeVault said God was in the little things as well as the big, so she silently asked for guidance through these next few days of testing.
For the most part, she had already decided what she would prepare. Today, it would be pastry puffs with a variety of fillings, everything from lemon curd to chicken salad. By making the puffs in several sizes and adding an array of decorations, each would appear unique—a time-saving device learned in Chef Mallard’s kitchen. Chef René hadn’t set any particular rules regarding preparation. Therefore, Olivia had confiscated several pieces of leftover baked chicken for her chicken salad, as well as some chocolate custard, apricot cream, and rhubarb custard for her dessert delicacies.
She would have preferred more time for the puffs to cool before filling them and didn’t hesitate to tell Chef René when he entered the kitchen. ‘‘You had best check the texture quickly, or the creams and custards will be in a complete meltdown.’’
Observing her plight, he didn’t argue and immediately tasted the offerings. She’d drizzled the sweet puffs with chocolate or a dusting of icing sugar. In the chicken salad puffs, she had tucked a sprig of parsley or rosemary to add a dash of color. Unfortunately, there had been little time to arrange them in an attractive presentation that would be pleasing to the eye as well as the palate, something Chef René constantly emphasized.
Olivia anxiously awaited his response while he finished the final bite. ‘‘These will do nicely.’’ He kissed the tips of his fingers. ‘‘Magnifique!’’
She wanted to dance around the kitchen and celebrate; instead, she remained calm and offered her thanks. Hearing Chef René ’s praise had made her efforts worthwhile. When she began to gather the cooking utensils to carry them to the sink, he shook his head.
‘‘You go home now. I’ve arranged for one of the kitchen boys to come down and clean up each evening when you finish your baking.’’
‘‘Then I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you, again, for your kind words.’’
‘‘Time is limited in the evening, Miss Mott, but do not forget—
presentation
.’’ The chef ’s final word floated across the room in a reverent tone.
She removed her toque and jacket. ‘‘The tables will be properly decorated, and I will use crystallized flowers and fruit to accent.’’
He popped another pastry into his mouth and gave an affirmative nod. ‘‘I look forward to tomorrow’s offering.’’
Though René ’s praise had bolstered her spirits, her body needed rest. Forcing one foot in front of the other, she wondered if she’d get any sleep tonight. And tomorrow would be another long day. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps and was startled when she felt a tug on her basket.
‘‘May I carry that for you?’’
‘‘Fred! What a pleasant surprise.’’ She loosened her hold on the basket and suddenly didn’t feel nearly so tired. ‘‘What brings you here?’’
‘‘Mother returned to help Mrs. Hornsby with the baby, and I walked along with her.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘That one’s not much good with babies or the domestic life, is she?’’
Olivia giggled. ‘‘No. She’s certainly not.’’
‘‘My mother says it may have something to do with losing her husband—that she’s not gotten over grieving his loss. I’m not so sure. I think the woman tends to be self-centered and lazy. To my way of thinking, she should be pleased to care for the young lad. After all, he’s all that she has left of her husband.’’
Fred’s comments were a reminder that Charlotte must not forget her role of the grieving widow. Yet Olivia couldn’t fault Charlotte too much. After all, she herself failed to remember their lies from time to time. Unlike the truth, she’d discovered it was much more difficult to recollect lies. The two of them had become rather lax of late. They’d better review the list of lies before bed tonight.
‘‘People react differently in times of grief, I’m told.’’ She hoped her cursory remark would be enough to forestall further discussion of Charlotte’s behavior. ‘‘I’m pleased you happened along.’’
He laughed heartily and pushed his hair from his forehead. Her stomach flip-flopped at the sparkle in his eyes. ‘‘I didn’t just happen along, Olivia. My mother said you had to work late, so I thought I’d wait in the park until I saw you heading toward home. Turns out I didn’t have to wait at all.’’
Although they’d seemingly mended their disagreement over the night at the band concert, Fred had proceeded cautiously since then. They’d attended several outdoor concerts with Albert and Martha, she had accompanied Martha to watch the men compete in their soccer and baseball games, and they were together after church each Sunday. However, Fred hadn’t invited her to spend time alone with him. Now she relished the moment and welcomed the pleasure of being with him, if only for a few minutes.
‘‘I asked Mrs. Hornsby why you were working so late, but she merely said she thought you wanted to avoid being around the baby. I doubted that was true.’’ He grinned.
She matched his stride as they continued along the perimeter of the park and then crossed the street, all the while savoring his presence and wishing he would slow his gait and they could spend the remainder of the evening alone. ‘‘I’m required to stay after regular hours each evening to make pastries for Chef René ’s evaluation. And while I’m preparing for the gala at the hotel, I understand that you and Albert have been practicing for the athletic competitions that will coincide with the regatta.’’
‘‘Yes, though I imagine we’re enjoying ourselves more than you are. Don’t you resent spending so much time in the kitchen?’’
She shook her head. ‘‘It’s hard work but an amazing opportunity.’’ Pleased at his seeming interest, she detailed several of the delicacies she would prepare. ‘‘I do want to please both Chef René and Mrs. Pullman.’’
‘‘Oh yes. We wouldn’t want to disappoint a member of the Pullman family.’’ His words dripped with sarcasm.
‘‘Do you dislike Mr. Pullman and this town so much, Fred?’’
‘‘I’m not denying there’s a great deal of opportunity in Pullman. But these capitalists are building their empires off the little man’s sweat and toil. Wealthy visitors come to town and think this place is a utopia for the workingman. Instead, it’s just another means for Mr. Pullman to stuff more money into his own coffers.’’
Fred’s slant on Mr. Pullman’s rise to wealth and fame differed dramatically from that of Mr. Howard. Of course, the two men possessed far different positions within the company and the town itself, so she supposed that wasn’t so odd. Mr. Howard thought Mr. Pullman’s rise to fame and fortune had been hard-earned and well-deserved. On the other hand, Fred painted a picture of a man willing to achieve success at any cost, even if it meant stepping upon the backs of hardworking, uneducated men to get there—a cold and indifferent man who cared little for anyone or anything other than the almighty dollar.
Yet she wondered aloud whether such a cold and heartless man would name a hotel for his daughter or take such care in beautifying the town.
Fred laughed at her remark. ‘‘I’m told Mr. Pullman has four children, but he favors only one—Florence. What kind of man gives such preference to one child over the others?’’
Olivia didn’t think Mr. Pullman’s behavior such a terrible offense. ‘‘He couldn’t name the hotel after all of them, and she
is
the oldest child.’’
‘‘No, he couldn’t, but don’t you see that it’s not just the hotel? While the other Pullman children were absent the day his company began production, it was Florence who turned the valves to set the Corliss engine into motion and begin production at the Pullman Car Works. Her picture was in all the papers, yet there was no mention of the other children.’’ He frowned and pointed toward Lake Calumet. ‘‘Have you seen the housing where the brickyard workers live?’’
Although she’d not been to the area he referred to, he didn’t hesitate long for a response.
‘‘You haven’t seen those places because they’re well hidden, carefully tucked away so that Mr. Pullman’s illustrious visitors won’t know such ramshackle housing exists in this town. Those wealthy folks ride into Pullman on their private railroad cars and believe everyone living here has a perfect life—all thanks to our wonderful benefactor.’’ Fred kicked a pebble and watched it bounce down the sidewalk before coming to rest in a well-landscaped patch of grass.
Although she didn’t say so, Olivia had been satisfied with the town and its accoutrements—except for the library fees, which she deemed unnecessary. Of course, Charlotte said Olivia harbored low expectations, but she didn’t consider Pullman a limited opportunity.
Fred shifted the basket to his other hand and paused to speak to a man walking the other direction with his wife and children. ‘‘That’s John Wilsey,’’ he said after the man moved out of earshot. ‘‘He works in the greenhouse. It’s located near Lake Calumet and supplies the shrubs and trees for the town. He and the other gardeners also raise the cut flowers and bedding plants that are available at the Market.’’
Olivia wished she had known about the greenhouse and cut flowers sold at the town Market before she had picked the infamous peonies a couple months earlier. Since then, she’d purchased many of the beautiful varieties for use in the hotel. And she planned to utilize the greenhouse flowers to decorate the cakes, pastries, and tables for Mrs. Pullman’s gala.
‘‘Poor John got himself in trouble shortly after moving to Pullman,’’ Fred commented. ‘‘He was sitting on his front porch in the middle of summer without his jacket. Mr. Howard happened by and told him that Pullman had parks where the residents could sit and relax and that people of refinement wore their suit jackets outside the confines of their homes. He added that Mr. Pullman expects the same behavior from those who live in his town.’’
Why did Fred have to bring Mr. Howard into the conversation? After all, making certain the rules in Pullman were observed was part of Samuel’s job. She didn’t think Fred should fault another man for performing the work for which he’d been hired. Olivia did agree the prohibition against sitting on porches was ridiculous, but Fred must agree that the parks provided a much more pleasant place to spend free time. As for the suit jackets, she simply assumed Mr. Pullman had good reason for requiring the formality. Perhaps she easily accepted rules because she’d lived with them all her life. She was exceedingly thankful for Chef René ’s kindness, especially after having worked for the lecherous Chef Mallard.
Sometimes Fred sounded like an angry zealot when he argued for the working class, like one of the union organizers she’d heard the hotel laundry workers whisper about. She wondered if he’d been swept into the tide of men who were promoting union shops. Surely he wouldn’t do anything so foolish. Mr. Howard had told her just last week that any such men would be immediately discharged from employment. The company had made it clear that the rule against unions would be enforced and the men promoting such ideas would be dealt with harshly.
As they approached the house, Olivia spied Mrs. DeVault pacing in front of the parlor window. She carried young Morgan in her arms, rocking him back and forth. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen.
