‘‘And I want to hear how your business is doing,’’ Fred replied, taking a seat in the kitchen. Mrs. Orland peeked in long enough to say hello and offer a piece of her apple pie but then disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived.
Bill poured each of them a cup of coffee and sat down opposite Fred. ‘‘First the strike; then I’ll tell you about this place.’’
Between bites of pie, Fred related the events leading up to their current status. ‘‘Tomorrow will tell the tale of whether anyone other than the workers will be willing to sit at the table and negotiate.’’
Bill took a gulp of the coffee and rested his forearms on the wood table. ‘‘I have to tell you, I’m mighty thankful to be sitting in this place right now. I know it’s a terrible thing to say to someone who is fighting to help all of the workers in Pullman, but I don’t regret for a minute that I’ve left that place.’’ He shook his head and laced his fingers together. ‘‘I thought my wife would never stop crying when she heard about the Jensens’ boy. I can’t imagine one of my children freezing to death.’’ A tear glistened in his eye, and he downed another mouthful of coffee.
‘‘You’re right. It’s been a hard-fought battle, but let’s hope something good will come from all of this. If we lose, I don’t know what will happen—especially to those of us leaders.’’
‘‘You need not worry. You know I would bring you on as a partner here, Fred. We might struggle earning enough to support two families, but we’d make do.’’
‘‘Thank you, Bill, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. Now, tell me about the business. I want to hear how you’ve fared and if the locals are appreciative of your artistic abilities.’’
The two men talked late into the night. Later, when Fred lay down in bed, he remembered how much he missed fashioning the beautiful etched glass that he’d learned to create years ago. The memories combined with thoughts of the strike filtered in and out of his dreams, providing a restless sleep.
When he awakened the next morning, Fred felt as though he’d not been to bed at all. After downing Mrs. Orland’s hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and thick slices of buttered bread, he offered his thanks and hurried off toward Uhlich Hall. Several delegates had already arrived.
‘‘Any news?’’ he asked.
‘‘No. So far as we know, the trains are running on schedule, just like always.’’
Fred could barely believe his ears. After all that had happened, all the planning and the promises that the American Railway Union and Mr. Debs had made, were the trains actually going to continue to run as though an ultimatum had never been issued?
Matthew positioned himself among several other reporters at the railroad station. As far as he was concerned, this was the place to be. He wanted to see firsthand whether Pullman cars would continue to be coupled to the trains running in and out of Chicago. After a morning and afternoon of disappointment, he walked across the station and tucked his notepad into his pocket. Thus far, the Illinois Central had kept to its schedule, and there had been no evidence that the boycott of Pullman cars was going to occur. Matthew could only imagine how Fred must feel.
‘‘Hey, Matthew! Did you hear the news?’’ Hurtling across the depot at a gallop, Sam, a young messenger from the
Herald
, closed the gap between the two of them in no time.
‘‘If there’s any news, I sure missed it. Looks as though everything’s moving along pretty normally to me. I was just going over to grab a cup of coffee at the shop on the other side of the depot. Want to come along?’’
Sam grabbed his sleeve and shook his head. ‘‘The president of the Illinois Central has invited George Pullman to come to the station and watch the Diamond Special depart for St. Louis. Since things have been going so well for the railroad today, the company president figures the boycott was merely a threat.’’
‘‘I’m beginning to wonder the same thing,’’ Matthew said. ‘‘So is Pullman planning on making an appearance?’’
‘‘No one seems to know yet, but you’re supposed to stick around and cover the story—if there is one. That’s what the news editor said I should tell you. Want me to wait with you?’’
Matthew chuckled. ‘‘I think you’ll find sitting around here about as boring as watching paint dry, Sam. Besides, you’re probably needed at the paper. If you hear anything else, let me know. I’ll stick around until nine o’clock, when the Diamond Special leaves the station, but I’m going on home afterward. It won’t take long to write this story.’’
Matthew strolled across the depot and made himself comfortable at one of the tables in the coffee shop. It had already been a long day, and now he’d be there until well into the evening. When six o’clock arrived, Matthew was standing across the street from Marshall Field’s. He could walk Charlotte home and be back well before eight thirty. If George Pullman planned to make an appearance, he’d likely wait until close to nine o’clock to make his entrance. He wouldn’t want to stand around and face the possibility of reporters asking him questions he didn’t want to answer about his model town and the starving workers. In fact, Matthew doubted that he’d appear at all.
After last night’s Bible study, Mrs. Priddle had permitted him the opportunity of bidding everyone good-night. She’d then escorted him out the front door while Charlotte retreated upstairs to check on Morgan, so the evening had proved less than exciting.
This evening the same woman he’d met the night before accompanied Charlotte across the street, but this time he didn’t reveal himself until Mrs. Brandt had bid Charlotte good-night.
Once the older woman had turned to cross the street, he stepped to Charlotte’s side. ‘‘May I escort you home, Miss Spencer?’’
‘‘Mr. Clayborn, you surprise me. After attending last night’s Bible study, I didn’t expect to see you again.’’
‘‘You think I’m so easily deterred that I would permit a group of women and a Bible study to keep me away from you?’’ He chuckled. ‘‘Just proves you don’t yet know me.’’
Charlotte continued onward without slowing her pace. ‘‘I truly have no idea what it would take to deter you. However, I’m surprised you’re not off gathering news regarding the strike. Wasn’t the boycott scheduled to occur today?’’
‘‘Yes, but nothing’s occurred so far, and I had to while away the entire day at the train depot. Other than thoughts of you, I’ve had nothing with which to keep my mind occupied. I thought you might agree to be my guest at supper. What do you say?’’
‘‘I say that I have a son awaiting my return home and other responsibilities that require my attention. You should find some carefree young lady upon whom you can shower your attention. I have little free time for such things.’’
‘‘But you must eat supper, and I’d be delighted to have Morgan join us.’’
Her eyes sparkled, and his heartbeat quickened at the thought that she might accept his offer. Instead, she quickened her pace. ‘‘We have the same routine nearly every night at Priddle House. Mrs. Priddle maintains a strict schedule for all of her residents. Had I told you about the Bible study, you would have thought I was merely making an excuse to avoid you.’’
‘‘So you’re
not
attempting to avoid me?’’
She sighed. ‘‘You are a very nice gentleman, albeit a bit forward and somewhat tenacious. However, I assume that goes hand in hand with your profession.’’
Matthew laughed and tipped his head as though she’d slapped him. ‘‘We reporters aren’t such a bad lot.’’
‘‘I’m sure you’re not, but as I said earlier, I have obligations. Between my work, my son, and Priddle House, my days and evenings are full.’’
‘‘What about your Sunday afternoons? Are they filled, also? Surely you’re entitled to a few hours of leisure each week. If you won’t permit me to call on you before then, what about next Sunday afternoon?’’
She glanced at him from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. ‘‘What about Sunday morning? You could attend church with us.’’
Another test? If so, he didn’t want to fail. ‘‘I would be pleased to attend. What time shall I call for you?’’
‘‘Nine o’clock would be acceptable. We could visit in Pullman afterward, if you like.’’
‘‘Perfect.’’ He was already relishing the idea of an entire afternoon with her.
‘‘And perhaps Fiona could join us?’’
He nodded. ‘‘Yes. Fiona would be most welcome,’’ he said, thankful she hadn’t added Mrs. Priddle into the mix.
He hailed a carriage, paid the driver, and tipped his hat. ‘‘Until Sunday morning.’’
She smiled in return. ‘‘I shall look forward to your visit.’’
He watched until the carriage was out of sight. She had said she would look forward to his visit. That must mean she at least
liked
him. He headed down the street. He’d have his supper at the Good Eats, where he could always depend upon seeing a few of his fellow reporters or an acquaintance or two. Maybe he’d even see Ellen again.
Matthew’s disappointment mounted when the Diamond Special departed at nine o’clock with Pullman cars in tow. Had he not overheard a surreptitious comment between two of the switchmen, he would have called it a night. Instead, he decided he’d take up residence on one of the benches. He could write his story and catch a short nap in the depot. If anything happened, he’d be on hand to get what every reporter longed for— a scoop.
When the night crew reported for duty at midnight, Matthew received his wish. He was the first reporter to interview one of the switchmen who refused to work the Pullman cars. The other railroad employees arriving for the night shift followed suit. They, too, refused to move any train that carried a Pullman car.
He scribbled his story and raced to the office, shouting the news as he entered the building. His editor, Mr. Baskin, snatched the story from his hand and began to read, signaling for Matthew to join him while he ordered the story sent out to the wire service. ‘‘I trust you’ve corroborated all of this?’’ The excitement caused Mr. Baskin’s florid complexion to take on a purplish hue that emphasized his bulbous nose.
‘‘I was there. I saw it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears. The quotes from those switchmen and inspectors were made directly to
me
.’’
Mr. Baskin clapped him on the back. ‘‘Good work! You stayed at the depot all night?’’
‘‘Isn’t that what you instructed?’’
‘‘I did.’’ The older man smoothed his palm across his balding pate. ‘‘I didn’t expect you to follow my orders, but I’m sure glad you did. You can expect something extra in your pay envelope at the end of the week.’’
‘‘How about something extra on a weekly basis? I could stand a raise.’’
‘‘Just because you’re in the midst of reporting on a strike, don’t go getting any ideas.’’ Mr. Baskin leaned back in his chair. ‘‘I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.’’
‘‘Good enough.’’ Matthew jumped to his feet, pleased that his request would be considered. Though he hadn’t entered the building with a raise in mind, it somehow now seemed important that he have a more substantial income, yet he didn’t quite understand why. He didn’t have difficulty meeting his week-to-week living expenses. He shrugged the thought from his mind and headed back to the streets to sniff out another story that would please Mr. Baskin.
He decided to check at Uhlich Hall and see if he could get Mr. Debs’s take on how the boycott was progressing thus far. When he reached the building, he saw Fred standing out front. ‘‘Appears as if the boycott has begun. No word from Mr. Pullman or the General Managers Association that they’re now interested in negotiating?’’
Fred shook his head.
‘‘Mr. Debs inside? I thought I’d try to get a few remarks from him.’’
‘‘He handed out a printed statement a short time ago that says he won’t be giving any further comments for the time being. I truly believe he’s heartbroken that it has come to this. Until the boycott actually began, he held out hope that someone would step forward from the other side and offer to negotiate.’’ Fred pointed to his heart. ‘‘But I think deep down inside he knew it wasn’t going to happen. I think he fears we’ll be unable to hold out long enough to win.’’
The two of them sat down on the top step, and Matthew shoved his hat to the back of his head. ‘‘I hope this doesn’t turn violent. Do the men in Pullman appear content to bide their time and wait this out?’’
‘‘I carried Mr. Debs’s message to them early Monday evening, but I haven’t been back since. I’m going to return later this evening and give them a full report. Thomas Heathcoate will accompany me. I’m afraid the men may be receiving conflicting reports from every side. We hope to maintain their confidence.’’ Matthew rested his forearms across his knees. ‘‘I wish you well, my friend. No doubt Chicago will soon be filled with unrest. Let’s hope all remains quiet in Pullman.’’
Pullman, Illinois
Friday, June 29, 1894
The sun shone overhead as creamy clouds billowed in a pale blue sky. Except for the depression that firmly gripped the nation and the railroad strike that threatened to bring the country to its knees, it was a perfect day.
Olivia grasped Fred’s arm, and the two of them sauntered toward the hotel. ‘‘How soon will you return to Chicago?’’
‘‘I’ll go in this afternoon if there’s an available train.’’
Within two days after the American Railway Union had declared an impasse, fifty thousand railroad workers across the country walked out, and the Illinois Central trains now ran only sporadically. Switchmen, firemen, brakemen, engineers, and other laborers had held fast to their word and joined their fellow workers in the boycott. And those who didn’t walk off announced that they would not work on any train that included a Pullman car. The railroad lines that crisscrossed the midwestern states rapidly clogged, and the busy Chicago freight yards fell silent. The Chicago
Times
led with the headline ‘‘Not a Wheel Turns in the West.’’
Fred and Mr. Heathcoate followed Mr. Debs’s order and urged the strikers to remain nonviolent. However, tempers mounted as railroad managers soon hired nonunion men who weren’t qualified for the railroad jobs but were willing to work as strikebreakers. There was little doubt the railroad managers hoped these scabs would force the union men back to work.