‘‘We’ve come to an impasse, and I’m not certain if or when we will wed.’’
‘‘If ? Now that sounds serious.’’ Matthew rested his forearms on the table. ‘‘What’s happened? Another man? Please don’t tell me Samuel Howard has managed to win her affections.’’
Fred quickly recounted their recent agreement. ‘‘Olivia wasn’t in favor of the idea, but she finally accepted. She spoke to Chef René the very next day, and he agreed to give her a letter of reference, though he hasn’t yet given it to her. The last I heard, he told her ten days was a reasonable amount of time, and he would do his best to have it to her by tomorrow.’’
‘‘Wouldn’t it be easier to simply marry her and hope for the best? That’s what most folks do. If she locates work, fine. If not, she’ll learn to be content.’’
‘‘Or be unhappy. That’s not what I want in my marriage. I don’t want to come home to a wife who will grow to resent me and spend her days and nights longing for another life, or the life she had before she married me. It would be unfair to Olivia. She deserves happiness, and much of what makes her happy is working as a chef.’’
‘‘It’s true she’s accomplished something few women have achieved, yet if she says—’’
Fred grasped Matthew’s arm. ‘‘No. First she must realize the depth of what she might be required to sacrifice before she can begin to make a clear decision. She says she wants to marry me even if she can’t work.’’ Fred tapped his index finger to his temple. ‘‘But up here she believes she will have no difficulty locating a position in Chicago.’’
Matthew shook his head. ‘‘I admire your desire to ensure Olivia’s happiness, but life is full of unplanned circumstances that can send even the best of plans awry. Look at Bill Orland. Who would have ever thought he’d made a poor choice by moving to Chicago and purchasing the etching business? Now he’s at your mercy.’’
‘‘I hope that’s not how Bill looks at it,’’ Fred said as he picked up his hat. ‘‘After all, he’s paying me a small wage and providing me with a place to live. And most days I take my meals with them.’’
Matthew stood and the two of them walked to the counter to pay their bill. ‘‘I know you’ve been an immense help, and I’m sure Bill is grateful, but if he’d known what lay in store for him, he probably wouldn’t have accepted Mr. Lockabee’s offer to purchase his business.’’
As the two men walked out of the restaurant, Fred donned his cap. ‘‘This isn’t the same as what happened to Bill. But since you’ve mentioned him, I’m trying to develop a plan to help him sort out his future. He’s not himself, and his behavior makes life difficult for Ruth and the children.’’ The two men continued down the street and stopped at the corner as they prepared to part ways. ‘‘You’re in contact with a lot of people. Maybe you could help me come up with a strategy for him.’’
‘‘I can’t think of anything right off, but I’ll give it some thought. Lunch again tomorrow?’’
‘‘How about Friday? I’m not a newspaper reporter. I can’t afford to eat at a restaurant every day.’’ He slapped Matthew on the shoulder. ‘‘By the way, how is Charlotte? I haven’t seen her for quite a while.’’
‘‘We don’t have time to discuss both Charlotte and Olivia in one day.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘We’ll save that conversation for Friday.’’ With a wave he headed across the street.
Fred waited until a fancy carriage pulled by two sleek black steeds passed by before he continued on his way. He should have cautioned Matthew against mentioning their conversation to Charlotte, for Olivia would surely disapprove.
After tucking Morgan into bed for the night, Charlotte went downstairs. The house seemed unusually quiet. Had it not been for the dim light in the parlor, she would have returned to her room. Charlotte entered the sitting room and circled the wing chair to find Mrs. Priddle with her head bowed. The older woman’s open Bible rested in her lap, and the familiar white bun sat atop her head in perfect symmetry. Keeping her knobby index finger pointed to her place on the page, Mrs. Priddle looked up, her eyes shining with expectancy.
‘‘Did you wish to speak to me?’’ the older woman asked.
The endearing tone was as inviting as a warm embrace, so Charlotte sat down in the nearby chair. ‘‘I have a problem. Together I hope we can arrive at a suitable solution.’’
Mrs. Priddle placed a crocheted bookmark in her Bible and closed the worn leather cover. ‘‘I’m listening.’’
The older woman was attentive while Charlotte described Mr. Rehnquist’s indecorous advances and his subsequent threat. ‘‘I’m uncertain how to handle this situation. I can’t afford to lose my employment with Mr. Field, yet I refuse to succumb to Mr. Rehnquist’s menacing behavior.’’
‘‘I agree that Mr. Rehnquist’s actions are abhorrent. And I now see why you’ve been so reluctant to go outdoors of late.’’ She patted Charlotte’s hand. ‘‘As you said, your wages are important to you and Morgan—and to Priddle House, as well.’’ She massaged her forehead with the tips of her fingers. ‘‘Can you possibly wait a day or two longer before taking any further action? I need time to think.’’
‘‘Yes, of course. I didn’t expect you would have an answer at the ready.’’ Charlotte nodded toward the kitchen. ‘‘Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?’’
Mrs. Priddle shook her head. ‘‘No. I believe I’ll go upstairs, but you go right ahead. Make certain the door is locked when you come up.’’
When Charlotte prepared to depart the store on Thursday, Joseph Anderson pulled her aside outside the front door. ‘‘That Mrs. Priddle is quite a little lady, isn’t she?’’
‘‘Indeed she is. I didn’t know you were acquainted with her, Joseph.’’
He glanced up at Charlotte. Even with his shoulders squared at full attention, Joseph was at least three inches shorter than Charlotte. ‘‘Until she arrived at the store this morning, I wasn’t, but she—’’
‘‘Mrs. Priddle was here? This morning?’’
He tilted his head to the side and met Charlotte’s gaze. ‘‘That’s right. She came to see Mr. Field.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘She didn’t have an appointment. When Mr. Sturgeon told her he couldn’t fit her in the schedule until next week, she returned downstairs and talked to me.’’
Charlotte was becoming more confused by the moment. ‘‘About what?’’
‘‘This and that . . . nothing of any importance. She asked me if I liked working at the store and if Mr. Field treated me well, did he speak to me when he arrived in the morning or did he come and go through another entrance. She was very attentive when I explained how he visits each department on a daily basis just to see if everything is in proper order. When I finished, she even asked a few more questions,’’ he proudly announced.
‘‘What questions?’’
‘‘Oh, she inquired if he followed a certain routine each day or if he merely made random visits to the departments. She was curious how long it took him to check each area.’’ He grinned. ‘‘After we finished our talk, she went back inside the store for a while. I have to say that she was far more interested in the store’s operation than any of the other customers I greet each day. Nice lady.’’
‘‘Did she say if she happened to come upon Mr. Field during her final excursion through the store?’’
Joseph’s brow wrinkled as he contemplated her question. ‘‘No, I believe I’d remember if she told me she’d spoken to Mr. Field.’’ He brightened and his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. ‘‘She did tell me it had been a successful venture. Yes— those were her exact words: ‘a successful venture.’ ’’ He waved his gloved hand and hurried to open the door for a departing employee.
Charlotte walked across the street and stopped at the corner. She lifted on tiptoe while pretending to look at something in the distance. She glanced toward the upper windows of the store and spotted Mr. Rehnquist as he watched the unfolding scene below him. Forcing herself to turn away, Charlotte headed toward home. Although she hadn’t seen him yesterday, the department manager was clearly visible this evening. Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered.
There would be little time to speak to Mrs. Priddle about her visit to the store until later in the evening, for she was busy overseeing preparation of the evening meal. While two of the ladies dished up the food, Mrs. Priddle and Fiona carried it to the table. Charlotte corralled Morgan and attempted to entertain him with a game of peek-a-boo, but he was more interested in the bowls of food being carried to the table.
‘‘Eat!’’ he said, tugging his mother’s hands away from her eyes.
‘‘We’ll eat in a minute,’’ Charlotte said. Holding each arm, she bent his chubby elbows and positioned his hands over his eyes. ‘‘Now you say
peek-a-boo
.’’
‘‘Eat!’’ Morgan shouted, pointing a finger toward the dining room.
Fiona laughed and motioned him forward. ‘‘We’re ready for you now, Morgan.’’
He ran toward her on chubby legs and crawled onto his chair with only a little assistance from Fiona. Charlotte marveled at his antics. He was growing up so rapidly. It didn’t seem possible he would turn two in a matter of a few days. One part of her was amazed at each of his new accomplishments, while the other longed for him to slow down and remain her baby. All mothers must possess mixed emotions as their children grew and matured, she decided.
He pointed to the chair beside his own. ‘‘Sit!’’ Morgan’s command carried undeniable enthusiasm.
Charlotte removed the spoon from his fist and clasped his hands while Mrs. Priddle prayed. After thanks had been given for their meal, Charlotte helped herself to a serving of potatoes and spooned a small amount onto Morgan’s dish. ‘‘Did you have a good day?’’ she inquired, handing the bowl to Mrs. Priddle.
The older woman grasped the serving dish. ‘‘Yes. Very good, thank you.’’
She’d need to be more succinct with her questions if she expected Mrs. Priddle to divulge where she’d spent a portion of the day. ‘‘What did you do?’’
‘‘Housework, shopping, and visiting.’’ She pointed to the bowl in front of Charlotte. ‘‘Please pass the green beans. We’ll talk later.’’
Their conversation ceased as quickly as it had begun.
After they’d completed the evening meal and Morgan was asleep, Charlotte joined Mrs. Priddle on the front porch. ‘‘Joseph Anderson, the doorman at the store, said you were at the store today and he’d had a nice conversation with you.’’
Mrs. Priddle wrinkled her nose. ‘‘He should be more tightlipped. I’ll have to tell him that the next time I see him.’’
Charlotte chuckled. ‘‘I don’t think he considered your shopping to be a matter that required great secrecy.’’
Mrs. Priddle continued her knitting, the needles clicking in a quiet rhythm. ‘‘Well, he
should
! I don’t like anyone discussing my business. And I’d venture a guess that there are women shopping in that store who don’t want their husbands to know they’re out spending money. How does Mr. Anderson know that I’m not one of those women?’’
‘‘Mr. Anderson doesn’t know, and I will speak to him tomorrow morning. Why were you at the store?’’
The clicking of needles and chirping of crickets were the only response. Charlotte decided the woman was attempting to circumvent any questions about her visit to Marshall Field’s, but she didn’t intend to allow that to happen again. Mrs. Priddle had silenced her questions during supper, and Charlotte had acquiesced, but she now wanted answers.
‘‘Mrs. Priddle?’’ Charlotte arched her brows.
‘‘I purchased a spool of thread for Fiona’s dress.’’
‘‘A spool of thread doesn’t require a visit to Marshall Field’s. There’s more to the visit than you’re admitting.’’
‘‘I stopped to have a chat with Mr. Field.’’
‘‘With Mr. Field?’’ Charlotte choked out the words. ‘‘How did you manage an appointment on such short notice?’’
‘‘My visit with Mr. Anderson proved beneficial. He explained Mr. Field’s route through the store, and I managed to locate him without a great deal of difficulty. He was pleased to see me and even had tea delivered to his office.’’ She grinned and a sparkle of mischief shone in her eyes. ‘‘I believe Mr. Sturgeon was annoyed by my reappearance.’’
Charlotte didn’t doubt that fact in the least. Mr. Sturgeon had likely considered Mrs. Priddle an interloper of the worst sort.
‘‘I gave him an update on Priddle House and thanked him for his continuing kindness in hiring my girls when he had openings.’’ She pointed her knitting needles in Charlotte’s direction. ‘‘He immediately mentioned how pleased he’d been with all you’d accomplished in the store. His comment gave me the proper opportunity to tell him that he had a less than upstanding employee working for him. I knew he would be pleased to receive the information.’’
Charlotte gasped. ‘‘You told him about Mr. Rehnquist?’’
‘‘Of course. I knew you wouldn’t do anything other than worry over the situation. I thought it best to take matters into my own hands.’’
‘‘You’re only going to succeed in making the situation worse. Once Mr. Rehnquist discovers Mr. Field knows, he’ll retaliate. You mark my words: this isn’t a good thing you’ve done.’’
‘‘Have a little faith, Charlotte. I think you’ll find that the three of us have the situation under control.’’
‘‘Three? You’ve told someone else?’’
She placed her knitting in her lap. ‘‘Me, Mr. Field, and God. I wouldn’t leave God out of the equation.’’
Charlotte sighed. ‘‘No. Of course you wouldn’t.’’
Armed with Chef René’s letter, Olivia boarded the train Friday morning for Chicago. Her request for a day away from her kitchen duties had met with the chef ’s resistance, but after much cajoling and checking of schedules, she’d finally convinced him. There were few guests registered at the hotel this week, and no special luncheons or dinners had been scheduled. Moreover, the board members and Mr. Howard had been spending most of their days at the commission hearings in Chicago. They didn’t hide the fact that they wanted firsthand reports of any information furnished to the Strike Commission.
Her departure had been delayed until later than expected. Although she’d agreed to help with breakfast, each time she removed her toque, Chef René requested assistance with just one more item. When Olivia finally removed her white jacket and hurried toward the door at ten thirty, he made one final attempt to waylay her, but she successfully resisted.