His disdain was replaced by a smirk. ‘‘
You
wish to apply to work in this hotel as a chef?’’
‘‘Assistant chef,’’ she corrected. ‘‘Yes, I would very much like to do so. Is there an application form, or do I make an appointment to be interviewed? I’m not familiar with the process utilized by your establishment.’’
He tipped his chair back and stared up at her. ‘‘There
is
no process for a woman to apply for such a position. Our kitchen is fully staffed by professional chefs.’’
‘‘I am a professional chef. I work at Mr. Pullman’s Hotel Florence. I’m certain you’ve heard of Mr. Pullman.’’
‘‘Who in all of Chicago has not heard of Mr. Pullman?’’ The man looked down his long, thin nose. ‘‘Your employment in his hotel is of little import to management here at Grand Pacific. We have standards for our employees, and you, Miss Mott, do not meet those standards.’’ He returned to his paper work. She didn’t move a muscle, and he finally looked up from his desk. With a wave toward the door, he said, ‘‘Please close the door on your way out.’’
‘‘You won’t even look at my recommendation? It is written by Chef René , the executive chef of Hotel Florence. I may be more qualified than some of the men who are currently employed by you.’’
‘‘I doubt that possibility exists, but I do not have time to argue with you.’’ He tapped his desk. ‘‘I have work that requires my attention. You are dismissed.’’
At the door she cast a final glance over her shoulder, hoping he would stop her and say he’d made a terrible mistake. When that didn’t occur, she stepped into the hallway and waited beside the door. Perhaps he needed a few minutes to realize the error of his ways. But when he didn’t appear after five minutes had passed, Olivia slowly returned to the lobby and left. She arrived at the corner before she remembered the tip for the doorman, but her earlier feelings of generosity had already evaporated, and she trudged on toward the corner of State and Monroe.
She forced her shoulders straight and walked down Monroe Street. As she approached Palmer House, a doorman stepped forward and tipped his hat. ‘‘The ladies’ entrance is off of State Street.’’
‘‘And where do I enter if I want to apply for a position with the hotel?’’
‘‘I’d still suggest the ladies’ entrance.’’ Like the earlier doorman, he explained the path she should follow to arrive at the office where applications were accepted. She handed him a coin for his trouble, and he thanked her. ‘‘I don’t think you’ll find any opportunities, miss. There are lots of men looking for jobs.’’
Yet another reason she’d likely be passed over if a position existed. She continued down the street and rounded the corner, her confidence waning. With a forced smile, she entered the building and stepped down the hallway with what she hoped was an air of confidence. At the end of the tiled hallway, she made a sharp turn to the right and entered the office. Obviously stunned by her air of authority and uncertain what to do, the clerk summoned the manager. But when the older man appeared, her excitement fizzled. Like the manager of the Grand Pacific, he refused to accept an application from her.
Disheartened, she rushed from the office and collided with a man in a navy blue business suit. Her hat dipped over her eye and her purse fell to the floor.
‘‘Let me retrieve that for you. My apologies, miss—’’ He stopped midsentence and stared at her.
Olivia couldn’t guess which of them was more stunned. ‘‘Mr. Howard.’’ She spoke his name like a breathy prayer.
He retrieved her purse while she hurriedly shoved her hat back into place. ‘‘Exactly why are you away from Hotel Florence during your working hours, Miss Mott?’’ The coldness of his voice matched his icy stare.
Anxiously watching for any sign of Olivia, Charlotte paced outside the store. Unless she’d been asked to prepare some dish and prove her talents as a chef, Olivia should have returned by now. Surely she would have asked someone for directions if she’d lost her way. Charlotte attempted to push aside thoughts of Matthew’s many warnings to be careful of the vagrants and troublemakers wandering the streets. Had one of them taken advantage of Olivia? Could she be lying in an alleyway, battered and bleeding? Soon all of the employees would exit the building, and even Joseph, the trusty doorman who waited until the doors were locked each evening, would depart for home.
With silent determination, Charlotte paced back and forth until a carriage approached and came to a halt in front of the store. Joseph hurried to advise the passenger that the store had closed for the evening while Charlotte continued her vigil.
Then Joseph waved to Charlotte. ‘‘Your friend is inside the carriage, Miss Spencer.’’
Charlotte hurried forward. Inside, Olivia sat huddled with her head resting on the velvet interior of the carriage. Joseph opened the door, and Charlotte glanced toward the man who sat opposite Olivia. She clasped her palm to her bodice, unable to conceal her astonishment. ‘‘Mr. Howard!’’
Charlotte hadn’t failed to note his look of surprise, either. Obviously, no one had mentioned her return to Chicago, or if they had, Mr. Howard had forgotten.
‘‘Olivia is unwell. I offered to escort her back to Pullman, but she insisted upon coming here. She has experienced several fainting spells since we first encountered each other at Palmer House.’’ He glanced at Olivia. ‘‘Except to direct me to this location, she seems unable to converse. I’ve not succeeded in extracting any additional information from her. I suppose there’s nothing left to do but leave her in your care. Would you like the carriage?’’
‘‘Yes. That’s most kind of you. I’ll take Olivia home with me. I do appreciate your assistance.’’
Mr. Howard climbed out of the carriage.
‘‘Although Olivia swooned earlier in the day, I thought she had returned to full health or I wouldn’t have permitted her to walk about the city in this heat.’’
Mr. Howard touched his finger to the brim of his hat and turned to leave.
Charlotte stepped forward to block his path. ‘‘Will you be returning to Pullman this evening, sir?’’
‘‘Yes, but I’ll return to Chicago in the morning. Is there something you require?’’
‘‘I wonder if you could advise Chef René of Miss Mott’s condition and that she will not return home until tomorrow. I believe he is expecting her this evening.’’
Mr. Howard folded his arms across his chest. ‘‘I have no idea what Chef René expects. I still do not know why Miss Mott is in Chicago when she should be at the hotel. Each time I broached the topic, she swooned. Perhaps the chef will have some answers.’’
Charlotte stared after him until he turned the corner and disappeared. Joseph assisted her into the carriage, and she bid him good-night before turning her attention to Olivia. ‘‘How do you happen to be keeping company with Mr. Howard?’’
Once the carriage lurched forward, Olivia sat upright. ‘‘I wasn’t keeping company with him. We collided in Palmer House. He’s in town to attend the Strike Commission hearings. From what I gather, he had been at Palmer House to visit with several acquaintances before returning to Pullman.’’ Olivia explained how she’d literally walked into him after attempting to apply for a position at the hotel. ‘‘He asked why I was there, and I felt a wave of panic when I could think of nothing to say, so I pretended to swoon. I didn’t know what else to do. It seemed quite natural after my experience earlier in the day.’’
Charlotte giggled. ‘‘I’m sorry, but it’s so dramatic. I can see it all as clearly as if I’d been there with you. Mr. Howard must have been very surprised to see you.’’
Olivia’s eyes sparkled and a hint of pink tinged her cheeks. ‘‘I don’t think his astonishment was any match for my own. However, I believe my performance would make me an excellent candidate for the stage.’’
Charlotte laughed until several tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘‘We must regain our composure before we arrive at Priddle House or the ladies will think we’ve taken leave of our senses.’’
The mention of Priddle House was enough to silence Olivia’s laughter. ‘‘Will Mrs. Priddle object to my sudden appearance? I don’t even have a nightgown with me.’’
‘‘Mrs. Priddle is accustomed to emergencies of every sort. As for clothing, you need not worry. We have a closet filled with different styles and sizes, all donations from various churches and charities. If you stay for more than a day, you’ll be expected to perform assigned chores. And everyone must attend the evening Bible study and prayer time after supper.’’
Charlotte tapped on the window to signal the driver. When he had brought the carriage to a halt, Charlotte turned the handle and pushed open the door. She attempted to pay the driver, but he shook his head. ‘‘The gentleman already paid me, ma’am.’’
Olivia shrugged. ‘‘I didn’t know or I would have reimbursed him. I don’t want to be obligated.’’
‘‘You’re already obligated—you work for him.’’
‘‘Only indirectly,’’ Olivia argued.
‘‘He has the power to discharge you, so you work for him whether you care to admit it or not. I’m certain he’s going to ply you for answers. And poor Chef René will be forced to endure arduous questioning this evening. I do wonder what he’ll say.’’
‘‘He may avoid a response, but I know he won’t lie. I’ll likely be unemployed come morning.’’
Their conversation was cut short when Fiona carried Morgan outside to greet his mother. After she set him on his feet, he toddled toward his mother with his arms outstretched. She lifted him into the air and laughed when he squealed with delight. ‘‘Look who I brought home with me, Fiona.’’
‘‘Welcome to Priddle House, Miss Mott. It’s very nice to see you again. Will you be joining us for supper?’’
Charlotte gave an approving nod to the girl. ‘‘Fiona has been practicing her manners. What do you think, Olivia?’’
‘‘I believe your manners are impeccable, Fiona. At Miss Spencer’s invitation, I plan to join you for supper, thank you.’’
Fiona burst into a girlish giggle. ‘‘I’ll inform Mrs. Priddle that we will be entertaining a guest this evening.’’ She offered a slight curtsy and hurried back inside.
Morgan tugged at his mother’s hat. ‘‘Hat off,’’ he demanded.
Charlotte nuzzled his neck. ‘‘Let me get inside the house and put you down, and then I’ll remove my hat.’’ She turned toward Olivia. ‘‘He’s learned that my hat means I’m going to leave,’’ she explained. ‘‘Let’s go in and I’ll explain your circumstances to Mrs. Priddle and see if she needs any assistance before supper.’’
Olivia rolled a ball across the floor to Morgan while Charlotte hurried off to speak with the older woman. When she returned, she stooped down and retrieved the ball from beneath the sofa and handed it to her son. Cradling it in both arms, he scurried to the kitchen.
‘‘Mrs. Priddle is pleased to have you stay with us.’’
‘‘That’s very kind of her.’’
‘‘You were feeling fine when you departed the store. Did you go to the Grand Pacific?’’
Olivia nodded. ‘‘Yes. I went there first.’’ She described the disastrous results of her meeting with the manager and sighed as she leaned back in her chair. ‘‘He wouldn’t even look at my letter of recommendation.’’
‘‘I fear you’re going to meet with those same results at all of the restaurants. Remind me again why you can’t remain at Hotel Florence?’’
‘‘If I marry Fred, I will be considered an unacceptable employee because of his leadership position within the union.’’
‘‘And what of Mrs. DeVault? I’m surprised Mr. Howard hired her.’’
‘‘Chef René hired her without his approval. I think Mr. Howard decided with all of the strike activity and upheaval in the town, Mrs. DeVault was the least of his problems. He knows she poses no threat to the company.’’
‘‘If you go to Mr. Howard, perhaps he would—’’
Olivia shook her head. ‘‘Mr. Howard will not break the rules—especially for me. He’s still angry that I chose Fred over him. He won’t accept the fact that I would never have chosen to marry him.’’
‘‘There’s no doubt you’re in the center of a difficult predicament.’’
Morgan toddled into the room and pointed toward the dining room. ‘‘Eat!’’
Mrs. Priddle appeared and confirmed the boy’s announcement. They gathered around the table, and after Mrs. Priddle’s lengthy prayer of thanks, the bowls and platters were passed.
‘‘I’m afraid this won’t compare to your offerings at the hotel, Miss Mott, but it is substantial food, and I believe you’ll find it palatable. I trust you are feeling better?’’
Olivia smiled. ‘‘Yes, thank you. I’ve been plagued by waves of dizziness throughout the day, but I do hope they’ll disappear completely soon. I plan to return to Pullman in the morning.’’
‘‘If your health improves, perhaps you should apply at the DeJonghe Hotel. It’s directly across the street from the main entrance of Palmer House. The DeJonghe has a fine restaurant.’’
‘‘Early morning is a busy time in hotel kitchens. I don’t think a visit would be appreciated at that time.’’
Charlotte spooned a small helping of noodles into Morgan’s bowl. ‘‘I don’t think you need worry on that account. You’ll be fortunate if the manager permits you to complete an application, but it’s important at least to make the attempt. That way Fred will know you’re doing what he asked. Perhaps he’ll retract his requirement.’’
‘‘What kind of requirement?’’ Mrs. Priddle inquired.
Charlotte explained while the other ladies listened with interest. Morgan occasionally banged his spoon on his dish. He’d obviously learned the noisy activity would capture attention.
‘‘I don’t understand why he wants you to work. Most men prefer their wives remain at home. Sounds strange to me.’’ Mrs. Priddle took a bite of her green beans. ‘‘Times are changing, I suppose, but it’s never been the way of things for women to work outside the home. That’s what the man does.’’
‘‘Fred wants me to be happy. He thinks I’ll grow to resent him if I must give up my duties as a chef.’’
‘‘Fiddlesticks! You can cook for your husband and children. With your other household duties, that will keep you busy enough to ward off any bitterness. And you can tell him I said so.’’