Whispers Along the Rails Page 9

  Although the doctor had declared the chef had made a return to full health, Olivia still worried he might suffer another relapse if he didn’t get adequate rest. He had, however, surprised her by creating a magnificent ice carving for the center of the bride’s table. Carefully stored in hay and hidden away at the icehouse near the Calumet River, the carving had thrilled Olivia when he’d taken her to see it yesterday: a magnificent depiction of kissing lovebirds sitting atop a fluted heart.

  He had declared the rendering an artistic expression of love. She had agreed. The carving was beautiful, but Olivia would have preferred a fluted heart without the kissing birds. Chef René had once professed he wasn’t easily caught up by the trappings of weddings and love, but Olivia knew that wasn’t entirely true, for his carving had captured the very essence of a young couple in love. She secretly wondered if he had ever longed for marriage and children.

  She knew better than to ask. His personal life remained private. On several occasions she’d attempted to draw him into a discussion of his early years in France, but to no avail. Perhaps one day he would consider her a worthy confidante, but for today she must concentrate on the wedding.

  After pinning her hair into place, Olivia descended the front stairs of the Barneses’ residence. The move to the older couple’s home had proved a good one for her, and she’d become quite fond of them—except when Mrs. Barnes took on the role of surrogate mother or matchmaker. Olivia’s foot had barely landed on the bottom tread when she heard Mrs. Barnes approach from the kitchen.

  There was a purposeful stride to the woman’s step. Her graying chignon bounced in synchronized movement as she drew near. ‘‘Olivia! Don’t you even consider leaving this house without a proper breakfast.’’

  Olivia paused, surprised by Mrs. Barnes’s commanding edict. Though her landlady issued advice from time to time, she was generally kind and soft-spoken, not given to issuing ultimatums, especially to a houseguest or boarder. Normally Olivia would have hearkened to such a strong admonition, but not this morning. Too many details required her attention.

  Most important, the wedding cake awaited her final touches. Both the cake and ice carving would be delivered to the reception hall during the wedding ceremony. The mere thought made her uneasy. When she’d voiced her preference to oversee the entire process, Chef René had laughingly pointed out the impossibility of such a maneuver. ‘‘Non! You are a member of the wedding party. It is not possible.’’

  She had grudgingly conceded that he was correct. And last evening had been filled with sewing on seed pearls rather than cake decorating.

  Olivia turned toward the hall tree and stopped short. ‘‘Where is my coat?’’

  Mrs. Barnes appeared pleased with herself as she primly folded her arms across her chest. ‘‘I’ve put it away for safekeeping until after breakfast. You’ll not have time to eat before the wedding, and I don’t want you to faint as you walk down the aisle.’’ She placed her palm against her own cheek. ‘‘Just think of the embarrassment if you should faint when you’re standing in front of the wedding guests. Not to mention that you would ruin the ceremony! Martha and Albert would not be pleased.’’

  Hopeful she could outwit the older woman, Olivia decided to take the offensive. ‘‘Being forced to rush around at the last minute is an even more likely cause of fainting. And I don’t want you to be filled with self-recrimination because you forced me to use up precious time eating breakfast.’’

  Mrs. Barnes was undeterred. ‘‘I’ll take my chances. Come along.’’ She tugged Olivia’s arm.

  No sense taking up more precious time arguing, Olivia decided. She’d eat a few bites and be on her way. ‘‘Please return my coat to the hall tree. I don’t want any further delays once I’ve completed my meal.’’

  While Olivia hurried toward the kitchen and scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate, Mrs. Barnes remained behind. Olivia hoped the landlady was fulfilling her request. Moments later the older woman scuttled into the room and surveyed Olivia’s plate. Without asking, she placed two slices of crisp bacon and a fluffy biscuit on Olivia’s plate. ‘‘There now. That should hold you until the wedding brunch is served.’’

  Olivia gobbled down the eggs, but the moment the older woman turned her back to wash the cooking utensils, she wrapped the bacon and biscuit in her napkin. Thankful Mrs. Barnes continued to chatter while she washed the dishes, Olivia silently pushed away from the table and tucked the napkin and its contents into the pocket of an apron hanging on the nearby hook. She tiptoed back to her chair and declared she’d best be on her way.

  Mrs. Barnes spun around to examine the green-rimmed china plate. Her eyebrows scrunched together and her lips formed a tight line. ‘‘You ate much too quickly. You’ll have a stomachache before you reach the hotel.’’ She pointed a soapy finger in Olivia’s direction. ‘‘And I won’t take the blame for your upset stomach. Food that hasn’t been properly chewed is a direct cause of improper digestion and stomach complaints.’’

  ‘‘I promise not to hold you accountable.’’ Olivia squeezed Mrs. Barnes’s shoulder. She didn’t like deceiving her, but precious minutes were ticking away. Moving down the hallway quickly, she grabbed her coat and turned toward the kitchen. Shoving her arm into one of the sleeves, she called, ‘‘Is Mr. Barnes going to deliver—’’

  Mrs. Barnes bustled toward her. ‘‘No need to holler, my dear. I’m right here. Horace and I will bring everything to the hotel by ten o’clock. The gown and veil, along with your dress and toiletries—we’ll bring everything you’ve set out in your room.’’

  Dressing at the hotel had initially been Olivia’s idea, and Martha had immediately agreed they would save time by doing so. Besides, they could help each other with their dresses and hair. Surprisingly, Mr. Billings, the hotel supervisor, had arranged for them to use one of the unoccupied guest rooms on the second floor at no charge.

  Both Olivia and Martha had worked in harmony to make certain today would be an unforgettable event. Olivia hoped that Albert and Fred were doing the same for each other. Mrs. DeVault had been an ever-present help, but they had all agreed her assistance would be of greater value at home, where she could make certain the men arrived at the church on time and properly attired.

  Mrs. Barnes clucked her tongue as she followed Olivia down the hallway. ‘‘You had best hurry along, or you’ll not have time to decorate the cake.’’

  Olivia sighed as she leaned sideways and glanced at the clock in the parlor. She buttoned her navy blue coat and pulled on a pair of warm gloves—no need for the lamb’s-wool muff today. And by afternoon she wouldn’t need the heavy coat or gloves, but last night’s chill remained in the air. Why hadn’t Mrs. Barnes been worried about the time when she was forcing breakfast upon her a half hour ago? After a final wave to her landlady, Olivia rushed toward the hotel. Although living in the upper rooms of the Barneses’ house had caused its share of problems, residing in close proximity to her work would prove key today. She’d need every available minute between now and the wedding.

  As expected, Chef René met her at the kitchen door. He pointed at the Seth Thomas clock hanging on the far wall. ‘‘Were you taking a beauty sleep this morning?’’ He didn’t await her response. ‘‘I didn’t know what to think. First I am thinking I should prepare the cake icing. Then I am thinking you said you wanted to prepare it yourself. Next I am thinking if you don’t get here, there won’t be enough time. Then I am thinking—’’

  She held up her hand. If she didn’t stop him, this could go on for the remainder of the morning. He took her coat while she quickly explained her difficulty in escaping without first eating breakfast.

  ‘‘How could Mrs. Barnes detain you for such a thing as breakfast? Does that woman not realize you work in a hotel kitchen? We have food!’’

  His waving arms reminded her of one of the policemen she’d seen directing traffic in downtown Chicago. It seemed Chef René was going to provide a touch of drama to her alread
y hectic schedule. ‘‘I’ll go downstairs to the pastry kitchen and work so that I don’t interfere with breakfast for the hotel guests.’’

  His brows knit into a frown. ‘‘Breakfast has already been served in the dining room. You may work here.’’ He patted his palm on one of the large worktables. ‘‘It’s better to work in the upstairs kitchen so we don’t have to carry the cake upstairs after it has been decorated. What if you should trip?’’

  She didn’t argue, but they both knew his reasoning was illogical. When the cake was delivered to Market Hall, it would be carried up a flight of stairs to the reception room. Though Olivia would have preferred the reception be hosted in the rooms above the Arcade, she had been alone in her reasoning. Martha, Albert, and Fred thought Market Hall the perfect location. The serving staff would be required to navigate a staircase in either place, but the stairway in the Arcade was much wider. There would be less chance of mishap. But she’d held her tongue and bowed to the bride’s wishes.

  Before returning to her rooms last evening, she had frosted the layers using a special fondant recipe. Now she must mix only enough frosting to add the decorative touches that would transform the cake into a beautiful creation. During the earlier hubbub, there hadn’t been time to think, but now, while placing the final touches on the cake, her thoughts began to wander.

  Though she had hoped to assist with more of the wedding preparations, Olivia had done her best to help while still maintaining her traveling schedule. She had been deeply honored when Martha had chosen her to act as her sole attendant for the ceremony. But along with the thrill had come a longing. She wanted to continue working as a chef, yet she ached for a life beyond her work—a life she could share with someone who would love and cherish her. Someone who would view her with the same adoration she saw in her cousin’s eyes each time Martha entered a room. In truth, she desired more than just someone: she wanted Fred. Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to harbor the same desire. His interest in reestablishing their relationship had cooled considerably since she’d begun her training on the rails.

  After selecting one of Chef René’s metal decorating tips, Olivia slipped it into the canvas pastry bag. She spooned the thick decorator’s icing inside and carefully squeezed until a small frosting star appeared. She circled the bottom layer of the cake with stars and then surveyed her work. It would do.

  Using the same precision, she continued with the next round while she anticipated standing across from Fred during the ceremony and walking down the aisle on his arm. Would he be stiff and distant? She hoped not. For this one day, she prayed he’d gift her with his quick smile and affable personality, that he would remove the wedge of formality that had separated them over the past weeks. She refilled the pastry bag and once again began to pipe the frosting.

  If only she could return to those early days when they’d first met—the Sunday afternoons canoeing on Lake Calumet and sharing a picnic lunch afterward, the long summer evenings when she’d cheered him on during the baseball competitions at the athletic field. She ached for the times with Fred that she’d once considered quite ordinary events.

  But what of today? One of the kitchen boys had mentioned seeing Fred walking with Mildred Malloy on several occasions. Olivia didn’t know if it was true, but she couldn’t help wondering if Mildred would be sitting in a church pew awaiting his arm once they’d completed their formal duties as wedding attendants. Would she sit beside him at the reception and enjoy his company while Olivia sat alone, feigning a smile? She forced herself to push the thought from her mind and concentrate on the cake.

  Chef René lumbered down the steps and through the door-way as she placed the final rosette on the cake. He walked around the table, eyeing the cake from every possible angle before grunting his satisfaction. ‘‘Bon! You have created a magnificent cake.’’ He pointed toward the clock. ‘‘Now you must get dressed. Martha is already upstairs waiting for your assistance.’’

  Olivia reached for a knife to make one final adjustment, but Chef René lightly slapped her fingers. ‘‘Non! There is insufficient time. Besides, the cake is already perfect. Go on now.’’

  She raised up on tiptoe, brushed his cheek with a fleeting kiss, and then hurried from the room. How thankful she was for this gentle giant of a man.

  ————

  The prearranged carriage arrived at the hotel, and Chef René escorted Martha and Olivia to the front door. ‘‘You both look beautiful.’’ When Olivia opened her mouth to speak, he touched a finger to his lips. ‘‘Please! No more instructions. I am capable of handling the few remaining details. I will see both of you at the reception hall.’’

  This man possessed more talent than any chef in all of Chicago, perhaps the entire country. Any bride would be ecstatic to have him oversee the details of her wedding, yet Olivia couldn’t help herself. She stopped just outside the door to remind him of the mints.

  ‘‘Did I not make them? I will not forget the mints, or the cake, or the ice sculpture, or any of the food. Please! Go, before you are late for the ceremony.’’ Shaking his head, he turned and trudged back inside without giving her an opportunity to issue any further reminders.

  Olivia and Martha arrived at the church on schedule, well before any of the invited guests. They made their way to the anteroom off the front vestibule, where they would await the sound of the chosen organ chords before beginning their entrance into the church. While Martha hurried to the waiting room, Olivia peeked inside the sanctuary. An array of fresh flowers and greenery had been beautifully arranged by Mr. Jordan, the talented nurseryman in charge of the Pullman greenhouses and longtime acquaintance of Chef René. Tall tapers in brass candelabra flanked either side of the sanctuary, and Mr. Jordan had fastened beribboned white gardenias and greenery to the end of each pew. Inhaling deeply, Olivia was certain she could smell the sweet scent of the gardenias and pale yellow roses that had been forced to bloom prematurely in the muggy warmth of the town’s huge greenhouses. The decorations were exquisite.

  ‘‘Martha! Don’t you want to see the church?’’ Olivia’s voice echoed throughout the cavernous vestibule of the Greenstone Church.

  Stepping to the doorway of the anteroom, Martha shook her head. ‘‘I’d rather be surprised. Now come in here before someone sees you.’’

  Within moments of closing the door, the muted voices of the arriving guests seeped beneath the polished cherry door of the anteroom. The excitement was nearly too much to bear. Olivia examined the row of buttons on Martha’s gown one final time. ‘‘It sounds as though the ushers have already begun to seat the guests. It won’t be long now, Martha.’’ Olivia grasped her friend’s gloved hand in her own. ‘‘I didn’t realize these final minutes would be so unbearable. I don’t know how you can remain so calm.’’ Olivia’s mind raced as she attempted to recall whether she’d informed Chef René to send extra serving trays from the hotel kitchen. ‘‘I’ve done my best to remember all of the details.’’

  Martha pushed her veil aside and drew Olivia into an embrace. ‘‘I know you have, Olivia. In truth, I feel somewhat guilty. There were times when I know I should have done far more to help, but even with your required traveling, you were always one step ahead of me. Not that I minded.’’

  It was true that Olivia had taken over many of the plans, but she had enjoyed the experience. She was, after all, accustomed to making arrangements for parties at the hotel, whereas Martha had never before attempted such a massive undertaking. Now Olivia could only hope that everything would proceed according to schedule.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The chords of the organ music wafted through the open doors of the Greenstone Church and mingled with birds chirping in the nearby trees. An early spring—or so it appeared. Fred could remember years past when layers of snow remained on the ground during late April. Today, however, the skies over Pullman and Lake Calumet were clear and blue; not a sign of gray could be detected overhead.

  Fred grasped Albert’s shoulder and glanc
ed heavenward. ‘‘Looks as though the weather has cooperated with you, my friend.’’ He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Malcolm Overby stood nearby waving him toward the street. After a promise to return quickly, Fred hurried toward the young man. ‘‘What are you doing here, Malcolm? You’re missing your classes over at the training center.’’

  The young man shook his head. ‘‘Ain’t no use. Training or not, things ain’t gonna get no better for us, Fred. My friend Paul got laid off yesterday. Word is, there’s gonna be big layoffs coming soon. Especially in the freight department. I won’t be around long enough to finish my training. If I get laid off, I’m gonna have to look for work somewhere else—maybe go back to Pittsburgh. Can’t afford to stick around here and wait things out. Going through all this work trying to learn a new trade ain’t gonna help.’’

  ‘‘I’m surprised at you, Malcolm. I never figured you to be someone who would quit so easily.’’ Fred hoped his comment would stir some passion in the younger man.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘‘You know how it goes around here. Bachelors in Pullman and married men living outside of Pullman are the first to be laid off. I’m living in Pullman, but I ain’t got no woman lined up to marry me.’’

  Fred nodded. He did know the procedure for layoffs within the company. And he also knew the depression that had been forecast to plague the country would tighten its grip on those least able to bear the burden. The wealthy men like George Pullman might experience a slight sting from the economic downturn, but their wives would continue to shop at Marshall Field’s, and they’d still escort their families abroad for fanciful, meaningless excursions. Meanwhile, the men who labored in their factories would be laid off without so much as a backward glance. And in Pullman it would be bachelors first. As head of a household and the only support for his widowed mother, Fred’s status was considered equal to that of a married man— unless layoffs moved to the next level. In that event, he would be one of the first to go if and when cuts were made in the electroplating section. A chilling thought yet a fact of life for the common laborer as well as for the skilled craftsman. Frugal by nature, Fred’s mother placed money in a savings account at Mr. Pullman’s bank each week. Her protection against such an event.