Death at Pullman Read Free Page A

frown of suspicion. She was tall, buxom, and big boned, probably about my own age of twenty-four. The delicate embroidery and velvet insets of her dress appeared to be far too fine for a workman’s daughter, yet it was perfectly modest. The fact that the cut and bustle were slightly out of fashion suggested that she might be in service and had received a cast-off from her mistress.
    It was obvious that Mr. MacGregor hoped to silence her with his introductions, but she was having none of it. “Ian MacGregor, you should be ashamed of yourself. Come for a visit indeed. I’ve come to bring food so they don’t starve out here.” She held up a large basket and I could see the little boy in front of her held another one. “How do you expect them to live now that you’ve all shut the place down? And you’ve got Brian and Joe in it. You know they’re all the little ones have. Who’s going to feed them when the boys are blacklisted, then? Will you?”
    But then MacGregor put an end to it. He was a small man and seemed smaller with her looming over him, but he suddenly stamped a foot. “Gracie Foley, stop it, woman.” He glared at her. “You know perfectly well your father Sean O’Malley, if he were alive today, would be a stalwart supporter of our cause. His sons can do no less. You don’t live here. You don’t work here any longer. In the name of your dead father, who was my friend for all these many years, I tell you now to leave off. Be gone with you. Go about your business and leave us to ours.”
    Gracie Foley appeared to shrink back at this blast from the little man. I thought she looked hurt. Somehow the invocation of her father silenced her and she grabbed the little girl’s hand and pushed rudely through the crowd without a word more. Meanwhile, Mr. MacGregor stood for a moment with his eyes closed, as if recovering from a blow, but before the chatter could begin he opened his eyes and ran them over the group of men who stood before his house.
    â€œAnd these are the representatives of the locals,” he told us formally. Then he proceeded to introduce each one, naming the number and type of local he represented. There was one woman, I noticed, but I soon lost track and wondered how I would ever remember all those names when it came to addressing them later. To my relief, it soon became clear that they would not be joining us for the meal. Mr. MacGregor dismissed them, apologizing but assuring us that they each had duties to attend to. I saw a knowing look pass between Miss Addams and Mr. Safer and realized that, unlike the company representative, Mr. Jennings, these workers probably did not have the resources to feed a large number of people. It occurred to me that even the addition of Mr. Safer to our meal was probably a strain. We mounted the steps and were led into the dining room of Mr. MacGregor’s house where a tureen of soup, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a pot of weak tea were served to us by a pretty young girl with a braid of shiny blonde hair coiled around her head.
    She was introduced as MacGregor’s daughter, Fiona, who worked in a department of the Pullman factory where they made draperies and linens for the cars. She looked about sixteen years old with blue eyes, delicate bones, and a small turned-up nose. She wore a dress in a flowery print and an apron gaily decorated with needlework. I felt guilty when she excused herself after laying out the meal for us. I couldn’t help wondering if she was absenting herself because there wasn’t enough food to go around. But when I opened my mouth to protest I received a firm nudge under the table from Miss Addams and I remembered how she had explained that commenting on any perceived lack on such an occasion was always taken as an insult. I held my tongue as Fiona left us and I heard a door close somewhere in the background.
    I think I managed to hide my own ravenous appetite