Death at Pullman Read Free Page B

as I forced myself to savor each spoonful of the soup and bite of the bread. The meager meal did more to convince us of the seriousness of the food situation than any of the talk that followed. I don’t think MacGregor planned it that way, and that was all the more reason the point was brought home sharply to the three of us who would return to the city and remember this meal later, as we dined on plates of food that would be heaping in comparison.
    The dining room was at the back of the house and two windows were open wide, overlooking the tiny yard and alley. There was a slight breeze in the warm air and I could hear the shiver of leaves in a tree and the twittering calls of birds. It all seemed so peaceful compared to the noise and dirt and hurry around Hull House at this time of day.
    Mr. MacGregor apologized for the outburst from Gracie Foley that we had witnessed. He explained that her father, who had worked for Pullman since the beginning, had died the previous spring and her two brothers were left supporting two younger children. She herself left when she married and she was now a widow and a laundress in the city. I thought that explained her attire but there was something else about her history not spoken, something that made him uneasy. Apparently he had been a longtime friend and comrade of her father’s.
    When we had consumed our portions and refused additional helpings, Mr. MacGregor rose and went to the next room, returning with two other men who joined us in a cup of the weak and lukewarm tea.
    One, introduced as Mr. Leonard Stark, was a middle-aged man, like MacGregor. But he was thicker around the waist and looked softer and less muscular than the metalworker. He had brown hair cut very short and a large moustache and thick eyebrows. It soon became clear that he was MacGregor’s right-hand man for running errands and carrying messages.
    The second man was younger, in his thirties I guessed. He had a swarthy complexion, a thatch of very dark hair with one piece that frequently fell down onto his forehead, heavy sideburns, and large brown eyes fringed with long lashes. Of medium height but with muscular shoulders and arms, his calloused hands were large and he frequently used them to emphasize what he was saying. From the very first, there was about him a sense of vigor that evoked a raw masculinity. It was not that he was threatening, but he seemed to hold a reserve of energy in his springy walk and ease of motion. He gave the impression that he was like a cat poised ready to jump. He was not at all like the men of my previous acquaintance—my father, my brother, or the men at the university.
    Mr. MacGregor introduced him as Mr. Raoul LeClerc and explained that he was a representative of the American Railway Union, or ARU, and its leader, Mr. Eugene Debs. I noticed Mr. Safer fumble with his napkin and push his chair back from the table at this introduction. There was a lot of suspicion about that new labor union and the ambitions of Mr. Debs and the other organizers. Memories of the Haymarket bombing during a labor protest eight years before were still vivid and there was an embedded fear that labor agitators were determined to wreak havoc at the least provocation. Miss Addams acknowledged the introductions but then briskly brought the conversation back around to the Pullman situation, stating frankly that it was that local situation alone, and the hope of finding a peaceful solution to it, that had brought the delegates from the Civic Federation down to the company town. I saw Mr. Safer raise his eyebrows in surprise when she went on to ask the ARU representative to excuse us while we continued our discussions in private with Mr. MacGregor. I could tell that Miss Addams was not impressed by the charisma of LeClerc. I saw him flush slightly but he bowed his head politely and assured Mr. MacGregor that he understood the need for discretion. He asserted that the desire of the ARU was only to see