Chapter 7

He was losing the challenge. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t deny the facts.

Thornton stood at the train depot and surveyed the buildings along Quincy’s Main Street. In two months, the construction crew of Irish immigrants he’d hired had built the train depot with its public dining room, a hotel, the livery stable, general store, and a crude tavern. Several other identical buildings stood side by side, waiting for their new business owners to take possession—the tailor, blacksmith, and butcher. Thornton had already connected with each of the men who’d purchased the lots and buildings from him. Any day now he expected the new families to arrive to set up shop.

A Methodist church was half constructed, as were several private residences on North First Avenue. He hoped to have the houses completed within the week so the new families could move right in.

Thornton was pleased he’d had no trouble selling off the platted lots in town. He tried not to feel guilty that he’d succumbed to using the Illinois Central pamphlets, which pictured Illinois as The Garden State of the West, with a snug farmhouse, trees shading it, and well-fed cattle grazing in the foreground next to an enormous fenced-in field of corn.

Although the picture was more of a fairy tale than a reality for the almost treeless stretch of prairie that surrounded Quincy, he’d used the advertisement anyway. After all, the 700-mile-long track that ran through the entire length of Illinois was now the longest single railroad in operation in the United States. The state was bound to prosper eventually.

Like other towns to the north that the railroad had already created, Quincy would serve as a service center for the surrounding farmers, who would benefit from the ease of transporting their crops and livestock to eastern markets. The railroad would profit as well once Thornton sold the town lots and the rest of the area’s farmland. Even if Quincy Enterprises had to invest capital initially, in the long run such development would generate a greater demand for passenger and freight services and bring substantial profits.

The only problem was that he still couldn’t keep up with Bradford’s progress. No matter how many more workers Thornton hired, Bradford always seemed a step ahead.

“What can I do, Hewitt?” Thornton asked, lifting his hat and letting the hot breeze ripple through his hair. The clock was ticking. With August almost over, he had only four months to go.

His young assistant rubbed his hands together as though washing them in the warm air. Behind the rims of his spectacles, Hewitt surveyed each building before coming to rest on the ramshackle wooden structures with dirt floors that stood at the edge of the town and provided shelter to the construction workers, mostly single young men who caused a ruckus every night at the tavern. Even if they were loud and unruly, they were dependable workers. Thornton couldn’t complain.

“You need to hire more workers, sir,” Hewitt said. “Bradford has twice the number of construction workers you have.” Though Hewitt was a year younger than Thornton, he’d done a stellar job surveying and platting the town, and he continued to be an invaluable help to Thornton.

Thornton watched as a group of men raised a beam for the second-story frame of one of the private residences. If he hired more workers, he’d have to find a way to house and feed them. He’d need more supervisors. And he’d have to increase the shipment of lumber coming down from the mills in Chicago.

“You should hire women, sir.” Hewitt made a womanly gesture with his hands. “They can cook, clean, wash, and sew. And you don’t have to pay them as much as the men.”

True. He’d be able to cut some of his costs and perhaps invest the money into building a school. He had told the immigrant farmers he’d have a school for their children this fall, but in reality the school was low on his priority list. Yet if he hired more workers and minimized the amount he had to pay them, then he might just be able to fulfill his promise. Besides, a school would make his town look complete and would definitely impress his father.

A swirl of dust rolled down Main Street, bringing with it a distant train whistle. Far to the north on the horizon, a plume of black rose into the cloudless blue sky. The billowing smoke was a beautiful sight, almost as pretty as the New York skyline at dusk.

Hewitt patted his bowler hat, which already sat as low on his head as it could go. “News is that more businesses in the East are closing their doors every day. Lots of people are losing their jobs. The lucky ones who still have work are forced to take a cut in wages.”

Thornton had been in New York two weeks ago, and Wall Street was bedlam. What started with the Ohio Life Insurance and Trust Company suddenly closing its doors had escalated into an all-out panic. Banks and businesses were in an uproar. Westervelt and Company had just defaulted. As one of the city’s largest shipbuilders, thousands of workers were laid off as a result. Putnam’s Magazine had gone under. Cyrus Field’s paper business had been suspended.

New York City was a disaster, and most other East Coast cities were following suit. After spending as much time as possible with Rosalind, Thornton had wrapped up business as quickly as possible and then returned to Illinois to get away from all the problems. The recession wasn’t impacting Quincy Enterprises too heavily. In fact, the financial crisis seemed to have given his father a boost of energy he hadn’t had in months. The last Thornton had seen his father, he was out of bed and on his way to his office. His father thrived on the failures of others, especially by moving in and buying them up.

“Garment workers have been hit especially hard,” Hewitt said, dipping his hand up then down as though he were sewing. “You know the women are always the first to be fired.”

Thornton’s thoughts jumped to the Seventh Street Mission and the twenty-four hours he’d been confined there. It had been almost two months since the Dead Rabbits Riots, which was what most were calling the riots that had started during the Fourth of July celebrations. He hadn’t thought of the Seventh Street Mission since then, except with guilt that he hadn’t contacted Miss Pendleton regarding her donation request. He’d been too busy.

If the garment manufacturers were going under, what would happen to her workshop? And what about the pretty young woman he’d met there? What would happen to her and her sisters if the workshop closed?

Thornton snipped off the concern for the mission before it could grow. Miss Pendleton was a wealthy woman. If the mission experienced any problems as a result of the recession, she’d figure out something. He couldn’t worry about fixing every broken business endeavor in the city or he’d have time for little else.

No, he had to keep his focus on his new town if he had any hope of competing with Bradford. Maybe he wouldn’t win the challenge, but at the very least he wanted to show his father he was capable and competent and worthy of his admiration and praise.

“I’ll do it, Hewitt.” Thornton brushed at the dust on his coat sleeves before spinning and opening the door of the train depot.

“What, sir?” Hewitt hurried to follow him.

“Next time I go east, I’ll hire women workers.”

“Very good, sir. Very good. I’ll check into the newspaper advertisements.”

“What kind of advertisements?”

“Placed by eastern aid associations working to relocate the unemployed women.”

“Fine,” Thornton said with a sweeping glance around the deserted depot. The benches were empty and would remain that way for months to come. Currently he was the only one coming and going from Quincy. Everyone else came to stay.

Even the dining room attached to the depot was empty. He and Hewitt and a couple of the construction crew supervisors were the only ones who ate in the sparsely furnished room. He’d hired his stationmaster, Mr. Gray, to do double duty, managing the depot as well as running the dining room. Mr. Gray’s wife did most of the cooking.

Thornton crossed the waiting room to his office, which he’d located at the back of building behind the ticket counter. “Narrow down the best agency,” he said over his shoulder to Hewitt. “Get references on the women. Then we’ll bring them out and put them to work as soon as we can make the arrangements.”

Hewitt saluted. “Will do, sir.”

Miss Pendleton’s face was paler than usual. Her lips were pressed together as she waited for the women to finish taking their seats at the worktables, which were empty of the usual precut shirt pieces. The women from the workroom across the hall were standing along the walls—Mrs. Watson, Fanny, Dimna, and the others. Their faces were somber, their eyes reflecting fear.

Elise felt Marianne’s trembling fingers against her own. Over the past two weeks, they’d counted themselves fortunate to have work when so many others had lost their jobs. Even though they’d had to take a reduction in pay, they were happy to have something when others had nothing.

Only yesterday they’d heard of several riots over food. Without the means to pay for food, people grew hungry, tempers were easily ignited, and panic was only a spark away from combusting.

Elise squeezed Marianne’s hand and tried to silently reassure her sister they would be fine. But the part of her that had seen the storm coming knew it was finally here, and there was no escaping the hail and thunder.

“Good morning, everyone,” Miss Pendleton said after the last woman had filed into the room. The September morning was still dark outside. Several lanterns hung from ceiling beams, providing light to the room. The slight coolness of air coming in through the open windows reminded Elise once again that winter would be here before long and with it the brutal cold and snow that would make living on the streets deadly.

“As you know, I’ve been doing everything I possibly can to negotiate for contracted work.” Miss Pendleton’s voice wobbled. From behind her, the reverend placed a hand on her shoulder. In the midst of the financial crisis, the couple had decided to postpone their wedding, which was to have taken place at the end of August. Miss Pendleton claimed she couldn’t go forward with the joyous occasion when so many were struggling.

“It’s with my utmost regret I must inform you this morning that D. and J. Devlin has closed its doors. After searching hard all week, I’ve failed to find any more manufacturers who are willing or able to contract with us. ”

The women were silent. In the distance a church bell rang, signaling the top of the hour, the start of a workday that would not begin after all. Elise suspected that, like her, the others had known it was only a matter of time before they were out of work along with everyone else. No matter how kind Miss Pendleton was, no matter how much she advocated for them, and no matter how much she and the reverend prayed, there simply was no way to prevent the inevitable.

“I want you to know,” Miss Pendleton continued in a strained voice, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, “I have loved having you here every day. You have been a joy to know. And during your absence I will miss you all dearly.”

Several women around Elise sniffled, and she was surprised to find her eyes stinging with tears. Miss Pendleton had been a true blessing, and she’d never forget her as long as she lived. Elise suspected many of the others felt the same way.

“I also want you to know I will be doing everything possible to find contract work. I won’t stop. When I’m able to locate work again, the reverend and I will notify you at once.”

The women nodded, but hopelessness radiated from their eyes. They knew as well as Elise that women had a difficult time finding work during good times. But now . . . it would be impossible. For most of these women, returning to prostitution would be the only way to keep their children from starving. Would it be the only way for Elise to provide for her family now too?

She shuddered with such force that Marianne released her hand and wound her arm around Elise, drawing her into a side embrace. Elise leaned into Marianne gratefully but was unable to keep at bay her experience the first day of work at the mission, of the words she’d spoken to the women, of how proud she’d been, of how she’d looked down on them for the lives they’d once led.

Shame filled her. Maybe all these weeks the others had sensed her attitude of superiority. Maybe they’d been right to be offended by her.

“In the meantime, until we can reopen, I want you to come to me for anything you need,” Miss Pendleton said, wiping at her eyes. “I will do everything I possibly can to help you survive the difficult days ahead.”

Elise had overheard Miss Pendleton speaking with the reverend about the lack of donors to their mission. Although the reverend had visited numerous churches all summer and attempted to raise support, the response had been poor, and Elise suspected Miss Pendleton was providing much of the mission’s maintenance out of her own funds. She hadn’t been able to make any further improvements on the dormitory. Now it appeared she wouldn’t be able to go forward with her plans at all.

The reverend leaned in and whispered in Miss Pendleton’s ear. She nodded and then spoke again. “For those who might be able to relocate, please consider applying at the New York Children’s Aid Society. They’ve just set up a special office to place out seamstresses and trade girls in the West.”

“They won’t accept the likes of us,” said one of the women. “They only want women of good character.”

“You are of good character,” Miss Pendleton said. But whether Miss Pendleton believed in the women or not wouldn’t matter to the person doing the hiring.

“They require references,” another woman said.

“I’ll give a good reference to any woman who needs one.”

Elise shook her head along with the others around her. Even if Miss Pendleton was willing to give a reference, which of them could leave family behind to fend for themselves, especially now?

As the women left the room and the mission, some stopped to thank Miss Pendleton, while most left silently with heads bowed in dejection. When the others were gone, Elise rose and followed Marianne.

They stopped in front of Miss Pendleton and the reverend, who were leaning on each other. They’d had such high hopes for the mission. It wasn’t fair that their good intentions should come to naught.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for us,” Elise said past a tight throat. “I don’t know how we would have survived these past weeks without your kindness.”

Miss Pendleton straightened. “Why, Elise, you’re not planning to leave the mission, are you?”

Elise glanced at Marianne, whose brown eyes radiated the same anxiety that filled Elise’s. She and Marianne hadn’t yet talked about what they might do if the mission closed. Elise hadn’t wanted to think about that possibility, as if by ignoring it she could pretend it might not happen.

“Won’t you need to close the building?” Elise didn’t understand much about the corporate world of loans and big businesses, but surely Miss Pendleton wouldn’t be able sustain the building on her charity alone.

Reverend Bedell slipped his arm around Miss Pendleton. “We may not be able to keep the sewing workshops open, but we’re determined to continue to have chapel and offer inexpensive meals to our parishioners when we can.”

“But without work I can no longer pay the fees for the room and meals.”

“You don’t have to pay me right now,” Miss Pendleton whispered with a glance over her shoulder to make sure the others had gone. “You can continue living here for as long as you need a place to stay.”

“Thank you,” Elise said. “You’re very kind. But we can’t live off your charity.”

“Have you considered applying to the Children’s Aid Society for their placing-out program?” Reverend Bedell spoke softly, his expression earnest with his usual compassion.

“I can’t leave everyone behind.” Elise didn’t want to think about what would become of Marianne, Sophie, and the two young ones if she left.

“If you get a job in the West, then you can send some of your money home to them,” the reverend said.

“And if they’re living here,” Miss Pendleton offered, “I’ll be sure to keep watch over them.”

Elise stared between the two, the tall burly man and the petite woman who had shepherded them as kindly as parents. Could she really consider leaving her family behind with these two people, even with their assurances?

“Perhaps this will be a chance for you to begin your life somewhere new,” the reverend said.

Wasn’t that what she’d been wanting? To find a more permanent solution to their situation? She’d known they couldn’t stay at the mission forever, that eventually she’d need to find a different job and new home.

Even so, there were so many factors to consider, so many things that could go wrong. She swallowed the sudden lump of fear. “I don’t have any money to go west.”

“From what I understand, potential employers are expected to pay the traveling fees,” the reverend said. “The cost is then taken out of your earnings once you begin working.”

Marianne’s trembling fingers once again sought hers. When she caught Marianne’s eyes, she could see that her sister was as worried as she was. They’d never been away from each other. And the prospect of being separated was terrifying.

“Think about it, Elise,” Miss Pendleton said gently, as though sensing her inner turmoil. “You of all the women who’ve worked at the mission have the greatest chance of gaining employment in the West.”

Miss Pendleton didn’t have to point out the fact that the placing agencies weren’t interested in hiring former prostitutes. They would want the “worthy poor,” women of good moral character, without the taint of alcoholism or loose living.

“I don’t know.” Elise sighed. It was a monumental decision, one she couldn’t make without more thought.

Miss Pendleton patted her arm. “Well, whatever you decide, I want you to know you’re always welcome here.”

Elise thanked the couple again and exited the room with Marianne on her heels. “Are you seriously considering leaving us?” Marianne asked, her loud whisper echoing in the empty passageway.

“How can I not—?”

A tapping against the window in the door drew their attention. There in the growing light of the morning stood a stocky young man. His hat was pulled low over brown hair that curled along the edges. Even within the shadows of his hat, his ruddy complexion and rounded features were unmistakable.

“Reinhold!” Marianne’s voice rose with excitement. She let go of Elise and scampered to the door.

Elise approached more slowly. Reinhold had visited several times to see them since Marianne had informed him of their whereabouts, usually in the evenings after he finished work. After his initial relief at seeing them had passed, he’d spent the first ten minutes of his visit scolding Elise for not telling him where she’d been. Elise knew she deserved every word of his reprimand. She should have told him instead of hoping he wouldn’t find her and ask her to marry him again.

Even now, the guilt lingered.

“What are you doing here so early?” Marianne asked, pulling Reinhold inside and closing the door behind him.

Only then did Elise see the weariness in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. She knew before he spoke what he would say.

“I lost my job yesterday.”

Marianne’s smile fell away just as quickly as it had come. “That can’t be. You’re so strong and such a hard worker. They need you.”

“They don’t need anyone,” he said bitterly.

Reinhold had been the envy of everyone in their tenement in Kleindeutschland for his construction job. To be sure, it was hard labor, helping to build the tall tenement buildings, but it was steady work and paid much better than sewing garments.

For several seconds, none of them spoke, the direness of his situation speaking loudly enough. He was the primary wage earner in his family, supporting his mother and five siblings, along with an aunt and two cousins. Without his earnings the family would face a crisis, especially since his mother and aunt had been some of the first to lose their seamstress work.

“I’m sorry, Reinhold,” Elise said at last, knowing her words couldn’t ease his frustration or make the situation better. Yet he lifted his gaze to hers and he seemed to take comfort from her anyway.

“Mother is talking about taking the two little ones to the orphan asylum.”

“No.” Marianne’s whisper contained all the horror that flooded Elise’s heart.

“And then sending the others to the juvenile asylum.”

Elise had only briefly considered the orphanage that housed unsupervised and vagrant children. Everyone knew the children there were hardened, some even dangerous, and that it was no place for innocents. Not only that, but such institutions were understaffed, overcrowded, and hardly better than the streets. She shook her head. “Your mother can’t do it. You can’t let her.”

“What choice do I have, Elise?”

“We’ll think of something else.”

“Already they are hungry. Without my wages, they’ll starve. At least at the asylums they’ll have something to eat.”

“You can’t find any other work?”

“No, there’s nothing. And there are hundreds—no, thousands—of men just like me who are looking.”

Elise’s chest constricted. The masses of unemployed would be the same for women, if not worse. She would never be able to find a job in New York City or in the surrounding area. If she wanted to save her family and keep the younger ones from having to go to an asylum or orphanage like Reinhold’s siblings, then she would have to get a job in the West. It was the only option she had left.