Free Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) by N. S. Wikarski Page B

on the hotel’s wraparound verandah and smoking cigars. This was the first sign of human activity they had seen since stepping off the train.
    Evangeline scrutinized the idlers for a few moments. “Do those men work at the factory?”
    Bracecote shook his head. “The hotel was built for business associates, management, and clients of the company. Mr. Pullman also maintains a suite there overlooking the car works. None of the laborers are allowed inside.” Their guide laughed deprecatingly. “It is the only place in Pullman that serves liquor.”
    Even Jane’s mild features registered surprised at this statement. “Mr. Pullman is afraid his workers might imbibe?”
    “The workers imbibe at the thirty-odd saloons in Kensington. It’s a well-worn path.” Bracecote lowered his voice. “Although Mr. Pullman is a temperance advocate, that isn’t the real reason for keeping the workers away. You see, when the town was first constructed, it was something of an attraction. A factory town built along principles of thrift, hard work, cleanliness, and sobriety. People came from all over the world to see it.”
    “And they stayed at the hotel?” Evangeline inferred.
    “Yes. Tours were arranged for them to view the factory and the town. Many visitors to the Columbian Exposition last year also came here.”
    “So, you all became curiosities in Mr. Pullman’s zoological garden but no one was allowed to feed the animals!”
    At her words, Bracecote turned pale.
    “Engie!” A warning tone crept into Jane’s voice. “We are only here to observe.”
    “I suspect the one thing that the town of Pullman has had in abundance is observation,” Evangeline muttered.
    Jane quickly changed the subject. “I notice that those gentlemen on the verandah all wear miniature American flags in their lapels while you wear a white ribbon. What is the significance of this?”
    Bracecote shifted his stance backward as if dreading the question. “That has become a sore spot for the strikers. We have taken to wearing white ribbons in a show of unity. Anyone who is in sympathy with the workers does the same. The company managers and their friends have adopted the American flag instead to show their support for Mr. Pullman.”
    “Suggesting that the strikers are less patriotic than everybody else?” Evangeline asked.
    “Exactly,” Bracecote concurred.
    “What a lovely sentiment.”
    One of the men seated on the verandah railing caught Evangeline’s eye. He flicked some cigar ash into the flower bed below his perch and tipped his hat to her. A languid smile that bore a close resemblance to a sneer hovered on his lips. Evangeline pointedly turned her face away.
    The strike chairman ushered his little group past the hotel without acknowledging the contemptuous comments of the group on the porch.   They walked along for another block before turning down a side street where they were confronted by red brick row houses on their right and what appeared to be block houses, or tenements, on their left.
    “Not all the workers’ homes are in the same style,” Evangeline noted.
    “A variety of accommodations have been provided depending on a man’s circumstances,” Bracecote explained. “For example, the tenements are the cheapest. They have the smallest rooms and shared conveniences. It is usually the bachelors and the immigrants who move in there. The workers’ cottages are more spacious. Some have five rooms, and some more.”
    “And all of them have running water?” Jane asked.
    “From that standpoint, the town of Pullman is a model city. All the buildings have indoor plumbing, gas heat, and the company provides a sewage system and daily garbage pickup. All the streets are paved with macadam and there are wooden sidewalks as well. In addition, the company maintains the flower gardens in the front yards of the cottages.”
    The tree-lined street stretching before them with its spring blooms seemed neat and well-tended.
    “It is very