Malcolm looked even more confused.
“You do know the story of our families?” Momma asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I just . . .” He shook his head and pasted a smile on his face. “I’m glad that you believe Mr. Smith will be a friend to me. He’s new to this route; we haven’t worked together before.”
“I can’t imagine he will show any race prejudice when he—”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Malcolm interrupted. “I best be getting on with my duties.”
He tipped his cap politely and left them. Now Sadie was confused by Malcolm’s attitude. He appeared to be hiding information from them. Perhaps it was none of her business, as Momma kept telling her, but she was curious about the mystery.
Once they crossed into Nevada, the scenery out the window was dramatic in an entirely different way. The desert spread out before them, long past where the eye could see. Stunted shrubs gave it texture. The temperature rose until it was uncomfortable even to be seated and gazing out at the land. Sadie held an entirely new level of respect for the settlers who crossed this territory by wagon and the workers who laid the tracks for the railroad.
“Your table is ready.” Malcolm interrupted Sadie’s thoughts.
“Thank you,” Sadie replied with a smile, and they followed him to the elegant dining room.
If anything, it was more ornate than the sleeping car. The carved seats around the tables were upholstered with damask cushions. White cotton tablecloths covered the surface laid with silver utensils, glassware, and a vase with flowers. Each window had rich velvet curtains. Glass and electrical bulbs shone from above. Most striking were the great number of Colored men dressed in long white tunics, ready to serve. It was as sophisticated as the Palace Hotel in San Francisco.
Malcolm ushered them to a table where two people were already seated. The well-dressed gentleman rose. He was older than Sadie but younger than Momma. The woman next to him was closer to Sadie’s age.
“I’m Mr. Davis of Chicago.” He did not reach out his hand. “My wife”—he gestured toward the petite woman next to him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Momma said. “I’m Mrs. Johnson and this is my daughter, Mrs. Wagner.”
They sat down. Sadie picked up the elegant menu waiting on the table.
PULLMAN DINING CAR LAFAYETTE
———
DINNER
—
Chicken with Rice
Consommé, Clear
—
Celery
—
Baked Whitefish, Tartar Sauce
Saratoga Potatoes
—
Boiled Beef Tongue, Tomato Sauce
—
Chicken Croquettes, Mushrooms
Pineapple Fritters, Wine Sauce
—
Prime Roast Beef
Roast Turkey, Cranberry Sauce
Boiled Potatoes
String Beans
June Peas
Cauliflower
—
Lobster Salad
—
Apple Tapioca Pudding, Cream Sauce
—
Neapolitan Ice Cream
Preserved Fruits
Assorted Cake
Marmalade
Dry Canton Ginger
English, Graham and Oatmeal Wafers
—
Fruit
—
Roquefort, Canadian and Edam Cheese
Bent’s Biscuits
—
Cafe Noir
———
* MEALS, ONE DOLLAR *
—
Hygeia Water Used on Table.
The offerings were extensive. Sadie looked at her mother studying the menu.
Mr. Davis asked, “Is this your first journey by train?”
Momma replied, “Our second, but the last journey was nearly twenty years ago. Trains have changed in the intervening years.”
“Indeed!” he proclaimed.
“And you?” Sadie asked, looking at Mrs. Davis.
“We took the train to San Francisco last month,” she said. Then she added, a coy smile lighting up her face, “For our honeymoon.”
“Congratulations!” Momma said, matching the woman’s excitement.
Not every marriage should be celebrated, but all weddings seemed to be.
“Where are you headed to?” Mrs. Davis asked.
“Chicago,” Momma replied, “to visit an old friend.”
“Our hometown,” Mr. Davis said.
“We will be traveling together for a few days, then,” Momma said.
They both nodded.
“The menu changes each night. I cannot understand how they do it, but the food is delicious,” he said.
The right side of the menu listed French wines and champagne, cordials, California wines, whiskey, beer, and sodas. Momma pointed at the prices. Some of the beverages were four dollars a bottle—four times the cost of the entire meal. The financial crisis caused by the crash of 1893 hadn’t been equally hard on everyone. The beer included Heinrich’s favorite—Bartholomay’s Bohemian. Sadie thought of her husband hundreds of miles away, being served by Lexi. She hoped he was satisfied with his supper.
Sadie settled on the chicken croquettes, and Momma ordered the roast beef. The waiter was so friendly she wondered if Cousin Willie had requested special treatment for them. But then she noticed that the all-Negro serving staff were equally kind and jovial to the surrounding tables.
The food arrived on beautiful china plates with a floral pattern and the word “Pullman” embossed in blue letters. Mr. Davis was correct. It was as delicious as any meal Sadie had ever eaten.
Mr. Davis declared, “Mr. Pullman began his career in New York, but he wisely moved to Chicago to make his fortune. He is most inventive and deserves every penny he earns.
“Do you know how he made his name?”
Before they had a chance to reply to his question, he launched into an explanation. “Mr. Pullman used his patented method to raise an entire block of stores in downtown Chicago—without disrupting their business. They’d been built so close to Lake Michigan that a seasonal swamp flooded them. He used hundreds of laborers and six thousand jackscrews to lift the buildings. At the sound of a whistle, the workers simultaneously gave the screws a quarter turn. Each movement was so slight that they did not break a single pane of glass nor disturb the shoppers. Can you imagine that? Sipping tea in a restaurant or buying a coat while the building you’re in is being raised?”
Like Heinrich, Mr. Davis clearly admired a self-made man. Heinrich believed that Mr. Spreckels was a similarly admirable and astute businessman. Some considered such men greedy and overly ambitious, but the fact that Spreckels and Pullman were attempting to drive out all competition did not bother Heinrich in the least. He thought Spreckels was wise to take full advantage of the opportunities that industrialization and urbanization were offering in the moment.
Mr. Davis paused in the midst of his lecture with a dramatic scowl. He shook his head. Sadie turned around to see what was disturbing him. A well-dressed Negro family was being seated.
Mr. Davis hissed, “I do not see how they can consider these first-class accommodations if they are serving Negroes.”
Sadie’s stomach clenched. She wanted to challenge his assertion but did not want to ruin their meal by being argumentative. And she was at a loss for the right words.
Momma replied, “Surely income is the measure of class, Mr. Davis. Not complexion.”