Into the Whirlwind (35 page)

Shortly after Christmas, Mollie had moved into this modest rooming house. It was smaller than her old apartment—just a single room—but every square inch of it belonged to her. There was a bed, a dresser with three drawers, and a window overlooking a vibrant street of mercantile shops in a section of town that had escaped the blaze. After months of living packed in alongside dozens of people, it felt strange to sleep alone. Isolated. Still, she was grateful her life had finally settled into some semblance of normalcy. The barracks had been closed,
and the burned-out residents of the city had all found new homes or left the city.

Rebuilding in the burned district proceeded at a breathtaking pace. Skeletal outlines of buildings had taken shape several stories taller than Chicago had ever seen. Mollie could scarcely believe her eyes as the structures rose higher each month. Workers used pulleys and steel-wire ropes to raise huge girders; scaffolding was everywhere as the new buildings rose higher and higher. Mr. Durant explained to her how modern steel construction made it possible to construct buildings higher than ever before. “Someday our buildings will scrape the skies!” he laughingly told her. The air was electric with the hum of energy as the people of Chicago rebuilt the city. Within a year or two, they would have the most modern business district anywhere in the world.

A rainstorm the previous evening had cleared construction dust from the air, and it was a beautiful June day. The sky was shockingly blue, and birds chattered as they rummaged through the dampened soil in search of earthworms. Mollie’s favorite birdcall was the whistling twitter of the tree swallow as it flitted about. The gentle calling was soothing to her.

Which she sorely needed this afternoon as she hastened her step to catch the streetcar that would carry her across town to the Durants’ hotel, where she shared a meal with the family on the first Tuesday of every month. Sophie still came to the workshop twice a week to help Declan polish metal, and the girl seemed to think Mollie walked on water. So did her parents, who were amazed at the gradual transformation of a spoiled princess into a young girl who had finally found her calling in “doing something hard.”

The Durants leased the top floor of the Michigan Avenue Hotel. It was not as grand as the house on Prairie Avenue, but
it was closer to the buildings Mr. Durant was designing. Mollie enjoyed her dinners with the Durants, where she reported how Sophie was doing at the factory and shared tales of the reconstruction efforts. It might have seemed strange for a woman like her to be socializing with a millionaire architect, but as Mr. Durant had so often said, he would be eternally grateful to Mollie not only for saving his daughter on the night of the fire, but for taking the girl in hand and giving her life some structure.

Mollie was hoping that gratitude would pay off one more time. As she walked down Michigan Avenue, she clasped a small watch in the palm of her hand.

Dr. Buchanan now leased a small room off the side of her new workshop, and his dental business had finally found momentum. At Christmas, he had given her an inexpensive watch from the Newburgh Watch Company, along with a postcard with a picture of the company’s workers. The photograph depicted the elaborate machinery of the company with rows of pulleys and conveyor belts and somber-faced workers standing before each station.

The watch was an odd gift. He refused to say how he had come across it, but it terrified Mollie. Homely, basic, and made of cheap metal, it still kept perfect time. And it sold for only three dollars.

Ever since he’d given it to her, Mollie had been researching the Newburgh Watch Company. Not that she could learn much through scrutinizing the newspaper advertisements, but she gathered the company was now supplying watches all the way to Topeka. Their homely watches were no match for the 57th, but they would be soon if Mollie could not figure out a way to become more competitive.

And that was why she needed to strike a deal with Mr. Durant. She waited until after dinner, when the family traditionally
retreated to the parlor and Mr. Durant showed her the progress on the nine buildings he was supervising. Mr. Durant’s wife, Charlotte, lounged beautifully on a chaise while Sophie sat at her feet and sketched pictures. “I like to listen to grown-ups talk,” Sophie said. “My little brothers are too stupid to have anything interesting to say.”

Sophie was still not the most gracious child, but at least the girl no longer seemed to hate everyone and everything. And she certainly seemed attentive as she sketched pictures in the corner and quietly listened to her parents talk. The parlor contained a settee and two armchairs, but two oversized drafting tables were pressed against the room’s only window. Mr. Durant’s architectural drawings were tacked up on the expensive flocked wallpaper.

All of his designs were for commercial buildings. Two banks, three hotels, a new theater, and three office buildings. Each building was several stories tall with large glass windows lined up in a grid style. They had little ornamentation and looked shockingly modern to Mollie’s eye. The prettiest of the buildings, a new bank that was going to be on State Street, was five stories tall, with clean lines and a gambrel roof. The only real decoration was a clock tower that rose from the center of the building. Two of the other buildings Mr. Durant had designed also featured prominent clocks on the outside. In all likelihood, the others would have large public clocks inside the lobbies.

“How is the bank progressing?” Mollie asked, proud of the casual tone she managed to achieve.

“Coming along well, except we can’t get the type of limestone I want. We’ll have to settle for Indiana limestone, as I can’t afford any more delays on the project.”

Mollie’s finger traced the outline of the clock tower. “And who will be building the clock?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “That sort of thing is usually handled by my chief design engineer. The clock is a finishing detail we haven’t contracted yet.”

Mollie swallowed hard and drew a steadying breath. “The mechanics for designing a watch and a clock are the same,” she said. “It appears to me that your buildings are very bold. Modern. You will want to be sure the people who build your clock understand that vision and can produce a clock to enhance it. Not compete with it.”

“And I suppose you know of such a clock designer?” Mr. Durant’s intelligent eyes were fastened on her as he pulled a long draw on his pipe.

This was it. This was her chance to vault the 57th into an entirely new realm of prominence. “I have the best designers in the world working for the 57th,” she stated boldly. “We have designed watch faces to reflect everything from Medieval Gothic to Baroque to Neoclassical.”

“I know what Baroque is!” Sophie chimed in from where she was drawing in the corner. “Ulysses showed me. He thinks it is gaudy, but he designs it because it sells so well.”

Mr. Durant turned his curious gaze to Mollie. “You think I should put a Baroque clock on the outside of my bank?”

“Absolutely not!” she said. “Your buildings are very distinctive, and you will need a style that is equally modern, but still harkens back to an earlier era to lend a sense of continuity with the past. I have a team of artisans who can work up several options for your design engineer.”

Charlotte Durant waved a lavender-scented fan before her face. “I can’t imagine why you would want to,” she said. “The thought of all that work makes me want to sit down. If I wasn’t already sitting,” she amended.

That was because Charlotte Durant did not need to fear for
the continued livelihood of forty employees and their families. The cheap watch heavy in Mollie’s pocket was a constant reminder of how important it was for her to stay ahead of the competition. She could never compete directly with the Newburgh Watch Factory or any of the other factory-made watch companies that were on the horizon. It would cost a fortune to mechanize the 57th. Even if she did, such a move would put most of her employees out of work, and that was unthinkable.

“We have never been afraid of hard work,” Mollie asserted. “The clock tower is the only significant embellishment on the outside of that bank. It is your best chance to make a statement, and our artisans will handle that design with more care than any ordinary clockmaker in this city. The 57th has made a name for itself based on our unique designs.”

Mr. Durant set his pipe on a small dish at his side. Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers over his satin vest. It was obvious he was not pleased by her suggestion.

“These contracts tend to be awarded along very clannish lines,” he said. “Chicago is a tough city, and I am certain to offend somebody if I break with tradition and hire an entirely new company. Especially one headed by a woman. Now, don’t take offense,” he rushed to add. “You know I have the highest regard for you and the 57th. I even bought my wife one of your watches for Christmas.”

“I picked it out,” Sophie said proudly.

Mollie needed to play this hand of cards carefully. Mr. Durant was a powerful ally, but she couldn’t risk offending him by reminding him of his debt to her. She smiled at Sophie. “I know you did, Sophie. It has been such a treat to have you with us these past few months. Everyone in the workshop comments on how helpful you have been.”

Which was a stunning about-face from the spoiled child Mollie had met on the night of the fire.

“Poor dear,” Charlotte said. “I worry you’ll stunt your growth with all that bending and stooping in a workshop. Like those pitiful Irish laboring down at the factories.”

Charlotte Durant might have been oblivious to Mollie’s subtle reminder of the debt they owed her, but her husband was not. He narrowed his eyes at Mollie while he twiddled his thumbs. Only the clattering of dishes as the servants cleared the dinner table in the adjoining room filled the silence that stretched between them. Mollie’s nerves were clenched tight enough to snap. At last, Mr. Durant looked over at Sophie.

“What do you say, pumpkin? Should we give the 57th a chance to make the clocks in our new buildings?”

Sophie had only a touch of vinegar in her reply. “I think clocks are stupid, but I’ll bet Alice can make a pretty one.”

Mr. Durant picked his pipe up and drew a long puff before speaking. “I am willing to take a chance on you, Miss Knox. Are you certain you have the skill to produce clocks on a massive scale? It will be very different from making a pocket watch.”

She could not afford to show any weakness. Mollie had been researching the clockmaking industry for months. Aside from the gigantic size, the only additional challenge of a public clock was protecting it from the elements. Other than that, it was easier to build than a watch. It did not need to be designed with the precision to keep ticking accurately as it was shaken, held upside-down, and constantly handled.

“Clocks are much easier,” she asserted. “And I have the best technicians in the business. Clockmaking will be a cakewalk in comparison to watchmaking.”

Mr. Durant stood and crossed the room to where she stood beside the sketch of the bank. He extended his hand to her.
“Then we have a deal. My lawyer will draw up the contracts and communicate a timeline.” His hand tightened and the warmth left his eyes, replaced by the hard steel of a businessman. “Don’t let me down, Miss Knox.”

It was unusually warm for June, and, as was their custom, workers from the 57th gathered at the Krause Biergarten to relax at the end of the work week. Mollie had invited Colonel Lowe to join them, but he had politely declined. This sort of gathering really wasn’t to his taste. At the far end of the table, Declan was throwing dice with Oliver, and Ulysses was showing off by cracking walnuts with only the mighty force of his thumb and forefingers. Platters of spicy German sausages were passed around the table, and wind rustled in the leaves of the chestnut trees above.

It was a perfect summer evening, up until the moment Mollie broached her new plan for making clocks. She knew it would be a surprise to the watchmakers but had not expected the resistance that came at her from every angle. Ulysses proclaimed his talent would be wasted confined to the face of a clock, when his real talents lay in cover design. Oliver insisted that working with oversized clock mechanisms was an insult to his technical abilities. Even Gunner disapproved, claiming there was not enough space in the workshop to accommodate the massive size of a public clock.

Mollie’s fingers curled around her cool glass of cider. “It is our best chance at staying competitive,” she asserted. “We can’t compete with the Newburgh Watch Company on price, and the market for high-end watches is going to dwindle as soon as they figure out how to get those machines to make smaller, more elegant watches.”

“So how is building clocks going to help us?” Alice asked, confusion in her voice.

“
Public
clocks,” Mollie asserted. “There is a difference between a public clock and the ordinary clocks sitting on everyone’s bedside table. As this city rebuilds, every new railway station will need a clock. Every theater. Every schoolhouse.
And we can build beautiful ones
,” she said earnestly. “Have you seen the crude clocks in most public buildings? With the 57th’s reputation for quality and beauty, we can move in and dominate this market. If we can deliver on Mr. Durant’s nine buildings, it will catapult this company’s reputation like nothing else. The extra profit will subsidize our custom watchmaking business. We can still keep making the kinds of watches we love, but it will be the clock business that pays the bills.”