Page 17 of The Harvey Girls

Eleven

As the train huffed its way through the grasslands past Dodge City, Kansas, Charlotte found it difficult to keep her brain from constantly replaying the terror of those final moments in Topeka.

But by the time it had crossed the state line into Colorado and ran alongside the Arkansas River, her thoughts shifted to Billie.

A bad temper doesn’t just go away on its own in a couple of weeks , the girl had said. And she’d known enough to go get that kitchen boy when her prediction came true.

Charlotte had woefully underestimated her intelligence, that much was clear.

But she’d also overlooked her loyalty; Billie had barely left her side once she knew about Simeon.

Maybe if Charlotte had had a friend like that in college, she might have been persuaded not to leave Boston.

Not to make such a ruinous mess of her life.

Charlotte didn’t know if she’d ever find another friend like Billie MacTavish, but if she did, this time she was determined to keep her.

She never ate any of the cookies Frances had pressed upon her.

The bag sat next to her on the brown leather bench seat until that afternoon when a mother with four children got on at Syracuse, the last stop in Kansas, and crowded onto the bench beside and across from her.

The baby was plump and ruddy cheeked. The next child, about three years old, Charlotte guessed, was slightly thinner and paler.

This progression held true all the way up to the mother herself.

The woman barely casts a shadow , Charlotte thought.

None of them spoke. The mother and oldest child, a boy of about seven, stared vacantly out the train window, while the next youngest, a girl, held the baby. The three-year-old ran a little wooden train with missing wheels back and forth across the landscape of his knees.

He was the one who smelled the cookies. He suddenly stopped playing with the train, sat up a bit straighter, and made a surreptitious sniffing sound with his tiny nose.

Though his head remained still, his gaze darted this way and that until it landed on the paper sack beside Charlotte.

He stared up at her for a moment, face solemn, then gave up and went back to his train.

“I wonder if I might give your children some cookies,” Charlotte said to the mother.

Each child seemed to freeze on the spot, neither breathing nor blinking, until their mother answered. “We couldn’t,” she said, in a deep drawl that revealed missing teeth.

“A friend gave me this whole great bag of them just this morning, and they’re quite fresh. Only I really don’t like cookies, and they’ll simply go to waste.”

The woman considered this a moment, and then shook her head. “Thankee, no.”

The middle boy and girl looked to their older brother, whose frozen face had thawed into a look of determination. He held out his small hand to Charlotte with such finality that she felt compelled to pass the bag to him, even against the express wishes of his mother.

The woman suddenly swung her broomstick arm back and clapped him across the ear.

He flinched, then quietly commenced handing the saucer-sized cookies out to each of his siblings before taking one for himself.

As if exhausted by the effort of what she’d done, the mother slumped down in her seat and resumed staring out the window.

As he bit into his cookie, the boy caught Charlotte’s eye and nodded his thanks.

By the time the train pulled into Williams, Charlotte was faint from hunger and sleeplessness.

Not that she regretted giving up the cookies.

Her stomach had been in knots since Topeka, and she couldn’t have eaten a bite.

Besides, the look on that little boy’s face had been satisfaction enough.

He’d obviously mastered a difficult lesson early on: there were things worth taking your lumps for.

Charlotte had felt the same when Simeon started berating her after their first few months of marriage. His loving moments were worth the tirades. But when it turned physical—when harsh words became actual lumps—the seesaw of cost to benefit began to tip.

The dawn was only still thinking about rising behind her as she stood on the Williams platform wondering what on earth to do next.

It was so early, the dining room wouldn’t be serving yet, and she doubted even the lunch counter was open.

The other passengers who’d disembarked hadn’t gone into the depot.

They’d headed for the waiting arms of friends or family.

When the train huffed its way west, Charlotte stood alone.

Frances had said something about California.

In the terror of those moments, wondering if Simeon might fly at her from around the corner of the Topeka depot at any second, her brain hadn’t registered anything more.

She picked up her bag and trudged into the station, knowing only that Williams was where she would receive further instructions.

And who would have those instructions? Not the slack-eyed ticket agent, likely at the end of his shift.

She wandered down the hallway into a room filled with artwork the likes of which she’d never seen before.

Thick woolen blankets with unfamiliar designs, zigs and zags like thunderbolts on some of them, others woven with stair-like patterns wandering to the four corners.

Pottery, some of it decorated with geometric designs, other pieces with intricate figures dancing or playing instruments.

And so much jewelry, all of it silver, but differentiated by a variety of stones and patterns.

A fire blazed in the great brick hearth on the back wall.

She continued on till she reached a hotel lobby. The desk clerk stood with his arms crossed, his chin down on his chest, but he roused himself as soon as he heard the click of her shoes on the polished floor.

“May I help you, miss?”

“I’m a Harvey Girl. I’ve just completed my training in Topeka, and they told me to come to Williams and wait for instructions as to where I’ll be assigned.”

He puzzled at this. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a girl arriving unassigned before. Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

“Ah.” He nodded, though he surely had no better idea of what to do with her than he had a minute ago. “Well, the manager isn’t here yet, and the girls won’t be down for another two hours. Would you care to wait?”

“Certainly. Thank you.” Charlotte stepped a few feet to the lobby area and dropped down into an overstuffed wing chair that faced the door through which she’d come. Just in case.

She hadn’t had more than twenty minutes of sleep in a row since leaving Topeka, convinced that Simeon had somehow made it onto the train and was only waiting for the right moment to pop out and drag her off at some lonesome location where he might easily dispose of her.

That hadn’t happened, of course, but her sleep-deprived brain couldn’t quite latch on to the idea that Simeon had not, in fact, followed her.

Or that if he had, his search had been unsuccessful.

She was just so tired.

If her brother, Oliver, were here, he would make her laugh, even if he called her Funereal Fannie or Mournful Myrtle. He understood that she was more than the serious girl most people saw. She wondered if she would ever be known like that again.

“I’ve a thought.” The man’s voice startled her, and her hands jumped on the chair arms. “We’ve got an empty room,” he went on. “If you lie down on top of the quilt and don’t touch anything, the maids won’t have to go in.”

She blinked up at him, barely able to judge what he was suggesting. He would let her stay in one of the hotel rooms—for free? Why on earth would he jeopardize his position for a stranger like that?

“You look real tired, Miss.”

He plucked a blanket off the back of one of the chairs in the lobby and took her bag; she followed him up the stairs and down the hallway to the last room.

He placed the bag inside the door, handed her the blanket, and said, “I’ll give a knock when the dining room manager comes in.

This door locks from the inside right here. ”

Charlotte woke blinking into rays of light streaming from the window.

The sun was now sitting on the treetops, and she marveled at how very deeply she’d slept.

Her body was in exactly the same position in which she’d laid herself down, trapped as it was under the comforting weight of the thick wool blanket, one like those she’d seen when she’d first entered the depot.

I’m going to buy one of these. It’ll be the first purchase of my new life. A life in which I sleep like a normal person.

She wondered why the hotel clerk had never come for her.

The breakfast rush must be in full swing.

She smoothed down the bed, arranged herself as best she could so as not to look as if she’d slept in her clothes (which she had), gathered her things, and descended the stairs, then quickly deposited the folded blanket back onto one of the chairs before anyone could notice.

There was a different man standing behind the hotel reception desk, and this gave her a prickly feeling on the back of her neck. Had the other man simply forgotten her and gone home… or had she dreamed the whole thing?

“Good morning,” she said to the clerk. “I’m a Harvey Girl, and I’m to report to the dining room manager.”

“Good afternoon ,” he replied with a chuckle, and pointed toward the lunchroom. “Right in there.”

Afternoon? She glanced at the grandfather clock beside the reception area.

Good Lord, it was half past four! Mr. Gilstead was supposed to communicate with Miss Steele at the Fred Harvey headquarters, who in turn would contact the Williams manager, so they all knew what train she was on and when she was due to arrive.

How would she ever explain her disappearance for…

eleven hours! That early-morning hotel clerk had seemed so kind, and yet he’d likely cost her the job.

She took a deep breath and headed for the lunchroom. Time to take her lumps.

The place was almost empty. Too early for dinner, and apparently they hadn’t had a recent train come through.

Eight or so Harvey Girls were scattered about at their various stations, wiping, polishing, and straightening everything for the next onslaught.

There were no gentlemen except the few who were seated, lingering over cups of coffee or attempting to flirt with their strictly flirt-forbidden waitresses. Where was the manager?

A middle-aged woman in a gray serge dress and upswept hair approached. “May I seat you, Miss?”

“No, thank you. I’m to speak with the manager. I’m a Harvey Girl.” At least I hope I still am.

The woman stretched out her hand to shake. “That would be me. I’m Mrs. Fleming.”

No, the manager , Charlotte almost said, and then it occurred to her that this Mrs. Fleming might actually be the manager.

She knew that Harvey Girls occasionally rose through the ranks from waitress to head girl and even to assistant manager in a couple of locations.

But who’d ever heard of a woman actually running an entire restaurant?

Mrs. Fleming smiled. Apparently, the idea had garnered strange looks before. “I’ve been with the company for twenty-six years so far,” she said patiently. “Are you by any chance the girl we’re expecting from Topeka?”

“Yes—yes, I am,” Charlotte stammered. “I apologize for any…”

“I assume you’re fully rested now? That’s quite a long trip when you’re not in a sleeping car.”

“Oh, I… The hotel clerk suggested…”

“Yes, he mentioned it, and I heard from Mr. Gilstead that you’ve had some difficulties. Since the room wasn’t needed, I thought it best to let you rest before we send you on.”

Stunned, all Charlotte could think to say was “Thank you.”

“Now, why don’t you sit and have a good meal. I imagine you’re quite hungry.”

Charlotte exhaled. “Famished actually.”

“Fine. Order what you like but be ready on the platform for the five twenty.”

“Where am I going?”

“To the Grand Canyon.”