Page 21 of The Harvey Girls

Fifteen

Fred Harvey had given Billie three days at home.

Not Fred Harvey the man, of course. He’d gone on to his reward a quarter of a century ago now and was likely sitting on a cloud up in the heavens, itching to get his hands on the manager who’d let the coffee sit for an extra fifteen minutes, and the chef who’d sent an overcooked steak out to the dining room.

Or so Billie imagined. Not God, of course.

More like God’s caterer, with the extra powers of earthly interference that such an important post conveyed.

She stepped onto the platform in Table Rock and was surprised at how quiet it was.

Only a handful of people waited to board—old Mr. Tarkness likely headed down to bustling Pawnee City to conduct some business, and his wife and her sister tagging along to peruse the nicer milliner shops.

Highfalutin, the lot of them. Pawnee City might be twice as big as Table Rock, but it was still well shy of two thousand people. Hardly Paris. Or even Topeka.

How different this was from Topeka with its fifty thousand souls noisily to-ing and fro-ing, working, shopping, driving any manner of vehicle, some standing on their soapboxes to decry the state of civilization, some drinking to excess despite all legal interference to the contrary.

Here in Table Rock, once the train had rumbled off into the distance, she could pick out individual sounds: the tree frogs down by Taylor Creek, Floyd Vrtiska’s Packard with the stuttering exhaust pipe coughing its way down Grand Street, even the far-off trill of Lulu Mae Beebe practicing the organ at St. John’s Church.

Devoted to her music, Lulu Mae was, even if it only amounted to accompanying the choir on Sundays.

Was anyone coming to meet her? Billie had been dreaming about stepping off the train into the waiting arms of her loving parents, but now she was alone.

She grasped the cracked leather handle of the tapestry bag and started to walk the mile or so home when Da’s old Model T truck came careening down Vine Street and pulled up by the depot, Angus spilling out of the bed before it came to a complete stop. “Billie!” he yelled.

Soon they were all crowded round, laughing, hugging, little Isla wrapping her chubby arms around Billie’s thigh, talking over one another to ask about the train ride, and did she eat a steak, and did she see anyone famous?

Only Maw stood back, holding Dougal, who was lunging toward his oldest sister.

Billie pushed forward to take the baby before he fell and used the chance to wrap her mother in a hug as well.

She inhaled the familiar scents of Lux laundry soap and Colgate’s Violet Talc Powder, Lorna’s only indulgence, which she’d run out of months before Billie had left.

She must have felt confident enough in their new financial situation with Billie’s tips coming in to buy herself another tin of it.

“You look different,” Maw whispered in her ear.

“I’m just the same, Maw.”

“Ah, well,” she sighed contentedly. “Either way.”

Duncan took her bag. Angus, as oldest boy, saw this as his right, and tried to wrench it from Duncan’s hand. Duncan punched him in the chest, and a fight broke out briefly until Da promised to skelp the both of them.

“But, Da—” Duncan started in. He could never just let it lie.

“Shut your geggie!” Da said and took the bag himself.

Da, Maw, little Isla, and baby Dougal sat in front, while the rest of them clambered into the truck’s bed, and soon they were rolling down Grand Street, the wooden boards holding them in clacking and groaning.

Six-year-old Elspeth climbed in to sit between Billie’s knees and twisted around to say, “I been sleeping in your spot, but you can have it back, I don’ mind. ”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Billie, smiling.

Elspeth stared up at her a moment, then turned to the others and patted her chest. “That’s very kind of me,” she announced.

“Oh yes,” said Peigi, affecting a high tone. “How kind of you, milady.” The boys snickered.

“Ah, shut your geggies!” said Billie, and the world order of the truck bed was restored.

The house was the same. Clapboard two-story, white paint peeling off in strips, the yard littered with items of varying usefulness: Maw’s big washing tub; a push mower with grass growing up around its tires; Ian’s bike (handed down the line from Angus, red fenders bitten with rust); seven-year-old Catriona’s hoop and stick (handed down the line from Billie, a split forming along the slat); a small motor of some sort; and several other less identifiable objects.

She had never before noticed how cluttered and unkempt it looked and had to bite her tongue from directing Ian and Cat at least to put their things away.

“How’re your drawings coming along?” she asked Peigi instead as Maw went in to start dinner, herding the younger ones along with her, and Da tinkered under the hood of the newly repaired truck with Angus.

“Terrible.” The girl looked away.

“I sent you that fancy charcoal pencil. Can’t be all that terrible.”

“I didn’t win the contest.”

“Oh, now, don’t fret. Lots of people must have entered. Some real artists, too.”

“Never had a chance,” Peigi muttered, and slumped down onto the front steps.

It was a favorite spot, those four wide stairs leading up to the front door—the perfect place to sit and rest between jumping rope and games of kick the can.

“Did you know they have whole schools where people go to learn how to draw and paint? That’s all they learn! They just do pictures all day long!”

“Art school. I read about that in the paper once. You’d have to be pretty hoity-toity to manage that.” Billie chuckled. “Can you imagine?”

“Yes,” Peigi retorted. “I can.”

“Dinner!” yelled Maw, and they came scurrying like pups to the chow dish, boots clomping down the twisting stairwell, screen door slamming with a clatter.

“Wash,” said Maw, and they lined up at the sink to run their hands briefly through the stream from the spigot and wipe them on a graying dish towel that was a good deal darker once the last person had used it. The boys’ fingernails seemed to be permanently blackened around the cuticles.

The table had been built by Da himself with boards hewn from a large elm felled by lightning one stormy afternoon.

Its trunk had split with a mighty crack, plummeting to the ground with a boom that had made the house jump.

After the table was finished, there was just enough timber left over to make two long benches.

They weren’t terribly wide, however, and if you didn’t sit your backside just so, you were likely to tumble backward, an event that happened at virtually every meal, mostly to Ian.

Maw always said that if he were ever made king of some foreign land, they’d have to strap him into his throne to keep him from tumbling out in front of visiting royalty and starting a war somewhere.

As with everything Da did, he’d put his back into making the table, sanding and oiling till the wood grain shone like the soft fur of a fox. Maw never put a tablecloth on it; she said it was too pretty to cover. Also, she didn’t own a tablecloth.

Catriona and Elspeth had set the table as they always did, with the chipped plates and mismatched silverware.

There were only seven napkins, so the younger children shared.

A lump of butter, spiky with toast crumbs, sat in the old brown earthenware crock.

When Billie turned to the table from washing her hands, the completely familiar sight caught her unawares, and she could hear Frances’s bark about Mr. Harvey rolling in his grave.

This of course would have been brought on by a salad fork that hadn’t been polished to a gleam, or a teacup with the handle facing inward instead of outward toward the customer’s easy reach.

He’d rise up out of his coffin and die all over again at the sight of this , thought Billie.

That night she slid into her old spot in bed with Peigi, Cat, and Elspeth. Hers was the left side, where she served as a sort of bed rail to keep the younger girls from falling out. Peigi slept on the right for just the same purpose.

Elspeth handed Billie the Raggedy Ann doll. “I was keeping her from being too sad while you were gone.”

“She was sad?” asked Billie, suspecting it had been Elspeth doing the missing.

“Course she was—she doesn’t have a stone for a heart!”

Her point made, Elspeth curled her back against Billie’s stomach and pulled Billie’s arm over her shoulder, as she always had. But this night she turned and whispered, “I’m glad you’re back. It was cold without you.”

“Did you fall out?”

“Just the once.”

“Twice,” corrected Cat.

“ Ye wee clipe ,” hissed Elspeth in her father’s strong brogue, and the others burst out laughing at the little one calling her older sister a tattletale.

They soon settled in, and one by one, her sisters’ breaths slowed into slumber.

It had been a long day; Billie had risen so early and traveled so far.

Topeka seemed like it must be continents away from Table Rock.

And yet she could see it with such clarity.

The Harvey Girls would be finishing up their wiping and polishing, napkin folding, and place setting.

And Leif would be cleaning down the cutting boards with vinegar and hauling the scraps out to the pig farmer’s bin.

Leif.

She’d staved off the ache of missing him most of the day, anxious to get home and be enveloped by the loud, loving scrum of MacTavishes.

But now the loss of his arms around her, his warm breath in her hair, and the bittersweet endearments of their parting, most of all, seemed to coil in her chest like a physical pain.

When would she see him again? Maybe never. Probably never.

Sleep was the only solution, and yet she couldn’t seem to drift off. She tried to turn over, but Elspeth had wedged herself in so close, Billie couldn’t move.