Page 22 of The Harvey Girls

Pinned by a six-year-old. That lonely single bed in Topeka hadn’t been so bad after all.

Leif had been only a little older than Elspeth when he’d been shipped off to an orphanage, mourning his family and likely scared out of his wits. And what was it like for him now, with no people of his own, and only himself to rely on?

Billie smoothed Elspeth’s silky hair away from her cheek and breathed a small sigh of gratitude for all the love that surrounded her. Can of sardines as it was.

Slipping back into her old life was easy. She woke early and came down to find her mother perking coffee and slicing an older loaf from the bread box for toasting.

She took the knife from Lorna. “Da and the boys’ll be late,” she murmured as she began to saw into the crust.

“Already gone.”

Billie stopped sawing. “Gone?”

“I’ve been offering delivery service, now the truck’s running. Da drops off the clean and mended and collects the next batch. I charge an extra fee, o’ course.” She gave a wily smile.

Billie laughed. “How’d you talk him into it? He hates getting up early!”

“The man’s happy as a wee lark, isn’t he? He’s got his truck all fixed now. That bloody bucket of bolts is his secret sweetheart, back from the dead.” Lorna gave her daughter’s cheek a little pinch. “All thanks to you, lass.”

They got the younger ones off to school and put Isla and baby Dougal in the pen Malcolm had built after poor little Sorcha had drowned in the washtub.

Isla had her rag doll, and Dougal had Isla, and they both had Lorna and Billie cooing and chattering at them until they each tipped over for their morning naps.

“Tell me everything,” Lorna said as they sat at the table with the mending while the little ones slept. “Every detail.”

“I told you everything in my letters!” Billie laughed.

“No, you didn’t. Come now, there’s more to it than customers and coffee urns and that mean old Frances.

” Lorna’s face was lit up, hungry for stories from beyond her own little corner of the world, which consisted of 752 souls, give or take a birth or death on any given day.

Billie suddenly had the disorienting feeling of having somehow become worldlier than her mother in the brief time she’d been gone.

Scotland , Billie reminded herself. But Lorna had grown up in a town even smaller than Table Rock. Her travel from there to here had occurred many years before, and all those stories had been told. Billie was the only one in possession of new ones.

“My roommate, Charlotte,” Billie began.

“Och, aye,” Lorna urged. “The college girl!”

“Turns out there was a bit more to it than that…”

The day passed quickly, the two women falling back into their easy friendship, albeit with the new twist of Billie’s doing much of the talking.

Lorna had her contributions to make, though, providing a running commentary and even helping to explain some of the things that had seemed baffling, like why Charlotte, who was clearly so smart, had done something so stupid.

“Something missing in her own life,” Lorna said with a sympathetic sigh. “Something she needed, and he looked like the lad to give it to her.”

What’s missing for me? Billie wondered.

“And maybe he did give it to her,” Lorna went on. “Adventure. Someone smart to talk to. But it came with an extra helping of cruelty.”

“How can you know if you’ll get an extra helping of something you don’t want?”

“Och, that’s an easy one. Kindness—to everyone , not just to you, and not just so he can crow about it. And hardworking, of course, you must have that. But kindness first. No woman should ever take a man who isn’t kind.”

That night, Billie helped Catriona and Elspeth set the table, folding the few napkins just so and gracing the lip of each plate with its own crumb-free pat of butter.

“What’s all this?” asked Malcolm as he thumped down into his seat at the end of his handsome table.

“Oh, it’s just something we do at the Harvey House,” explained Billie.

“Thought I’d show you a little of what I’m learning.

” In truth, every customer got his own small butter dish with three pats in it, each with a fork-tine print to indicate that the butter hadn’t been placed there with fingers.

Billie knew personal butter dishes would never find a place in the MacTavish home and had improvised accordingly.

“Waste of butter, looks to me,” her father grumbled.

His gaze flicked to Lorna’s. She fired a warning raise of the eyebrow.

He reached across Duncan for a slice from the bread plate and quickly slathered it with the little pat.

He took an oversized bite and raised his own eyebrows right back at her as he chewed.

The next day was Billie’s last in Table Rock, and she was terribly sad at the thought of it.

Her father’s endearing gruffness, her siblings’ antics and barely concealed adoration, her mother’s friendship and wisdom—she would miss it all mightily.

And yet… the utter panic she’d felt a month ago watching her mother’s back recede into the crowds at Union Station (which had admittedly continued unabated for weeks) was absent.

There was trepidation at the thought of such a long journey to such a foreign place, and at having to meet so many new people and prove herself all over again, of course.

The work would be hard, the hours long, some of the girls nice, some not so nice.

But there was, strangely enough, no doubt in her mind that she could do it.

“Boys?” her mother said through the steam that rose as she sprinkled water under the iron, a pile of shirts on the board as high as her elbow.

Billie wanted so much to tell Lorna all about Leif, to spout about the many instances of his quiet kindness to her, to Pablocito, to everyone. How hard he worked, even with a banged-up hand and throbbing head. More than anything she just wanted to say his name!

Leif Gunnarsson! He’s kind and hardworking, and his kisses nearly make me swoon!

She would not say anything of the kind.

There was no need to worry her mother over the attentions of someone who was almost four years older—a full-grown man with a full-grown man’s…

urges. Not Catholic, and more to the point, whom she’d likely never see again.

Lorna herself had married Malcolm and left her maw to follow him away across the ocean, never to set eyes on the woman again.

She’d known the risk of letting her own daughter travel far from home.

Best not to raise any concerns that Lorna would lose her.

And anyway, as far as Billie was concerned, this Harvey Girl business was temporary.

A life lived without her mother’s regular presence was unthinkable.

“There were some nice men in the kitchen,” she said offhandedly.

“But I was mostly with Charlotte, and there wasn’t much time for anything other than work.

” All strictly true. And yet the iron stopped moving under Lorna’s hand as she peered at her daughter for a long second.

Then she turned back to the task, lest she burn a hole in a freshly washed shirt.

The train for St. Joseph, Missouri, her first transfer point, left at 5:12 in the morning, so Billie said her goodbyes to her siblings that night.

Elspeth snuggled even deeper into Billie’s edge of the bed, nearly pushing her out, and Cat shed a tear or two before slipping off into an open-mouthed slumber.

“You won’t come back,” murmured Peigi from the far side of the bed.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Butter pats.”

“Who cares about that,” Billie scoffed.

“You do.” Peigi gave now-snoring Cat a shove and rolled over. “Maybe I will, too, someday.”

Billie rose in the dark and moved quietly down the stairs with her packed tapestry bag, careful to place Mr. Gilstead’s letter on top where it was easily accessible. Frances had handed it to her as she’d left the Harvey House to board the train home.

“Thank you,” Billie had said.

“Don’t thank me.” Frances had frowned. “It’s from Mr. Gilstead.”

Billie leveled her gaze at the woman. “Thank you for what you did for Charlotte.”

“You keep an eye on her. She’ll need it.”

That was when Billie began to suspect that Frances had not forgotten to relay Billie’s request for Kansas City to Mr. Gilstead at all. Maybe the omission was purposeful. Maybe Frances herself had sealed Billie’s fate.

Lorna was waiting for her with a sack of sandwiches, and Billie didn’t have the heart to tell her that she could eat whatever she wanted at any Harvey House along the route.

Lorna hugged her several times, and the two of them got teary together when she said, “Six months’ll go by quick as a jackrabbit, and then you’ll come back and we’ll see what comes next, won’t we?

It’s not a life sentence, it’s a chance to spread your wings a little. Just remember that.”

Malcolm drove her through the quiet streets to the depot and waited with her on the platform. She was the only passenger. Table Rock mostly stayed in Table Rock at such an early hour.

He turned to her suddenly, his voice rough with emotion. “Ye dinnae have to go.”

“Da, it’s all right—”

“The truck’s fixed, and your maw’s bringing in more than ever, and soon Peigi’ll be helping.”

“Da.”

He looked away. “I dinnae even ken where it is you’re going.”

“The Grand Canyon.”

He let out a snort that turned into a cough. “And what’s that when it’s at home?” he sputtered.

She tucked her arm through his. “Some great gob of a place.”

“Ye dinnae have to, is all.”

“I want to.”

His eyes searched hers for the lie.

“I don’t want to leave you. But, Da, I can send money home so all our lives are better. Now that I’m not in training, I’ll get a good wage on top of all those tips. The truck can get fixed if it breaks down again. Peigi can stay in school, and Maw can slow down if she wants to.”

“Ye hate it.”

“I don’t. I did at first, but I don’t anymore.”

“What’s different?”

So many things, she barely knew where to start. “I’m good at it,” she said finally, “and it makes me proud to help the family.”

The rumble of the train’s engine grew steadily toward them, punctuated by two short blows from the steam whistle. Malcolm clutched his oldest child, his first baby, to him, and she could feel his breath rasp through his chest.

“Haste ye back, lass,” he whispered. “Haste ye back.”

At the St. Joseph, Missouri, station, she would switch to the 7:45 to Topeka.

It would arrive at 10:45, and only a few minutes after she stepped to the platform and the train chugged away, the 10:50 California Limited would be fast on its heels.

That would take her deep into the Southwest, all the way to Williams, Arizona.

The ride would be about thirty-six hours, give or take delays for livestock on the track or passengers whose extensive baggage required more time to load than allotted.

But she wasn’t thinking of that seemingly endless journey, carrying her farther and farther away from all she held dear.

Five minutes in Topeka. It was the only thing on her mind.