Page 37 of The Harvey Girls

Twenty-Eight

The next morning Billie knelt on the floor as she did on Sundays, rosary beads in hand. Hail Mary, full of grace…

Billie herself felt distinctly lacking in grace.

Her head throbbed, and her teeth felt sticky.

Blinking hurt. It was all she could do not to lean against her bed.

She finished the Rosary and prayed for each member of her family, thinking in particular how disappointed her maw would be in her.

She was finishing up with prayers for Leif, Henny, Will, and Charlotte, when the latter’s eyes fluttered open.

Billie braced herself for a tongue lashing.

But Charlotte said only, “How do you feel?”

“Peely-wally.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds apropos.”

“You don’t have to lay into me.” Billie hung her head. “I know everything you’re going to say already.”

“I’m sure you do, seeing as I said it last night before you went and got yourself soused.”

“It tasted fine!”

“Like candy, I believe you said several times.”

Billie’s worried gaze came up to meet Charlotte’s. “What else did I say?”

“You didn’t reveal any secrets, I’ll give you that. But you were rather effusive about that young man’s ‘teashing’ abilities.”

“Oh, Lord. He must think I’m daft.”

Charlotte pushed back her quilt and sat up. “It’s his fault for foisting alcohol on you in the first place.”

“He wasn’t foisting. It was only that we were thirsty, and there was no more soda.”

Charlotte thought for a moment. “Oh dear. I believe Will brought Henny and me the last ones.”

Billie smiled wanly. “So it’s your fault.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s all my fault. And I suppose if I took the last biscuit and you decided to eat rat poison instead, that would be my fault, too.”

“It was so sweet, how was I supposed to know there was anything bad in it?”

“Because I specifically warned you about that very thing, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” sighed Billie.

“And that’s exactly why they spike punch—to hide the taste. If straight alcohol tasted that good, we’d all be drinking it straight from the jug like hoboes.”

Billie winced. “I’m not sure if I can work like this.”

“Oh, you’ll work,” said Charlotte. “If you stay in bed, Nora will surely know why, and then Lord help us both.”

Down in the little dorm kitchen, Mrs. Parnell poured them cups of coffee. “Toast?” she said, offering her usual leaning tower of buttery bread.

“Thank you.” Charlotte took two slices and offered one to Billie.

“I don’t think—”

Charlotte put it in Billie’s hand. “You don’t want to work on an empty stomach, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

Charlotte eyed Mrs. Parnell. “I don’t think I saw you at the dance last night.”

The older woman smiled. “No, I had other plans.”

“Visiting with friends?”

Mae pushed a lock of gray curls off her rosy cheek. “You might say.”

“I expect you’ve made many friends over the years,” Charlotte said innocently between sips of coffee. “I don’t think I ever asked how long you’ve been with the Fred Harvey Company.”

“It’s been some time now. Since my husband died.”

“I’m so sorry. That must be very sad for you,” Charlotte prompted.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mae. But she didn’t look particularly sorrowful about it. In fact, she might have been reacting to unpleasant weather, rather than the death of the man to whom she’d pledged her love and obedience.

“And were you ever a Harvey Girl?”

“Oh, no. I’m too old for that. Besides, I like being a dorm mother. It gives me a bit of freedom when you girls are off working.” Mae nodded in the direction of El Tovar.

“Freedom to…” Charlotte knew she was being impudent. Her mother would have been appalled at such prying. But Charlotte couldn’t stop thinking of Mae’s “herd of suitors.”

Mae offered a guileless little smile that clearly hid a multitude of secrets. “Well, freedom in general, I suppose. If you ever marry, you’ll know what I mean.”

When they headed out the door, someone was waiting for them.

“Robert!” said Billie. She almost didn’t recognize him in his Park Service uniform—a dark green belted suit with four large patch pockets and pants that looked like horse-riding jodhpurs. His black boots came up almost to his knees, and his Stetson hat sat high on his head.

He cut a quick, worried glance at Charlotte, then said, “Billie, I feel terrible.”

She nodded grimly. “Did you drink too much of that punch, too?”

“No, I feel terrible about… Well, I should have stopped you.”

“Yes,” said Charlotte, “you should have.”

“I didn’t realize you didn’t know it was spiked. I just thought—”

“That I was a bit of a lush?” said Billie.

“Well, I suppose I thought you knew what you were drinking. And you’re of age. It’s not my place to tell a grown woman…”

Billie and Charlotte exchanged a fleeting glance.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “I hope you won’t be mad at me for too long.”

“I’m not mad at you,” said Billie. “I am a grown woman, as you say, and I should have known better.”

Robert smiled. “We’ve all made that mistake. I remember once—”

“Yes, well, Billie and I don’t want to be late for work,” said Charlotte. “Apology accepted.”

She took Billie’s elbow and started in the direction of El Tovar, when Robert said, “I was hoping maybe we could take a walk someday. I could show you some of the trails.”

Billie stood her ground and Charlotte had to let go. “I’d like that. I always hear customers talking about how beautiful it is in the canyon.”

“It’s a wonder. I’ll be in touch!”

In a few long strides, Billie caught up with Charlotte. “He’ll be in touch,” she whispered.

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” said Charlotte dryly.

Billie hooked her arm in Charlotte’s. “Would you like to come with us?” she teased. “Way down deep into the canyon?”

“Enfant terrible,” Charlotte scoffed in French.

“Hey, I know what that means now,” Billie said with a laugh. “You’re the one who taught me!”

In the El Tovar kitchen, they were tying their apron strings when Nora emerged from the pantry. “And how is everyone this morning?” The comment was clearly directed at Billie.

Billie grinned gamely and laid on the Scottish burr. “Ah feel pure tidy!”

Nora gave her a knowing look. “Well, I’m just pleased as punch to hear it.”

A week later, while Nora was berating her for a linen that wasn’t quite as crisply folded as the others, Charlotte had a revelation.

“You’ve been here a month already,” chided Nora. “You should’ve graduated from napkin school by now!”

Graduated.

It was May 23, 1926. If her life had taken a different course—if Charlotte had chosen a different course—she’d be graduating from Wellesley College today, not “napkin school.”

Good Lord, it was beyond depressing.

When was the last time she’d even read a book?

She’d always been a voracious reader—in fact it was her love of the written word that had first attracted her to Simeon, her English instructor.

But after they were married, he berated her for her choices.

If she declined to choke down some manifesto about workers’ rights, it had to be “real” literature, like War and Peace , or Les Misérables .

He’d torn The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton from her hands and lit it on fire on their bed.

“It’s a Pulitzer Prize winner!” As the words tumbled from Charlotte’s mouth, she knew she was in for a screed about how Joseph Pulitzer was a sellout and Edith Wharton an heiress whose novels served only to whine about how hard life was for rich ladies.

As far as Charlotte knew, the scorched hole in their only blanket was there still.

She’d stopped reading altogether when she’d gotten the hat shop job. Working six days a week, ten hours a day, didn’t leave much time for anything other than cooking, housework, and sleep—which she got little enough of, being on constant alert for Simeon’s ire.

As usual, thoughts of Simeon made her anxiety rise.

Her name hadn’t been printed in the newspaper back in Topeka, so she was fairly certain he didn’t know her alias.

But he knew she’d been a Harvey Girl a month ago, and with the help she’d gotten from Frances, Leif, and even Mr. Gilstead to escape, he might rightly assume she still worked for the company.

There were about eighty Harvey Houses and hotels, so it could take quite some time for him to find her…

She needed a distraction before her pot of worry boiled over.

Books had always been a great respite for her, and here in the women’s dorm there was an entire bookshelf, mostly dog-eared and spine-cracked by rereadings.

Charlotte perused these titles and found many to be a bit on the silly side for her mood.

There was Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos and The Inimitable Jeeves by P.

G. Wodehouse. There was even a copy of a new children’s book called Winnie-the-Pooh about a stuffed bear with a pig for a friend.

Who on earth would read that? she wondered.

She plucked a book at random from the bunch, tucked it under her arm, and retreated to her room to change out of her uniform. It was only when she tossed the book onto the bed that she saw its title: The Grand Canyon of Arizona: How to See It by George Wharton James.

Serves me right for not looking first , she thought gloomily as she tugged on her most worn day dress.

One of the other Harvey Girls poked her head in the door. “We need a fourth for euchre!”

Charlotte was in no mood to be social. “I was just sitting down to read,” she said, thumping onto her bed.

“You can read anytime!”

“Yes, but I’ve been looking forward to diving in all day.” Charlotte made a show of opening to the first page. “I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

The young woman left grumbling about strange girls who dive into books.

The tome now in hand, Charlotte decided she might as well start reading, but the author’s florid style soon got on her nerves.