Page 47 of The Harvey Girls
“Winnie came from a relatively poor family from upstate New York. She and her three sisters turned to performing as an acrobatic act in vaudeville to make ends meet.” Winnie had told her this once while they were up late studying for a philosophy exam.
It had been a warm night, and Winnie had absentmindedly pushed up her sleeve, revealing terrible burn scars.
She caught Charlotte surreptitiously glancing at them and decided to explain.
“The Tumbling Turner Sisters had become quite successful,” Charlotte went on, “until they were caught in a hotel fire in Seattle. Winnie narrowly escaped burning to death by jumping from a high window just in time. Gert caught her and broke her fall. She wears long sleeves and high collars so no one pities her for her scars. The Tumbling Turner Sisters never performed again.”
Billie gazed at Charlotte a moment. “You borrowed her last name.”
Charlotte nodded. “She had a good life until tragedy struck. But she didn’t let that be the end of it. She decided on a new path and followed it resolutely, even as damaged as she was. I tried to take inspiration from that, as well as the name.”
“She was poor, but she went to college. And Gertrude went to Hollywood and became a movie star!”
“Oh, I don’t think it was that easy. Winnie told me that in the beginning Gert had to survive ‘any way she could.’?”
Billie’s eyes went wide. “Jeepers!”
“Yes, well, apparently paying for Winnie’s tuition at Wellesley helped to fuel Gertrude’s determination to make it in the film industry.”
Billie’s focus went soft, and she smiled to herself.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, really,” said Billie. “It’s just… sisters. We’d do anything for each other.”
As Charlotte lay in bed that night, she wondered if having a sister to guide her—or even to yell at her as Billie often did—would have kept her from marrying Simeon.
Her older brother, Oliver, had done his best to advise against it, but she had been stubborn, so certain she was in the right.
Besides, she’d had no one to worry about but herself.
But if I’d had a younger sister like Billie, it would have given me pause.
And perhaps a pause would’ve been all she’d needed to think— for goodness’ sake, think, Charlotte!— and change course.
The next day, Charlotte and Will did three tours to Hermits Rest, a structure built at the edge of the canyon that was designed to look like an old miner’s cabin.
It was seven miles west from El Tovar; the trip took over an hour as they trundled over the dirt road built by the Fred Harvey Company, making stops along the way at Hopi Point and Pima Point.
The first tour began at nine in the morning with three couples in their thirties.
They had left their respective children at home with “the staff.” As they passed flasks between them, it became readily apparent that they had no interest in Charlotte’s tour guide services.
They wanted only to make bawdy jokes, screech with laughter, and take full advantage of the curves in the road by mashing suggestively into one another as the car leaned to one side or the other.
Will and Charlotte kept their eyes on the road and their faces neutral. Occasionally one of the passengers would tell a joke that was actually funny without being overly lewd, and Charlotte caught Will biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
When they arrived at Hermits Rest, the six tourists tumbled out and stumbled up the path to the structure. Charlotte muttered to Will, “I am not completely without a sense of humor, you know. You can laugh if you want to.”
He stopped and turned to her, about to respond, but instead he let out a belly laugh. “The one about the blind dog and the mink stole!”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the cleverest joke she’d ever heard, but Will’s laughter was contagious, and she found herself smiling at the sweetness of his happy face and then giggling right along with him.
Oh dear , she thought as their laughter subsided and they continued to grin at each other for an extra moment. I really do want to kiss him.
This thought (and whatever he might have been thinking) was cut short, however, by one of the ladies screeching, “Are you two ever coming?”
By the time they returned to El Tovar, the group was so inebriated they forgot to tip. But Charlotte and Will were still smiling anyway.
The second tour included the family Charlotte had served in the dining room the night before. Mother, father, and two children in their clean but well-worn clothes seemed to greatly enjoy all that she had to tell them.
Everyone loved the stories of the pioneers who settled along the rim before it was a national park.
“Ada Bass was the first white woman to raise a family at the Grand Canyon,” Charlotte told them, “but that’s only one of her many accomplishments.
As wife of William Bass of the Bass Camps, Ada kept the business humming with food, shelter, laundry, livery services, and procuring provisions from as far away as Prescott, enduring the elements and every possible hardship.
She once said she had either slept or prepared a meal under every tree from here to Ash Fork. ”
“What about the Indians?” asked the younger child, a boy of about ten named Charles, clearly unimpressed with Ada’s tenacity and extensive wilderness skills.
“We are right now on the traditional land of the Havasupai Indians,” she told him.
Charles stuck his head so far out of the car window Charlotte was afraid he’d fall out. “Well, where are they?”
Charlotte recalled the book by the indomitable George Wharton James called Indians of the Painted Desert Region . James was, as usual, furious about the treatment of the Native people, while also crowing from time to time about outsmarting them, despite their “wily” ways.
“This area around the rim of the Grand Canyon was their hunting ground until the US Park Service evicted them about thirty years ago,” she told them.
“They’re now confined to a small reservation deep inside the canyon walls by the river.
Not being able to hunt up here is a real hardship to them, and they go hungry far more often than they ever used to. ”
“Why did the park kick them out? What did they do?” Charles’s eyes went wide. “Were they scalping people?”
“No, it was just that the Park Service wanted this land for a national park, and they didn’t think white people would come if there were Indians here.
Also, apparently they didn’t think the Indians appreciated how beautiful it is, though of course that’s silly.
Indian cultures venerate art and beauty.
You only have to look at their blankets and baskets and jewelry.
In fact their designs often take inspiration from the landscape. ”
“They’re artists?” said the quiet older sister, a girl of about seventeen named Jane.
“Many are, yes. Go into the Hopi House sometime and watch the Indians there weaving or making baskets. You can also talk to Ruth, behind the counter. She’s an expert.”
“Artists,” said a clearly disappointed Charles. “I thought they were warriors.”
“They’re both,” said Will. “Workers when they need to feed their families, and warriors when their families need protection. Like all parents.”
“My dad just works in the railyard,” grumbled Charles.
“And I bet he’d beat the snot out of anyone who tried to hurt you,” said Will.
“I surely would,” said Charles’s father. “No doubt about it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw his wife lace her hand through his.
When they got out of the car at Pima Point and the others headed toward the edge to enjoy the view, Charlotte hung back as usual. She’d been here at the Grand Canyon for two months now, and her distaste for the abyss had not wavered.
As she stood in the shade of an Apache plume bush, Jane, the teenage girl, approached. “You served us dinner last night,” she said shyly.
“Yes, I did. Some days I’m a Harvey Girl and some days I’m a tour guide.”
“I’ve heard about the Harvey Girls all my life.
” The girl let out a little sigh of longing.
“They can go to new places, live in a dorm with their friends, and meet interesting people. I didn’t know they could run tours, too.
And you get to learn all about the place and tell people what you know. It must be wonderful.”
Charlotte smiled. “It is. If your parents agree to it, you should apply.”
With a glint of determination, the girl said, “Oh, they’ll agree. I’ve already got the application filled out and waiting.”
Before the last tour, Charlotte hurried over to the women’s dorm to use the lavatory. When she returned, Will was standing by the car with their new passengers. There were only two of them.
“Here’s Charlotte now,” she heard Will say. When the women turned to look in her direction, she saw their faces.
It was Gertrude and Winnie Turner.