Page 51 of The Harvey Girls
Thirty-Nine
July had always been Charlotte’s least favorite month. July was the price you paid for June. The blooms and scents of springtime and early summer were a thing of the past; in Boston, July brought the briny stench of low tide doing battle with the wet-wool feel of humidity.
Here in northern Arizona, it was just the opposite: smells parched in the sun and the air was so dry it hurt.
Charlotte woke every morning with a tongue so desiccated that she took to keeping glasses of water on the floor just under her bed.
She was certain that Billie would make fun of her: See the dainty daisy whose delicate constitution requires constant infusions!
But Billie had grown quiet since her last conversation with Leif over a week ago.
On shift in the dining room, she folded napkins, polished silver, and set and cleared tables like it was her last best hope for salvation.
Charlotte had witnessed the occasional crossing of paths between Billie and Leif in the restaurant kitchen, and while it was always cordial, it seemed to pain them both.
One night Charlotte caught her crying into her apron in their room.
“He came all this way,” the girl sobbed. “For me!”
“If it makes you this unhappy, why don’t you break it off with Robert?”
“Because Leif isn’t Catholic—my mother would be beside herself. And I like Robert, I really do. I didn’t promise to be his girl for nothing. Shouldn’t a promise mean something?”
How to explain that the ways of love don’t conform to the general expectations of a handshake?
“It’s not a business transaction, Billie.
You’re not cheating Robert out of his savings if you say you like someone else better.
And dating Leif doesn’t mean you’re going to marry him. Your mother doesn’t even have to know.”
“But I don’t actually know if I like Leif better, do I? We’ve never even had a date. Maybe he’d be a terrible beau. And then I’d be lying to my mother for nothing.”
“You liked him well enough to tell him you loved him.”
Billie threw her damp, mucus-y apron on the floor. “You don’t have to remind me!”
“I’m not trying to shame you. I’m only saying that you cared very much for him—”
“I still do! But what kind of caring is it? It could be friendship or… or it could be like one of my brothers, and you just love them because their yours. Maybe it’s a sort of a… a…”
“A kinship.”
“Yes! It’s as if we belong to each other, and it’s not about dates or kissing or any of that. It’s—” Billie shook her head, and the tears began to flow again. “I miss him so much.”
Charlotte sat down next to the crying girl and gently laid an arm around her back.
She had never been given to shows of affection.
Her kind didn’t embrace at the slightest provocation like some did.
But she wasn’t with her kind anymore. Perhaps they had ceased to be so.
She laced her other arm around Billie’s waist and gave a little squeeze.
Billie inhaled a sniffle. “You’re a hugger now?”
Charlotte smiled up at her. “And who’s to blame for that?”
As the heat rose, so did Patrillo’s pressure that Charlotte be prepared for the Detours.
“I had hoped they would offer them here, once they got the business up and running, but it appears that they will keep them in New Mexico for now.” He showed Charlotte the brochure.
The cover was a line drawing done in red, black, and white.
In the foreground sat a blanket-shrouded figure next to an impressive piece of pottery.
In the middle ground a touring car with white faces in the windows was approached by more blanket-wearing figures.
The background was composed of a simplistically drawn Indian village and a train.
There was quite a bit of flowery language: “Words are futile things with which to picture the fascination of this vast enchanted empire, unspoiled and full of startling contrasts, that we call the Southwest.” And there would be “none of the usual petty worries of a motor trip.” For $135, the Harvey Company would take care of everything on the three-day trip: comfortable accommodations, baggage handling, meals, the driving services of a local man dressed as a cowboy, and tour and hostess duties performed by a female “courier” who was trained to provide information about all that “de-tourists” would see.
“But how can I be a courier when they’re headquartered in New Mexico?”
“At this time, you cannot. However, I’ve been boasting about you to Major Clarkson, who runs the Detours, so he’ll know we are ready to start whenever he gives the word.” Patrillo took the brochure back from her and began to thumb through it. “Either that or you will relocate.”
“Relocate?” Charlotte felt her blood pause in her veins. “To New Mexico ?”
“It’s beautiful there. You’ll like it. And he will owe me a favor for letting him have my best tour guide.”
Charlotte couldn’t sleep that night. She was furious at the idea of yet another man dictating where she would go and how she would live. She had barely been able to keep herself from telling Patrillo right then and there that she would damn well do as she pleased.
Her instinct for self-preservation had stopped her.
The fact of the matter was that, as her boss, Patrillo did have a right to relocate her if he chose to.
She could quit, of course, but then what?
She had money, but did she have enough? And what other employment could she pursue?
Waitressing at an ordinary diner was not nearly as respectable as being a Harvey Girl, and far less lucrative.
The brochure he’d given her said that the women were trained to “provide interesting and authentic information on the archeological and ethnological history of the Southwest.” Their value was in their brains, not their ability to carry tray-loads of pork chops.
She liked the idea of learning more about the Indians. It would be like taking a class.
Maybe relocating wasn’t the worst idea. She’d grown complacent, she realized, enjoying doing the tours, spending time with Will. But the fact was, it wasn’t wise to stay in any one place too long. Doing so only made it easier for Simeon to find her…
A few feet away in the other bed, Billie wrestled with her own quandary. Leif had accused her of lying to Robert, and this was not true. She had never said anything at all to him about her age. Was it her fault if he’d guessed wrong?
But the very fact of her being a Harvey Girl was supposed to mean that she was eighteen or older. Hadn’t she been lying to every person she’d met for the past three and a half months?
And what business was it of theirs if she embroidered the truth a little?
She worked at least as hard as any other girl there.
The only person she had outright lied to was Miss Steele, the woman who’d hired her back in Kansas City.
And boy, she’d told that lady some whoppers.
Billie didn’t even know she could lie like that.
Had her mother ever lied to her father? She was Robert’s steady girl now. Was this any way to start a courtship? Were they courting? Didn’t courting lead to marriage?
She didn’t want to get married! But if she did someday get married, shouldn’t it be to someone of her own faith?
Around and around both women’s thoughts swirled until the canyon wrens began their song and dawn light slowly suffused the room.
Billie was desperate for advice. Charlotte was biased toward Leif, so she was no help.
Henny seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, but she was friends with Nora now.
Billie thought about writing to her mother…
who’d be fit to be tied that she was dating a man eight years her senior while simultaneously pining after a non-Catholic.
She might insist that Billie quit and come home.
She even thought about talking to Will, since he knew most of it already. But that would get back to Charlotte.
There was one person she might like to talk to. But he wasn’t speaking to her unless you counted the occasional “Your soups are ready” or “That mutton chop is missing a garnish.”
It was painful to be near him almost every day and not be able to talk to him.
But she had made a promise to Robert, and she didn’t know how to break that promise, or if she even wanted to.
Henny had made a point that Billie had never thought of.
Should she decide which man she liked better based on what he could provide?
Well, if so, there was one thing Robert could provide that Billie wanted very much and that was to hike down into the canyon. She’d seen other girls do it, and she’d even hinted at wanting to go along with Henny one of these days.
“Robert hasn’t taken you yet?” said Henny. “Seems silly to go with me and Nora when you have an actual park ranger to show you the sights.” (Billie did find it a little strange that Henny and Nora went hiking so often and never invited anyone to go with them.)
Finally Robert agreed to take her. He’d even found a pair of cast-off boots for her. She’d borrowed Henny’s trousers with a mind to get a pair for herself one day.
When they met outside the dorm at five thirty in the morning, Robert was pleased.
“Why, look at you! You’re a regular prospector!
You won’t need that heavy coat, though.” It was about fifty degrees out, and Billie was certain she’d freeze without it.
“It’s cool for July, but it will be blistering hot at the bottom,” he said, “and you’ll warm up as we walk.
” She went inside and exchanged the coat for her mother’s green cardigan, hoping she wouldn’t shiver too much.