Page 56 of The Harvey Girls

Forty-Two

Though they had never in their lives embraced before, Oliver threw his arms around her and clutched him to her. “Charlotte, my God! I thought you might be dead!”

Tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “Oliver, I can’t believe you’re here…”

There was a little gasp behind them, and a woman’s voice said, “This is your sister?”

Oliver pulled back but didn’t fully release Charlotte, as if she might somehow disappear if he didn’t keep a hand on her. “Yes, darling, this is long-lost Charlotte.”

The woman was about Charlotte’s age, and quite beautiful, but the first thing Charlotte noticed was the color of her skin. It was not the pale goose flesh of the Brahmin families of Boston; it was a creamy tan.

“This is my wife, Gianna. We’re on our honeymoon.”

Gianna reached out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Oliver has told me so much, and I always hoped that somehow, I would come to know his beloved little sister.” Her eyes were shiny with emotion.

“Gianna is a Rossi,” Oliver said, and no further explanation was needed. The Rossi family owned a rival shipping company, and though they’d been established for decades, Casper Crowninshield always referred to them at “those upstart Rossis.”

Oliver had married an Italian! A rich one, but an Italian nonetheless. Perhaps their parents had decided that losing two children to “unacceptable” mates was one child too many.

Other customers came in, and Oliver quickly paid for a lovely turquoise bracelet and hurried them all up to his suite.

Once he’d ushered them into the sitting room, he wanted to know everything. Why had she left St. Louis? Where was Simeon? Why was she here at the Grand Canyon?

Charlotte had written to Oliver only three times in the two years since she’d left Boston.

The first letter had been to tell him about her wonderful new life with the man she loved, free of all the tedious requirements of high society.

He responded that he missed her terribly, but if this was what it took to make her happy, he would accept it.

A year later, her second letter delicately tested the waters about a possible “visit” home. Oliver had tried to convince his parents that Charlotte deserved such a chance, but they were vehemently opposed to hosting her. She had “made her bed.” He sent word that it wasn’t a good time.

Oliver had reached out to her once more not long before she’d left St. Louis.

He asked how she was and suggested that maybe she should simply turn up on the Crowninshield doorstep.

He felt that if their parents saw her in person, they wouldn’t be able to deny her.

But Charlotte now knew that Simeon would track her there and would likely make a scene in order to induce her to return with him.

It would ruin the Crowninshields in the eyes of the other society families, after which she was sure her parents would be forced to permanently disown her.

She couldn’t take that chance. Instead she headed in the opposite direction: west.

She had written Oliver one last letter to tell him she was departing St. Louis and not to write to her there anymore.

“That letter confirmed all my worst fears,” Oliver said now.

“You spoke in the singular, which suggested that you were leaving him. I assumed he was not the man you thought he was, and that in fact he might be dangerous. I relayed my concerns to Father, who hired men to locate you. But you had vanished!”

“Father wanted to find me?”

“He did. Mother quibbled a bit about what we would tell people. When you left Boston, she concocted an elaborate tale of how you’d gone on a European tour with a college friend who’d introduced you to Danish royalty, and you were now living in Denmark, the happy wife of a baron or some such nonsense. ”

Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh. “A baron? I wasn’t even worthy of a viscount?”

“Well, she had to make it believable, you see, and hard to trace. I imagine Danish barons are a dime a dozen. Now,” he said, “tell me what really happened.”

Charlotte was glad that she had already faced Winnie Turner on the matter. It had helped her come to a new perspective, one that involved far less self-excoriation. “As you say, he was not the man I thought I married, and he became… quite unpleasant.”

“He hit you?” asked Gianna.

Her frankness reminded Charlotte a little of John Honanie.

Apparently the Italians shared that trait with the Indians.

Or maybe everyone in the world was more forthright than the Protestant elite.

Charlotte did not respond directly, knowing her silence would speak volumes.

“Fred Harvey offered both the perfect escape and a far better wage than I could find elsewhere.”

Oliver’s eyes went wide. “You’re a waitress ?”

Charlotte smiled. “A Harvey Girl, if you please. And quite a good one.”

“Won’t Mother absolutely froth at the mouth!”

“You can never tell Mother.”

“Of course not, but just imagine how fun it would be!”

“Oliver,” chided Gianna, “be serious. Charlotte has gone through a terrible ordeal, and here you are, making light of it.”

“It’s all right. It has been an ordeal, but it’s nice to find a little humor in it, too.”

“What’s this?” said Oliver. “Has Mournful Myrtle suddenly gone lighthearted on me? Maybe consorting with the great unwashed has done you some good.”

Charlotte leveled her gaze at him. “Harvey Girls are known for their spotless dress, impeccable manners, and unmatched hospitality.”

Gianna patted Charlotte’s hand. “My grandmother ran a boardinghouse, and she was just the same.”

“Your grandmother ran a boardinghouse?” Oliver was incredulous.

“She was a strong woman, and she raised a strong son who has more ships than you,” Gianna said plainly. “Now, what will we tell your mother when we bring Charlotte home?”

It was late when Charlotte arrived back in the dorm, but Billie was up darning a sock. “For cripes sake, where’ve you been? I caught up on all my mending waiting for you!”

“I… I met with someone.”

A look of fear came over Billie’s face. “Not him.”

“Whom?”

“Him.”

Charlotte blinked at the girl a moment before realizing she meant Simeon. “Oh, goodness, no.”

Billie continued to study her. “It wasn’t Will.”

Was this some sort of mind-reading exercise? “How do you know it wasn’t?”

“Because you’ve been off him for a while. And anyway, you’d just say you’ve been with Will.”

“I haven’t been off him.”

Billie grinned slyly. “You’re saying you’ve been on him?”

“What kind of talk is this for a young girl!”

“Charlotte, who was it ?”

Charlotte put her hands to her cheeks. “It was my brother,” she whispered. “He’s on his honeymoon.”

“Your brother! Oh, Charlotte, was he kind to you? I hope he didn’t—”

“No, no, he was wonderful. And his wife is a lovely, smart Italian woman.”

“Italian? I thought—”

“Yes, I know. I’m sure my parents went positively Vesuvian over it.” Charlotte sank down onto her bed. “Billie, they want to take me back to Boston with them.”

“Gee, that’d be…” Billie gazed uncertainly at Charlotte. “I mean, would it?”

“Well, yes, of course it would be wonderful to be accepted back into the family.”

“You’d be rich again.”

“Yes, I guess that’s true.”

“No more polishing silver. No more running ragged for bossy tourists. You can read all day long, every day of the week, if you feel like it. You won’t have to have a job at all.”

Charlotte could hardly imagine what it would be like to have control of her days!

Though of course, she’d never have full control.

Mother would insist she attend every last tea, garden party, dinner, and soiree.

In fact, Charlotte would have to be on her best behavior to make up for how deeply she’d disgraced the family.

She’d have to play the very essence of decorum, the perfect picture of someone she wasn’t.

“Would we still be friends?” asked Billie.

“Yes, of course!”

But would they? Charlotte would be chained to her social calendar, and Billie could never visit. How would the Crowninshields ever explain playing host to some working-class girl from Nebraska?

Billie seemed to intuit this just as quickly as Charlotte. “We could write, I suppose.”

“Yes, and maybe in a year or so I could come and visit.” The brightness of her tone didn’t fool either of them. Charlotte would be a tourist; Billie might even have to serve her.

But Billie knew Charlotte needed to continue the ruse. “On my day off we could go driving with Will and Henny.”

Will.

Charlotte felt tears sting her eyes.

Billie came over to sit next to her on the bed. She put her arm around Charlotte’s back. “I won’t forget you, and neither will they. We’ll all just be happy that you’re happy.”

“Billie.” Charlotte’s throat constricted with emotion. “Your kindness and friendship these last four months—”

“Och, dinna fash,” the girl soothed. “My maw would sew you an entire Sears, Roebuck catalog if she knew all the mothering you’ve done in her place.”

Charlotte laughed through her tears. “Not that you’ve enjoyed it!”

“Ha! Fought you tooth and nail, but I’ll miss it when it’s gone.” Billie squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be good to know you’re finally safe.”

Neither of them fell asleep as quickly as a day of manual labor usually compelled. But it was Charlotte who lay awake in the darkest hours contemplating this shocking reversal of fortune.

But was it? Or was it just a return to an even stricter version of the life that had made her run in the first place?

They’d never let her go back to college.

Beatrice Crowninshield hadn’t even finished high school, and had she needed that degree?

No she had not. She had simply married the wealthiest eligible bachelor available to her, and that was exactly what she would expect her daughter to do. Finally.

Father would have his lawyers arrange a divorce, of course, which was more than Charlotte could accomplish on her own.

The Crowninshield lawyers could find some way around whatever obstacles there were, but Simeon would still have to be notified.

There was no doubt in Charlotte’s mind that once he knew she had returned to her family, he would show up in the most public fashion, creating a scene that would have tongues wagging all over the city.

Possibly her father could hire protectors of some sort, though sooner or later even this would be noticed by the sharp eyes of the Beacon Hill matrons and provide endless fodder for gossip.

More likely she would be confined to the house except for events that required her presence.

And wouldn’t Boston society life, with its widely publicized social affairs meant to let the world know who was included (and more specifically who was not included), be the obvious place for Simeon to look?

Yes, it most certainly would.

It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.