Page 58 of The Harvey Girls
Forty-Four
Early the next morning, as Charlotte glided through the restaurant serving corned beef hash here and stewed prunes there, handing a fallen napkin to its owner with a beneficent smile, she felt like the cat that ate the canary.
She wondered giddily if there might be a metaphorical feather or two sticking out of her mouth.
The night with Will had been a revelation.
He had, in fact, treated her with great care. His attention to her—how she felt, what she wanted—had made her realize that even at his most loving, Simeon’s intimate moments with her had been mostly about him. He had playacted a great lover; he had never actually been one.
Will, though… he had paid attention not just to her words but also to her subtle reactions to a touch or a kiss. And yet he hadn’t treated her like a porcelain doll, either. He had shown her how he felt and what he wanted. She had learned some things!
I do love learning , she thought as she turned away from customers to indulge in a wicked little grin, her insides fluttering at the memory. She hadn’t known that she was capable of such reactions—of such pleasure, yes, but more than that, of such joy.
Resetting her lunch tables for dinner, Charlotte felt as relaxed as she could ever remember.
It wasn’t just the night with Will (though that had left her so limp as to feel positively boneless).
It was that her limbs didn’t throb as they had at shift’s end when she’d first started as a Harvey Girl.
In fact, she had noticed in the tub recently as she smoothed soap around her body that there was a sizeable (though not manly!) lump of muscle under the smooth skin of her upper arms. Her calves didn’t ache.
Her neck didn’t feel as if someone had let the air out of her spine.
She was tired, of course, and ready to change out of her slightly sweaty, heavy white cotton dress into a light sleeveless one.
But such ordinary things aside, Charlotte felt good.
Almost, dare she say… happy. Truly happy.
Yes, her future was still an open question, and Mr. Patrillo could upset the tentative balance of her life with a word.
But he hadn’t yet. Perhaps he’d forgotten her, and she wouldn’t have to face his ire when she told him she would not take part in the Detours.
Because she wouldn’t; that was for certain. John Honanie’s words rang too true.
After she changed, she and Will would take a walk, and possibly have dinner together.
Actually they would definitely have dinner, but until now there had been an unspoken agreement that they would make a pretense of spontaneity.
That way it wasn’t a date, only two people who happened to be hungry at the same time.
Perhaps now they might begin to be honest about their desire to spend every waking (and sleeping, she hoped!) minute together.
Two nights ago, she had been sitting on the porch with Will when Billie and Leif strolled by. Will invited them up, and Charlotte was surprised to learn it wasn’t their first visit.
Billie explained, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel…”
“Forgotten?” said Charlotte.
“You were not forgotten.” Will had a way of saying things so quietly and simply that they were unquestionable. The truth needed no emphasis. Nor did his love for her, which was evident in everything he did and said.
The comment had been so strangely moving that out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte had seen Leif’s hand alight briefly on the small of Billie’s back. Real love required no grand gestures, she realized, only gentle constancy.
Had she done enough to show the people she loved that she loved them?
She hoped she was a kind and thoughtful friend, but had she done enough ? Or would this be a question that dogged her to her deathbed?
Life was fleeting, and death would come whenever it damn well pleased. The last two years had taught her that as the previous twenty never had. The rich always assume they’ll die of old age , she mused. Well, poverty and violence had set her straight on that score.
As she polished one last water spot off a steak knife, Charlotte resolved to improve and increase her expressions of affection.
She would study Billie. Love shone from the girl’s pores, for goodness’ sake, no doubt taught to her by her parents and that vast gaggle of siblings.
Charlotte would study love, and it was a test she intended to pass.
That afternoon, Billie finally cut Leif’s hair.
“I thought I was going to have to order a pair of scissors from Sears,” she told him as she slid her fingers down a curl to straighten it for trimming.
They were in the parlor, the only place men were allowed in the women’s dorm.
Billie had put an old sheet down under Leif’s chair to keep little snips of hair from imbedding themselves in the braided wool rug.
“Where did you find these?” He had his eyes closed.
Billie could tell he was enjoying having her hands on him, and she had to admit she liked having an excuse to be so close.
But it was innocent enough: everyone needed a haircut now and then, and someone had to do it, didn’t they? Might as well be her.
“I was talking to Henny about it, and she said, ‘Oh, now don’t go buying them.’?” Billie imitated the upstate New York accent. “?‘Someone around here must have a pair.’ And the next day she handed me these. I think they might be Nora’s. They’re best pals now.”
“That’s odd company,” said Leif. “They couldn’t be more different.”
“Well, I’ll say one thing. Nora’s a lot nicer now that she’s got such a good friend.
I dropped an egg cup with a half-eaten soft-boiled egg right in the middle of the dining room, and the yolk splattered everywhere.
I thought I was in for a tongue-lashing, but she just said, ‘These things happen,’ and helped me clean it up. I almost fainted dead away!”
“It’s easier to be bighearted when you’re happy.”
Billie ran her fingers through his locks a little more than was absolutely necessary to ensure the cut was even. “Are you happy?” she asked shyly.
Leif laughed. “I’m very happy. You could trim my hair down to the scalp and I’d just sit here and—”
“Jesus!”
Leif opened his eyes and spun around to look at her, but she was staring out the window, a look of horror draining the color from her face.