A Deep Divide

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  “You’ve sold me. How about an omelet and a croissant?”

  “I’ll get that right in and be back with your order shortly, sir.”

  “Thank you.” His words chased her as she turned from the table.

  One of her other customers raised a hand briefly to get her attention. Perfect. Anything to get her mind off table one, its occupant, and his motives. Whatever they were.

  Scurrying around the dining room, she delivered orders, refilled coffee, water, and orange juice. When she returned with table one’s food, she smiled as he thanked her and then she hurried off. Her other two tables ate quickly and left. New customers occupied them within minutes.

  By the time she’d filled their coffee and taken their orders, she thought for sure the lone gentleman would be gone—not that she’d been deliberately neglecting him. Most people didn’t need a lot once they received their food, and she had been very busy. But when she looked over at the table, he was still sitting there, enjoying the croissant. She’d never seen anyone eat that slowly before. While she was looking his way, she saw his hand shoot up. With quick steps, she headed back to his table.

  “What can I get you, sir?”

  “Perhaps a refill on the coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  His mouth was full of his last bite of omelet when she came back with the carafe and filled his cup. He picked up his juice to wash it down and tapped the table once he had swallowed. “My apologies, I know you are very busy, but would you mind bringing me some more butter?”

  “Not at all, sir. I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, and miss?” His words made her turn back around.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.” As the morning light streamed in through the window, his eyes seemed even bluer than they had before. Maybe it was just the color of his tie bringing them out.

  She gave her head a little shake and headed back to the waitresses’ station. Ruth greeted her with one raised eyebrow. “How’s your morning going? I see your guest who was inquiring of you last night is back.”

  “Yes. And he’s a very nice gentleman. A slow eater, but he seems genuine enough.” Emma Grace reached for a small plate that held a pat of butter hand-pressed with the El Tovar crest. “Do I need to encourage him to leave so that we have the table available?”

  Ruth shook her head. “No. I’ve just learned that the man is Mr. Watkins. Ray Watkins Junior, in fact. His father is the richest man in Chicago, and Mr. Owens has instructed us to make sure that Mr. Watkins has whatever he wants and needs. If he wants to stay at that table all day, we must oblige him.”

  Wonderful. Another of the extremely wealthy crowd. Always putting money first. And whatever they wanted, they got. She tried to school her features, but it irritated her that this man was to be a permanent occupant of one of her tables.

  “Is there a problem, Emma Grace?” Ruth had a way of lifting that one eyebrow when she asked a question.

  “No. No problem at all.” Pasting on the fakest of smiles, she headed back to Mr. Watkins.

  “Here’s your butter, Mr. Watkins. Can I get you anything else?” Her words were shorter than they should have been, but sometimes her temper got the best of her, which wasn’t a good thing. She was a Harvey Girl. Not the daughter of a railroad baron.

  He looked almost hurt as he took the plate of proffered butter. He hesitated for a moment. “No, thank you. But . . . have I offended you in some way, miss?”

  Oh, great. If Mr. Owens heard about this, she could be reprimanded. She forced the muscles in her face to relax and gave him a slight smile. “No. I’m sorry, Mr. Watkins. It’s simply been a trying morning.”

  “Good.” He put a hand to his chest. “I’m relieved. It was not my intention to upset you. Please don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

  “Thank you.” She removed one of his empty plates. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything else.” The phrase she repeated hundreds of times a day rolled off her tongue. Good thing she’d had lots of practice. Turning on her heel, she hoped she’d smoothed things over.

  “Miss?”

  Once again, she went back to the table. “Yes?”

  “Might I ask for some jelly or jam?”

  “Of course. Grape, apple, or blackberry?”

  “Blackberry. Thank you.”

  She spun around again to head back to the station.

  “I’m sorry. . . . Might I inquire of one more thing?”

  Doing her best not to roll her eyes as she pivoted back toward Mr. Watkins, she blinked several times. “Yes, sir?”

  “Since my party will be here for several weeks and you already know my name, I was wondering if I could have the privilege of knowing yours?”

  In that moment, she wasn’t sure whether she should feel flattered or disappointed. Flattered because he sought out her table and wanted to know her name. Disappointed because it probably meant that she would need to deal with him for a while. And if he was as needy at every meal as he had been today? Oh boy.

  But her job was to ensure that each and every guest felt welcome, so she put on her best smile. “I’m Miss Edwards. I’ll be right back with your jelly.” This time as she walked away, she half-expected to hear him call her name. But when he didn’t, she let out a sigh.

  The only thing she could hope for now was a big tip.

  5

  Today was the perfect opportunity for Ray to get his sunset pictures. The deep blue sky was beautifully decorated with clouds, as if the Master Painter had used a brush to spread the wispy white layers for the light to play with. Since the other men were in Williams, Ray could stay as late as he liked and not have to worry about delaying everyone’s dinner. And he doubted anyone else would miss him.

  Especially after he’d bugged Miss Edwards time and again at breakfast. He cringed just thinking about his behavior. Then, after realizing his faux pas, he tried to do the opposite and practically ignored her at lunch. Not the best impression. But then again, what did he know? It’s not like he had taken the time to pursue women after he gave his life to the Lord.

  Before that, he’d been young and stupid, and more than one young lady had tried to convince him that he should marry. Because they wanted his fortune. But he’d been too caught up in having fun to even think seriously about a woman. Why was he even thinking of pursuing one now, anyway? Because she fascinated him? Because she didn’t seem to dote on him just because of his name or his fortune? Or perhaps because loneliness had become his companion? None of those were great reasons.

  He couldn’t figure it out. Not that he should even try. The example of marriage his parents had set hadn’t exactly been something to make him want that for the rest of his life. Maybe he should put all thoughts of Miss Edwards out of his mind and focus on the glorious view before him. Ray set up his tripod and placed his new Century Camera atop. Once it was stable, he removed the front case and gently tugged on the lens so that the red bellows could extend. He reached into his bag and counted. Perfect. He had at least twenty glass plates. That should give him plenty of photographs to develop after dinner. Even if he could get only one good picture out of the lot, it would be enough.

  Edgar had set up a nice little darkroom for him and offered to fetch water whenever he needed it. Hopefully the man wouldn’t mind staying up a bit late tonight. It would probably take the rest of the evening.

  As the sun shifted behind a cloud, the rays hitting the canyon almost took his breath away.

  “Quite magnificent, isn’t it?”

  The question made Ray turn his attention from the camera.

  Hands deep in the pockets of his trousers, the man didn’t look at all cold in the frigid temps. And yet all he wore was a single-breasted jacket and waistcoat that matched his trousers. Even the felt homburg hat didn’t look like it provided that much warmth.

  “It is probably the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” He stuck out his hand. “Ray Watkins.”

  “Pleased to make
your acquaintance.” The man returned the gesture, and they shook. “Name’s Frank Henderson.”

  “You don’t look the least bit cold, Mr. Henderson.” Ray rubbed his gloved hands together.

  Frank’s deep laughter echoed over the canyon. “I grew up in the mountains of Colorado. The cold doesn’t bother me much.”

  “What brings you to the Arizona Territory?” Ray looked back through the viewfinder to see if the right shot presented itself.

  “I’m the assistant chef at the hotel. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work at this fine establishment.”

  “I should say not.” He grinned back to his new acquaintance. “And I must say that everything I have eaten here has been some of the best food I’ve tasted anywhere.”

  “I quite agree. Chef Marques is a stickler about his recipes and the way he runs his kitchen. I will pass on your compliment.” Frank moved a bit closer. “It’s my day off, and I’ve been enjoying just walking the rim when your setup caught my attention. Is that one of the new Century Cameras?”

  He leaned back. “Yes, it is. Are you familiar with them?”

  “No. Not really, but I have become interested in photography. Have you met the Kolb brothers yet? They’ve been teaching me a bit about it.” Frank shrugged. “One day I think it would be a fun hobby. Something to get me out of the kitchen and tasting food all the time.” He patted his waist. Not that he was a large man, but he was a bit thicker around the middle.

  “No, I haven’t had the privilege. Just arrived yesterday. Who are the Kolbs?”

  “Two fine young men. Wild adventurers and photographers.” The chef pointed to the west past the hotel. “They built their house and studio on an eyebrow ledge at the entrance to the Bright Angel Trail, which takes you down into the canyon. Cameron—that is, Mr. Ralph Cameron—owns a small hotel down the trail and a few mining claims. He gave the brothers a piece of his land, and they take up the tolls for him from anyone who wants to use the trail. Then they take photographs of tourists and develop them so they can sell them back to the same tourists on their way back. Ingenious, really. But I wouldn’t want to hike up and down that trail multiple times a day.”

  The Kolb brothers sounded like men Ray wanted to meet. “I can’t say I would either. I heard it’s quite the trek. Even on a mule’s back. What’s an eyebrow ledge?”

  Frank lifted his eyebrows. “You think the El Tovar is close to the canyon? Well . . . let me tell you. Here, we’re a good twenty feet from the edge. Those Kolbs—Emery and Ellsworth—built their studio on the ledge itself. It’s practically clinging to the canyon wall. First time they welcomed me in, I almost didn’t want to risk it. It looks like it could fall right into the canyon with a stiff wind.”

  “This, I’ve got to see.”

  “You should. And you could talk pictures with them. They know their stuff. And they’re never afraid to try something risky to get the perfect shot.” He chuckled. “As long as you aren’t planning on opening up a studio here and presenting them with competition, I think they’d love to meet you.”

  Ray held up a hand. “Oh no. This is just a hobby. Besides, my work in Chicago keeps me pretty busy.” But wouldn’t it be amazing to spend the rest of his days here, looking at this view? Maybe these Kolb brothers had the right idea.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your quiet. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Watkins.”

  “Please, call me Ray.”

  “Then I insist you call me Frank.”

  “When is your next day off? Perhaps you could introduce me to the brothers and we could hike down into the canyon.” It would do him good to get some more fresh air, and the thought of going down into the canyon excited him. He doubted any of his father’s men would be interested in that.

  “I would love to. I just need to clear it with my manager—Mr. Owens. Let’s see, today is Saturday, tomorrow I have some errands to run in Williams for Mr. Owens . . . that would mean next time I’m off is a week from Monday.”

  Ray pulled the notebook out of his pocket and jotted it down. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Frank nodded and strolled back to the hotel.

  A burst of color caught Ray’s attention and he looked back at the sunset. The last rays of light shone on the clouds. If only his camera could capture the reds, pinks, and oranges. Focusing the lens, he snapped what he hoped would be the perfect shot. Changing plates, he set up for another picture. Then another. Eventually, he’d used every single one of the glass plates he had with him and the light was just about gone.

  A sense of satisfaction filled him as he watched the sun dip completely below the horizon.

  Packing up his camera, he couldn’t wait to get back to his room and develop the photographs. His stomach rumbled. Dinner would probably be a good idea too, as long as he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of Miss Edwards. Not that she would even notice.

  But it wouldn’t hurt to see her again. Maybe over time, he could show her that he wasn’t that bad.

  The wind picked up, and without the sun, the temperature dropped at a rapid pace. Time to get inside and warm up.

  With his tripod in his right hand, he slung the bag with the camera over his shoulder and cradled the other bag of glass plates up against his chest. Thank goodness he hadn’t ventured too far from the hotel. The weight was more than he remembered when he’d hauled it out.

  He made it to the front steps and heard the chatter and laughter inside the Rendezvous Room as the door opened. Maneuvering his way through, he bumped the doorjamb as the heavy wooden door closed behind him.

  Crack!

  His heart plummeted at the sound as he stopped in his tracks and looked down.

  One of the legs of the tripod had come unfolded and gotten caught in the door. It was splintered beyond repair. He stared at it for several seconds and worked hard to keep his frustration muted.

  “Is everything all right, sir?” The hotel manager headed for him.

  “I don’t suppose you have anyone who can repair this?” He held up the deformed apparatus.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Watkins, but I doubt it. Perhaps we can send for a new one from Williams. I’ve got one of the men headed there tomorrow.”

  Disappointment threatened to overtake him. But he took a deep breath and tamped it down. Nothing he could do about it now. He’d have to be more careful in the future. “I’d appreciate that, Mr. Owens. I think that’s probably a good idea. Will it take long?”

  “Perhaps a few days, depending on what is available.” The man looked eager to please. “But I could request a rush.”

  A few days. It would be difficult to not have a tripod to work with, but he’d have to accept it and move on. “Thank you. Sounds like that is the best we can do.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll work on it first thing in the morning.” The man reached out. “Might I have this as a reference? Maybe we can obtain the same model.”

  “Of course.” He handed the man the broken pieces. The scents from the dining room beckoned him in, but instead, he strode toward the stairs. It hadn’t been his best day.

  The dinner rush had been grueling. For more than three hours, every table had been filled, and Emma Grace was feeling it in her back. If only she could have a long soak in the tub tonight, but the sign-up sheets for use of the bathing chamber were filled until far too late in the evening for her. Sleep was far more important at this juncture.

  She hadn’t slept well since arriving at El Tovar. A new place and a new job, they were bound to be the reasons for her trouble getting rest, but that didn’t help her know how to make it through. Or how to actually catch up on sleep. When Ruth said that she’d been awoken by Emma Grace more than once that night, it made sense that they were both tired this morning. Something had kept her from fully resting. Then there was the nightmare.

  The thought of the dream brought chills to her spine. Yes, she lied to Ruth about remembering. That was the least of her concerns at this point. Perhaps Ruth would forget that t
hey were supposed to chat tonight.

  Emma Grace could only hope.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost eight thirty. One of the girls had gotten sick this afternoon, and as the assistant head waitress, it had fallen to her to finish out the shift. But she’d been on her feet since seven this morning, and it would be nice if everyone could be done with dinner now and leave.

  Two of her tables emptied, which meant she only had one more and they were almost finished. All she needed to do was deliver dessert.

  But on her way back to their table with two plates of peach cobbler, she saw Mr. Watkins being seated at table one. Again.

  At this point, she didn’t know what to think about the handsome, rich man—other than to wish that he’d sit somewhere else. At breakfast, he’d been in constant need. At lunch, he hardly even spoke to her other than to give his order and to thank her. She didn’t need this kind of customer.

  At least he tipped well. Very well.

  Maybe he would eat fast.

  After delivering the desserts, she headed over to his table and slapped on the best smile she could at this hour of the night. “Good evening, Mr. Watkins.”

  “Evening, Miss Edwards.” He looked tired. Weary. And something else she couldn’t quite ascertain. “I’m sorry for arriving so late, but I had a mishap with my camera equipment.”

  “You’re a photographer?” It took her completely by surprise. She’d thought he must be some sort of wealthy snob helping out with the family business.

  His chuckle was dry. “No. But I do enjoy dabbling in the art.”

  “Oh. Well, there’s not a better place to practice your art than here, I’d wager.” The ache in her left foot began to throb. She shifted her weight, but there was no relief. No matter which foot she stood on, everything hurt. “Is there anything I can get you this evening?”

  “I’m so tired I don’t even care. Maybe you could surprise me with something hearty? Oh, and please, something that won’t take too long. I don’t wish to keep anyone any later than need be.”

  He seemed genuine. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. “We are here to serve, Mr. Watkins. I’ll return with your dinner shortly.”