“Thank you.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket, put a hand to his forehead, and went to studying it.
She headed to the kitchen and knew exactly what to bring him. Her new favorite was the chef’s beef stroganoff. Hearty. Rich. Comforting. Perhaps that was exactly what he needed.
Several minutes later, she headed back to his table with a steaming plate. “Here you are, Mr. Watkins.”
“Thank you. It smells delicious.” He placed his napkin into his lap.
Noticing his glass was almost empty, she headed back for a pitcher of water. The dining room had cleared of customers except for two tables. She let out a long breath and attempted to relax her shoulders. It was a nice feeling when her shift was almost over. Water pitcher in hand, she went back to table one and filled her customer’s glass. “Here—” She cut off her words when she realized his head was bowed. Was he praying?
Mr. Watkins lifted his head. His eyes looked clearer and brighter.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She gripped the pitcher’s handle tighter.
“Not at all.” He picked up the glass and took a long drink. “Thank you. This was just what I needed.” This time his smile was relaxed and reached his eyes.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Not unless you have a camera tripod lying around.” He shook his head. “Sorry, that was a bad attempt at a joke.”
She rested the pitcher’s base in the palm of her hand and allowed herself to give him a real smile as he lifted the first bite to his lips. “Sorry, I’m fresh out of camera equipment. But I’m sure Mr. Owens can help you procure what you need.”
“He has already offered his assistance, which is greatly appreciated. I simply am upset with myself for not taking better care. It was my own fault.”
A rich man taking responsibility? That was something she hadn’t heard before.
He pointed his fork to his plate. “Good choice, Miss Edwards. I think this might be my new favorite dish.”
“I’m glad you like it.” His sincere appreciation filled her exhausted and dry spirit. Spending all day serving the customers was tiring, but even more so when the clientele’s expectations were sometimes outlandish. And today had been one of those days. It had made her detest the upper class and their hoity-toity ways. Thank goodness she’d escaped that life before she became just like them.
What was she thinking? He was one of that class. When his companions returned, they’d surely be demanding and snobbish toward her. Because she was just a waitress. They’d certainly had something to say about that on their first evening here. Not that she would ever admit to overhearing them.
“Did I say something wrong?” He set his fork down and rose to his feet. “You look upset.”
Gracious, she needed to rein in her thoughts because apparently she couldn’t keep them from her expressions. “Not at all, Mr. Watkins. It’s simply been a long day.”
He reached a hand out toward her as if to offer . . . what? “Please, then.” He pulled his hand back. “Don’t let me keep you. I don’t wish to be the cause of making your evening even longer.” With a nod, he took his seat and placed his napkin back in his lap. “I’m quite content with my delicious dinner. I can’t imagine requiring anything else.”
“Forgive me. There’s no need to rush.” Now she felt like a heel. What was it about this man that made her attitude swing from one extreme to another? She’d never had that issue with anyone else. It was her job to make sure that the customers felt at ease and comfortable. Somehow, she’d managed to do the opposite with him. “Honestly, I’m here if you need anything. Wouldn’t you like a piece of pie?”
“Miss Edwards, you have been so gracious to me even with all my floundering and faux pas. Thank you. But I feel I should finish my dinner and head to my room.” He pointed with his head to the rest of the dining room. “It appears I’m the last one here. Please don’t worry about me and thank you for all that you’ve done. I hope you have a lovely evening.”
His words made a light laugh escape. “I should be the one saying that to you, Mr. Watkins. Have a good evening.” She turned and headed back to the waitresses’ station and finished polishing the last few pieces of silverware. When she glanced back up at the table, Mr. Watkins was walking away. With a little wave, he nodded and smiled in her direction.
An hour later, Emma Grace sat on her bed. Did she even have enough energy to change out of her uniform? Or could she just flop back on the bed and go to sleep? As tempting as the latter sounded, she forced herself to stand back up and remove her shoes and stockings. Changing out of the apron and black dress, she tossed them in the laundry bag and grabbed a nightgown. Gone were the days of her owning dozens of day dresses and hundreds of evening gowns and gloves. Every once in a while, she missed the finery, but most of the time, she was thankful to not be burdened with it. In fact, the Harvey Girl uniform had become her favorite over the years because every one of the girls wore the same thing.
Harvey Girls took pride in their jobs and the fact that they were privileged to have the prestigious name. In a world where working women hadn’t been the norm or even respected, the Harvey Girls broke through all the preconceived notions and had become widely esteemed as women of good moral character, manners, loyalty, and work ethic.
And while the twenty-five-dollars-a-month salary, plus room and board, would be scoffed at by the upper class, it was more than enough to take care of her needs. She even had tucked away a tidy sum over the years in case she ever needed to disappear in a hurry. Several times, she’d thought about putting it in a bank but had kept it in a locked box in her wardrobe instead. Trust was not something that came easily.
A gentle tap on her door made her shove the thoughts aside. She wrapped her dressing gown around her, went to the door, and opened it.
Ruth grinned up at her. “I know it’s been a long day, but I still think we need to chat.” She held a tray with a full china tea service and two cups. “And I promised tea.”
Not willing to tell the woman who was essentially her supervisor no, Emma Grace ushered her in and shut the door behind her.
Ruth set the tray down and placed her hands on her hips. “First things first, I spoke with Mr. Owens and the door is indeed behind the wardrobe. He gave us permission to move it. Why don’t we move it out of the way now, while we still have strength? That way, we can open the door that adjoins our rooms.”
Between the two of them, they were able to move the heavy wardrobe across the tile floor.
“There.” Ruth wiped her hands together and walked over to the tea tray. “It’s chamomile. My mother always brought it to me when I was sick because she said it had healing properties. But I use it at night when I’m having trouble sleeping. It normally works like a charm.” After pouring a cup, she held it out to Emma Grace.
“Thank you.” A cup of tea sounded very soothing. Besides, it would occupy her hands during whatever discussion Ruth had planned.
The head waitress sat on the chair, her back ramrod straight as she took a sip of tea. “Now, I’m not the nosy type. I don’t want you to think that I’m prying, though it is my job to keep all of the girls in line and following the rules of a Harvey House. But I truly am concerned about you.” She paused and took another sip before continuing. “Emma Grace, I’d like to be your friend. We’re going to be working together a lot, and we need to rely on one another. In my experience, the only way that works is if we have a deep, respectful relationship.”
With a nod, Emma Grace looked at her tea. What could she say? She’d love to have a real friend, but she had too many secrets. And no one to trust.
“The nightmare that you had seemed to be very real to you. I looked over your employment card and it’s exemplary. But there’s nothing about your family or any history before you came to be a Harvey Girl.”
Emma Grace closed her eyes. Ruth was a smart woman. How much had she figured out?
“I’m not trying to pressure you to
tell me all about your past, but if you’re in danger in any way, please let me help you. When I was trying to wake you last night, you told me to let you go. . . . Is someone after you, Emma Grace?”
She hated lying. Hated it. And it was so hard to keep stories straight, so she always did her best to skirt the truth. But what explanation could she give where Ruth wouldn’t worry? And what if Emma Grace had another nightmare? What then? She hadn’t told a single soul the truth about her past in five years. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. Really.” Lifting the china cup to her lips, she hoped her words would suffice.
Ruth set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap. “Look me in the eye and say that again.”
As soon as she matched Ruth’s gaze, Emma Grace knew she couldn’t do it. “I appreciate that you care so much, but I don’t wish to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden. I told you that things were going to be different here. We need to be like a family. Families protect and help one another.”
If only that were true. “My family didn’t protect me.” The words were harsh and cynical to her own ears.
“I’m sorry about that. But I will.”
Even though the woman wasn’t much over five feet in height, for some reason, Emma Grace believed her. Like a mama bear protected her cubs, Ruth seemed to have that same spunk and fire. Emma Grace couldn’t lie to her. But she also couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Besides, what were the chances that . . . he would ever find her out here after all this time?
“Look, I’m thirty years old. I’ve been doing this for a decade now. I doubt there’s anything you could tell me that would shock me. I promise I won’t think ill of you, and I promise not to say a word to anyone. But you’ve got to trust someone. Let me help you. Maybe it will help ease the nightmares if you tell me what caused them.”
The woman wasn’t going to let this go. “It’s really nothing to worry about. It was a long time ago and sometimes I just have bad memories.”
Ruth put a hand on her shoulder but didn’t say anything else. Just rubbed circles on her back.
It reminded her of her grandmother on her mother’s side. She had done that often when Emma Grace was little. And then she’d passed away. Mother not long after. It had been a long time since she’d received a comforting touch like this.
Emma Grace sighed. The safest thing she could share and still be honest was from her childhood. “I was kidnapped as a child.”
“Oh my goodness.” The tiny gasp proved that Ruth was more shocked than she let on.
“It was eighteen long days before I was returned to my parents. So, you can probably see why I still have the nightmares. Especially when I’m in new surroundings.”
“That must have been horrible for you. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but as you can imagine, it’s not something that I share with people. Some things take a lifetime to get over.”
Ruth nodded but didn’t press any more. They sat in silence for several moments, sipping their tea. The clink of the china cups against saucers was the only sound.
Emma Grace drank the rest of her tea and got up from her seat on the bed. The awkward silence made her even more weary. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to get some rest now. Thank you for the tea. I believe it did just the trick.”
“Of course.” Ruth gathered the tea tray and went to the door between their rooms. “I’ll leave this open in case you need anything.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Emma Grace pulled back the covers to her bed and slid between the cool sheets. She turned off the lamp and pulled the quilt up and over her shoulders, listening to Ruth’s footsteps in the room next door. It had been true, the story she’d told.
But it was nothing of the nightmare that pursued her now.
6
CHANUTE, KANSAS
I’m looking for this woman, right here.” Peter tapped the photograph. “Have you seen her? Sometime in the last five years?”
The Harvey Girl behind the lunch counter squinted at the picture. “I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “But I’ve only worked here for a few months.”
He let out his breath in a rough, exasperated sigh. Sometimes he ran into people who didn’t know how to use the brain they’d been given. “Well, is there someone that has worked here for several years?”
“Mr. Connors has been here a long time.” She polished another knife. “Would you like me to get him for you?”
“Please.” While his mother would remind him that he could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, he didn’t care about his tone at the moment. He’d been to ten different Harvey establishments in the last ten days. All because a woman in Illinois had told him that she was convinced she’d seen Emma Grace McMurray dressed as a Harvey Girl. A fact that he was beginning to doubt. He’d scoured the areas, asked questions of everyone he met, but still came up empty-handed.
He swiped a hand down his face. Not only was he in need of sleep, but he needed a shave too.
No one just vanished like this. Normally, he had a trail to follow at this point. No wonder all the others had failed. So, how had she done it? Or was she dead? The latter wouldn’t be a surprise, but it wasn’t the outcome his client wanted.
A portly bald man with a pipe and curly mustache followed the waitress out of the back and walked toward him. “I hear you’re looking for someone?”
“Yes, I am.” He held out the photograph. “This is Miss McMurray. It’s imperative that I find her.”
“Why is it so imperative?” The man wiped his hands on a towel and narrowed his eyes without even glancing at the picture.
“Have you seen her?” Peter growled and shoved his leather-encased badge under the man’s nose.
“How do I even know that’s real?” The man didn’t flinch as his eyes flicked down to the badge.
“You don’t.” This was why he liked to do things his own way. “Have. You. Seen. Her?” He clamped his jaw so tight, he thought for sure the whole room could hear his teeth grinding.
“No reason to get all bent out of shape.” The man leaned against the counter and glanced at the photograph again. “Can’t say that I have. I don’t know any Miss McMurray.”
“Is there anyone else who has worked here for, oh, say the last four or five years who might know something?”
“Why? So you can be rude to them too?” The man raised his eyebrows. “I can’t say that I appreciate you coming in here and behaving in such a manner. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Peter tucked the picture and wallet back into his breast pocket with a nod and headed for the door. Wasn’t even worth his time to thank the people.
As he exited the restaurant, a hand tapped his arm. He looked over and an older woman sized him up. “Hazel across the street sees just about everything. Maybe she’s seen your girl.”
“Thank you. Hazel, you say?” He put his hat on his head.
“Yup. Across the street.” She pointed a bony finger in the opposite direction of the railroad tracks and then walked away.
Well, it was worth a try. He ventured across the street and saw a woman—probably in her forties—watching him from where she sat by a cracked flowerpot. His lack of sleep and any real leads had made him testy. He should try another tactic.
“Good morning.” Maybe honey would work this time.
“Mornin’.” She tapped her cigarette until the ash fell onto the ground.
“Are you Hazel?”
“Sure am.” She smacked. “I see they sent you over here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Emma Grace McMurray, and I thought maybe she’d come through here in the last few years.”
“There wasn’t anyone named Emma Grace McMurray that worked over yonder.” The lady blew cigarette smoke straight into his face.
Great. Another dead end. Wait. “How did you know I was asking if
she worked over there?”
“Word gets around fast.”
Huh. Word from where? He hadn’t even asked that inside the Harvey House. “Would you look at a picture and tell me if you recognize her?”
“Sure.” She stared at him. “But there was a girl named Emma Grace. Don’t rightly remember her last name. But it wasn’t McMurray.” Her lips wrapped around the cigarette for another inhale. “I thought her name was pretty. She was here a good while back.”
“How far back?”
“Oh, maybe three or so years ago.”
He slid the photograph in front of her. “Is that her?”
She looked at it for a moment and tilted her head. “Nah. That ain’t her. She had real dark hair.” She pointed to the photo. “Not blond or light like that.” Her voice cackled as she coughed and laughed at the same time. “And she definitely wasn’t all fancy-rich like that girl there. Nah, Emma Grace was sickly-looking. Way too skinny, like she hadn’t eaten in a month of Sundays. And scared of her own shadow, that one. Always kept to herself and kept her chin down.”
Didn’t sound much like the lively and stubborn Emma Grace McMurray that had been described to him. But what if it was? How many Emma Graces could there be? And the timeline would be correct. “Could you take a second look, just to be sure?”
“Of course.” She leaned forward and looked at the photo. “I don’t know. The eyes look similar. But I really can’t tell for sure. Nah, I don’t think it’s her.” Lifting her gaze, she shrugged. “Sorry. Why are you tryin’ to find this gal, anyways? Is she in some sort of danger?”
“You could say that. You could even say it’s a matter of life and death.”
The dining room lured Ray with the smells of Harvey’s famous coffee, bacon, and fresh baked goods. But as much as his stomach growled for attention, Ray was more focused on sitting in Miss Edwards’ section again. Perhaps this time, he could talk to her like a normal person—not some fool who either pestered her or ignored her.
A Deep Divide Page 9