A Deep Divide

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  A surly grin lifted Ben’s lips. A look he’d never seen on the man. “What exactly did the old man say?”

  “I regret to inform you that he said you are all fired and will have to fend for yourselves here.”

  “Figured as much.” George crossed his arms over his chest and sat back down on a cot in the corner.

  “My father built his company on morals and ethics. You, gentlemen, disrespected the Watkins name. You broke the law. Now you have to reap the consequences.”

  Bolting back to his feet, George charged the bars and gripped them with both hands. “You really don’t know what your daddy does, do you?”

  “Where do you think we learned our behavior, Junior?” Ben spat on the floor.

  Stretching out in her bed, Emma Grace yawned. No light peeked into the room from the window high up near the ceiling. Even though her room was in the basement, it was nice that someone had thought to at least put some small windows in. It made all the difference in the world to her. Her body was awake, though, even when she could tell it was still before sunrise.

  With another stretch, she rolled over onto her side and glanced at the clock. 6:10. Wouldn’t it be glorious if she could actually sleep in? The thought made her chuckle to herself. She was too accustomed to the long workdays.

  But today was Thursday. A day off.

  It made her smile. She hadn’t taken one in the two weeks she’d been there because she’d volunteered to fill in where they needed help. It had kept her busy. Something she wanted to keep her mind off things.

  But Ruth had insisted. Now Emma Grace had a whole day off, and then on Monday there was another one on her schedule. Another requirement from the head waitress. Ruth said she had been looking far too weary and stressed.

  Thankfully, the nightmares hadn’t returned, even after the discussion with Mr. Owens and Ruth at the beginning of the week. But she felt the strain on her body. It was hard to relax when her worst fears were coming to light. Someone was actively looking for the person she used to be.

  Maybe today, she could forget all of that and simply enjoy the day. She’d been longing to spend more than a minute or two over at the Hopi House. The Indians who lived and worked there were refreshing to be around. Warm, genuine, giving. It didn’t matter that people were coming and going, they kept working at their art and welcomed people, sharing stories of their people and heritage.

  Decision made. She’d go watch the sunrise from the rim, then spend the day at the Hopi House.

  After that, she could explore a bit more of the rim and watch the sunset. Sometime soon she’d like to explore more, but there were rules about the Harvey Girls venturing down into the canyon on their own. She’d have to look at the schedule and see who had a day off lining up with one of hers. Someone who was brave enough to hike down the steep trail.

  Excited to get the day started and have a change of scenery, Emma Grace dressed casually for the day. Rather than pulling her hair back into a tight bun, she braided her long locks and threw the braid over her shoulder. Placing a wide-brimmed hat over top, she smiled into the mirror on her dresser. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. She was a far cry from the Emma Grace McMurray of Boston.

  With one hand, she grabbed her key on its long chain and put it around her neck, while the other hand opened the door. She exited and locked the door and headed for the stairs.

  After the conversation with Mr. Owens and Ruth, she’d come back to her room and had a good long cry. The effort she’d poured into staying hidden had exhausted her. She was so ready to just live her life and stop worrying about the past.

  But that wasn’t an option for her.

  This was the life she’d chosen when she ran away.

  With a shake of her head, she pushed the thoughts back. The only way for her to survive would be to find some happiness in her surroundings. Ruth’s friendship was stronger since the confrontation. It felt so good to have someone in her corner. Each night, they’d had tea together and chatted. Not about anything consequential, just about their days—funny things the customers said or did, who left the largest tips, who needed the most attention. Normal, regular chats for a couple of Harvey Girls.

  Refreshing. That’s what it had been. Soothing for her soul. As she ventured out into the rotunda, she decided against breakfast and headed through the Rendezvous Room to the front doors. Buttoning up her long wool coat, she prepared for the chill that would surely accompany her outside.

  The dark of the night was just beginning to hint at the start of a new day.

  With brisk steps, she headed for a spot behind the Hopi House that had become her favorite place to sit. She pulled her gloves out of her pockets, then wrapped her scarf around her neck several times.

  The canyon was quiet this morning. No wind. No chatter of tourists. Just a star-filled sky giving way in the east to the sun. The stars over the canyon were her favorite. Like a black velvet blanket stretched as far as the eye could see with millions of shimmering lights dancing on top. When she’d lived in Boston, she’d never seen stars like that. And here, there was just something about sitting on the edge of the great crevasse and looking up to the sky. The first time, it had made her dizzy. Now, it was her favorite thing to do.

  Taking careful steps, she crept to the very edge and lowered herself to where she could sit and dangle her legs.

  For some reason, as the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, her thoughts recalled words. Words she hadn’t thought of for so long.

  The spacious firmament on high,

  With all the blue ethereal sky,

  And spangled heavens, a shining frame,

  Their great Original proclaim.

  The unwearied sun from day to day

  Does his Creator’s power display

  And publishes to every land

  The work of an Almighty hand.

  She was transported back to when she was a little girl. Back when Mother made sure they all attended church each Sunday. That big cathedral of a church where all the wealthiest of the city went. She could hear her mother’s voice—clear as an angel’s—beside her, singing her favorite hymn.

  What though in solemn silence all

  Move round the dark terrestrial ball;

  What though nor real voice nor sound

  Amid their radiant orbs be found;

  In reason’s ear they all rejoice,

  And utter forth a glorious voice,

  For ever singing as they shine,

  ‘The hand that made us is divine.’

  Funny how she could remember the words and the tune even after all these years. Her mother had been gone a long time.

  Too bad God left with her. It’s not like she knew Him all that well anyway, but for a little girl, she’d been devastated by the loss.

  The sky began to change quickly now, and the canyon awoke. The birds who endured the cold winter nights began to sing their early morning songs. Life began to whisper “good morning” around her.

  The sun streaked the sky with pinks and lavenders that changed the colors of the canyon walls every few minutes. Emma Grace shoved every thought of church, God, and hymns to the back of her mind and tried to imagine how she would paint the scene before her.

  For a couple of years, she’d had a tutor teaching her art. They’d dabbled in oil painting for a while and then watercolors. The oils had been her definite favorite. If only she’d had more talent. She’d love to be able to paint what she saw in this moment.

  Footsteps sounded to her left, which made her heart speed up its pace. She shifted her gaze in that direction so she could see who was approaching.

  “Ah, Miss Edwards.” A familiar voice greeted her.

  “Mr. Henderson, how nice to see you.” Her heartbeat relaxed at the sight of the assistant chef. “You must not have the breakfast shift today?”

  “You would be correct.” He pointed beside her. “May I join you?”

  “Of course. As much as I’d like to claim the whole canyon
as mine, I think there’s plenty of room for us both.”

  His soft laughter echoed in the still morning air as he took a seat several feet away. It almost made him look like a big kid when he scooted to the edge and let his legs hang over the rim as well. “How generous of you. What brings you out here? A much-needed day off?”

  “Yes. This view calls to me. The sunrise is amazing.”

  “I will never tire of it.”

  The light grew and chased the stars away to the west. “I agree with you. I don’t see how it could ever be boring.”

  “I love watching the Creator at work.” Mr. Henderson’s voice conveyed his smile.

  She didn’t even have to look to see it. What was it with people and the Creator? First Ruth, and now the chef. Several of the other Harvey Girls kept inviting her to some makeshift church service too, but she’d declined them all.

  “I take it you don’t believe in God?”

  This time, she turned to him and searched his face. Honest. Friendly. He seemed sincere, and as she’d worked with him for a while now, he’d always struck her as respectful and hard-working. “It’s not that I don’t believe in God. I just don’t think He really cares. I mean, how many people are there on this planet anyway? There’s not enough time for all of us.” She shrugged and waited for his response. Surely he couldn’t have an explanation.

  “Sounds like you’ve been hurt.”

  She let out a humph. “More times than I can count.”

  “By people, right?”

  “Of course. God too.”

  He nodded and looked down into the canyon. “How did God hurt you?”

  “He abandoned me.” She didn’t want to sound pitiful or angry. She was simply stating the facts.

  Mr. Henderson didn’t respond. How could he? There was no excuse he could give, no platitude he could convey, no Scripture he could recite that would change her mind.

  A couple of birds in the tree to the left had begun their chitter-chatter.

  Emma Grace was thankful for the break in the silence. Had she offended the man? Maybe she’d said too much.

  “Look over there.” Mr. Henderson pointed to the other rim of the canyon. The sun had shown through a crack in one of the canyon’s many divides and lit up the other side with a streak that shone like pure gold. “I’ve never seen anything like it. No wonder the miners are always coming here searching for treasure.”

  “There are mines here?”

  “Oh, several. The Orphan Mine is the one you’ll hear the most about. These rocks are supposedly filled with ore.”

  That surprised her. “Why would they allow mining here? It’s too beautiful to destroy.”

  Mr. Henderson held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I have wondered the same thing myself.” He shook his head.

  Questions filled her mind. “Mr. Henderson, I’m curious. . . . How would they even attempt it? How do they get down to wherever they’re mining?”

  He held out a hand to her—like a gentleman offering a handshake. “Please, call me Frank. Mr. Henderson can be reserved for when we are on duty, but it seems like such a mouthful.”

  She took his hand and shook it. “Then I insist that you call me Emma Grace.” Raising her eyebrows, she crossed her arms over her middle. “Well?”

  “Oh yes, the mines. I don’t really have any answers, other than the fact that Daniel Hogan is the one who filed for the Orphan copper claim. His miners use a trail called the Battleship Trail—named for a rock formation—but he also built another trail, if you can even call it that. I hear it’s nothing more than a rope, a couple of crude ladders, pegs shoved into holes, and toeholds that he chiseled into the wall of the canyon. He calls it ‘the slide’ while everyone else likes to call it ‘the Hummingbird Trail.’ Apparently, he’s quite good at using it and claims it’s a lot faster.”

  Emma Grace leaned her head a bit over the edge and looked at the sheer cliff. “Faster or not, I don’t think I would be brave enough to try this Hummingbird Trail. But I do look forward to trying the Bright Angel Trail soon. I hear it’s quite magnificent.”

  “I’m taking one of our guests down the trail on Monday. It’s beautiful, but it is quite a hike to come back up it. That’s the hard part.”

  “I have another day off on Monday. Miss Anniston insisted, since I haven’t taken any time off.” She bit her lip. Was it too forward to ask? While she and Frank worked together, she really didn’t know him all that well. “Is there any chance I could accompany you on Monday?”

  Frank slapped his thigh. “That’s a splendid idea. I don’t think Mr. Watkins would mind that one bit, seeing as he always reserves one of your tables.” He gave her a knowing look.

  “Oh, it’s Mr. Watkins you’re accompanying?” It made her swallow hard. Not that she disliked the man. “He likes the view. And I do have the best tables.”

  “He’s really quite down to earth. We had a chat about photography one day, and since then, we’ve had several opportunities to discuss everything from faith to art to food.”

  “I see. Well, as long as you don’t think he will mind.”

  “I think it would be a nice outing.” He looked away and then rubbed his hands together. “There’s not any chance that Miss Anniston is off as well? We could invite her along.” When he glanced back at her, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  “No. I’m sorry. We can’t both be off at the same time.”

  “Oh yes. Of course, you’re the assistant head waitress. I should have thought of that.” He scooted back and lifted himself to his feet. “Well, it has been a lovely morning chat, Emma Grace, but I’m afraid I must attend to other things so that I will be ready for the lunch rush.” He dusted off his trouser legs and gave her a nod. “I look forward to Monday.”

  “Me too.” She gave him a smile. “Thank you for allowing me to come with you.”

  “You’re welcome. You are going to love it.” He waved his good-bye.

  There were times—every once in a while—when she felt comfortable around men. Mr. Henderson was definitely one of them. He didn’t seem to put on airs, he was honest, and he was funny. How interesting that he and Mr. Watkins had spent so much time together.

  Normally people of Mr. Watkins’ class didn’t associate with the working class. Then again, Mr. Watkins had surprised her with his actions on multiple occasions. And, of course, Mr. Owens wouldn’t deny the man any request, even if it was wanting to spend time with the staff.

  What would Mr. Watkins be like out of her normal world? Where he was the guest, and she was the waitress?

  He’d been gone a couple days this week. Mr. Owens had informed her he was away on business, but he would be returning. Their manager seemed anxious for his return, wanting to make everything perfect for the son of the wealthiest man in Chicago—not that she could blame him. That was his job.

  But the longer she was around staff who catered to every whim of the rich simply because they had money, the more she disliked this whole cultural divide. Why couldn’t they simply take care of the guests because they were customers? That’s what good service was about and what Mr. Fred Harvey himself portrayed in every business plan—that no matter who the customer was, they deserved the best of the Harvey service.

  Emma Grace had been on both sides of it: being the richest of the rich and working herself to the bone to keep herself clothed and fed. If God were really up there, and if He truly cared, why didn’t He break down the barriers between all people? Didn’t the Bible say that He loved everyone the same?

  With a shrug, she got to her feet. It didn’t really matter. Maybe it was a question she could ask Ruth or Frank next time they brought up God. Probably a question that would make them squirm and perhaps never bring up religion with her again. Frank hadn’t responded to her question today, after all.

  As she walked back around to the Hopi House, she let herself get excited about the hike on Monday. Thoughts of Mr. Watkins flooded her mind again. It irritated her that she couldn�
��t seem to banish him from her thoughts. He popped up all too often.

  Before, she’d thought it was because he sat at her table. She saw him at every meal. But now, he’d been gone a few days. What kept bringing him to mind?

  She opened the wooden door to the Hopi House and ducked as she walked through. Even though it was probably an inch or two higher than the top of her head, her instincts always made her slouch down, just in case.

  “Welcome back to Hopi House.” A beautiful dark-skinned woman greeted her from where she sat on the floor, weaving a basket. Feet bare. Dressed in the traditional garb Emma Grace was getting used to seeing. Her long black hair was plaited on either side of her head. “Come.” The woman beckoned to her with a smile and a wave of her hand. “I will teach you how we weave.”

  Not needing another invitation, Emma Grace returned the smile and removed her long coat. Without thinking twice, she sat on the floor next to the woman and arranged her skirts to cover her legs. “You recognize me?”

  “Yes.” The woman pointed to her chest. “I’m Chuma. You work over at the hotel and came in last week sometime while I was making jewelry.”

  She nodded. “You are very observant. I’m Emma Grace. Thank you for your warm welcome.”

  Chuma grinned, showing a missing tooth on the bottom. She was young, probably around eighteen. “I teach you how to weave. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Clasping her hands into her lap, she leaned forward to see what Chuma was doing. Her hands moved with a quickness that attested to years of experience. The peaceful atmosphere around Emma Grace made her feel safe and wanted. She let everything else fade away and focused on Chuma’s delicate fingers.

  The day passed in Emma Grace’s many failed attempts at weaving. She’d lost count of how many times she’d had to start over. But with great patience, her new friend encouraged her to keep at it. By the time her legs had fallen asleep from sitting on the floor for so long, she had completed the entire bottom of a basket with a whole inch of lopsided woven reeds making the sides. With a giggle, she held it up for Chuma’s inspection.