A Deep Divide

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  “Very good.” Her chin bobbed up and down while her smile stretched across her face.

  It made Emma Grace laugh harder. “You’re being nice.”

  “Yes, I am. But I tell the children the same thing when they begin.”

  “And when exactly do they learn?”

  Chuma’s eyes sparkled. “When they’ve passed four winters.”

  “You mean a four-year-old knows how to weave?”

  Chuma giggled. At that moment, one of the Hopi children ran over to Chuma and held up her completed basket. The little girl had started at the same time as Emma Grace that morning. Her long lashes fluttered against her chubby cheeks as she lifted her basket. The Hopi woman took the offering, and the child came to Emma Grace’s side, tilted her head, and patted Emma Grace’s cheek. “You practice.”

  With a skip in her step, the child ran off while Chuma and Emma Grace laughed until tears slid down their faces.

  9

  EAST OF KINGMAN, ARIZONA TERRITORY

  Please accept my sincerest apologies.” Ray handed over the stolen jewels. He hadn’t wasted time with pleasantries, just spilled out the honest truth, hoping the man would forgive them. The deputy who’d accompanied him from Williams stood at the door.

  Mr. Krueger inspected each piece, a frown furrowing his brow. For several moments, he didn’t speak. Then he placed the jewels into the safe, closed the door, and locked it. Turning back toward Ray, he lifted his chin. “Your father and I have done business together for many years.”

  “Yes, sir. I know.”

  Mr. Krueger held up a hand. “Please let me finish. While your father is a brilliant businessman and has had some marvelous ideas, this was too much of a coincidence for me. Other questionable thefts have happened around your father’s men. I hate to say it, but yes, it sounds fishy. I know it’s not the best position for you, but please relay to your father that I will no longer be able to conduct any transactions with him.” The jewelry store owner shook his head.

  Ray stepped forward. While he understood exactly where the man was coming from, he knew that his father would be furious to cut these ties. “Mr. Krueger—”

  “No, son. There’s no changing my mind. I think it’s best that you simply leave.” The man put a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle nudge toward the door.

  Ray picked up his bag and exited. Nothing could be said to fix the situation. He’d done the right thing by coming in person, but that wouldn’t matter to Dad. As he walked to the train station and parted ways with the deputy, who had other business to attend to, he thought through the best way to word a telegram. But no matter what he said, Dad would blame him.

  Later that morning, the train’s gentle sway did nothing to relax Ray as he rode back to Williams. His thoughts hadn’t given him any rest since he’d gotten word that Dad’s men were in jail. Now, every muscle in his neck and shoulders screamed with the tension. Going over the events didn’t help, but that was all his mind wanted to focus on.

  Everything had happened so fast. The judge demanded to hear their case the very day Ray had gone to visit his father’s men in jail. But Michael, George, and Ben had attempted to schmooze the judge when they appeared before him. Not a smart choice. The judge was the most hard-lined, no-nonsense man Ray had ever met. Things were definitely different out west. Especially in the Arizona Territory where the reputation of Tombstone loomed.

  The worst part was that one of the men involved in the brawl had died, and the judge made it clear that he hated murderers and thieves.

  In a swift ruling, they were sentenced to ten years in jail for the theft, and then a trial would take place about the murder. Not that it would be much of a trial. The judge also made that clear. But which man would end up taking the murder sentence? Or would they all?

  It was such a shame.

  His dad hadn’t reacted with compassion either—something that did surprise Ray just a little. Compassion hadn’t been something his father had shown him much of, but these men had been loyal to his father for years. Dad always treated his men differently. Yet, when he’d said he washed his hands of them, he’d meant it.

  Ray had asked the sheriff and judge for permission to deliver the stolen jewels back to their owner so he could apologize. The sheriff didn’t look all too trusting—and why should he? The men in jail worked for Ray . . . well, technically, for his father’s company. But the judge had approved it and sent him on his way with a deputy escort.

  Ray hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to apologize for something he hadn’t done. But he’d felt responsible and wanted to do the right thing. He just hadn’t thought through how Mr. Krueger would react. And the impact his words would have on Ray—especially the part about the other questionable thefts.

  That part couldn’t be reconciled in Ray’s mind. How could that be a coincidence? Another matter he would have to speak to his father about. And it probably wouldn’t go well.

  Wiping a hand down his face, he let out a long breath. Every muscle in his body was weary and tight all at the same time. His neck felt like he’d tied it in knots last night as he tossed and turned. He hadn’t found sleep because George’s and Ben’s words kept echoing in his mind.

  “You really don’t know what your daddy does, do you?”

  “Where do you think we learned our behavior, Junior?”

  The implication was obvious, but was it just a desperate attempt to clear their names? To blame someone else? Should he mention that to his dad? The fact that his father’s men would slander him so easily did not bode well.

  “Classic criminal behavior” was what the sheriff called it.

  Shaking his head, Ray sat up straighter. Maybe the lawman was correct. He wasn’t responsible for other people’s actions and decisions. He was only responsible for his own. Something he understood all too well. He needed to shake this off and move on.

  Alone in the railcar, he leaned back against the seat. Nothing could be accomplished with worry about the unknown. Perhaps he and Dad needed to have a talk, man to man. He could air his concerns, and Dad could tell him that it was all contrived. A fact he should know, anyway.

  He closed his eyes. Yes. That’s what he should do.

  He took several deep breaths. Maybe he could sleep for just a little bit . . .

  “Bring my horseless carriage around, please, Jones.”

  As Ray watched the servant retreat, fury burned inside him. Once Jones was out of earshot, he let the words he’d wanted to say to his father spew out in a torrent. “You’d think after all these years, after everything I’ve done to appease him, he could at least allow me to come alongside him in the business. But no. It doesn’t matter what I do, it will never be good enough. He’ll never think of me as anything other than a child.”

  “Then I suggest you stop acting like one.” Mother’s sharp voice sliced through him.

  His heart raced as he turned to face her. Dad was a force to be reckoned with to be sure . . . but Mother was even worse. “I . . . didn’t realize you were home.”

  “That was quite obvious, my dear.” The words that were an endearment to most people fell on him like sharp icicles. She used words as weapons. And no one ever dared to go up against the fierce Eleanor Watkins.

  “Now . . . are you quite done with your tantrum?” Lifting her chin, she looked down her nose at him.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ray looked away. Then, with a deep breath, he forced himself to look at her. If he didn’t keep eye contact, she’d rail at him some more. He clenched his jaw and stared.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Ray. I’m not against you. Your father is a tyrant, yes, but he knows his business well. In due time, he will hand over the reins to you and all my hopes for you will be fulfilled.”

  The fact that she called Dad a tyrant almost made him laugh. It was amazing he’d survived childhood in this home. “Fine, Mother. Your concern moves me.” He kept his tone flat.

  She patted his arm and shifted to
ward the door. “I’m always here for you. Now, be a good boy and do as your father asks.” The words slithered over him and made him shiver.

  He wasn’t twelve. Nor did he believe that his mother actually cared about him and would be there for him. Ever. The woman was shrewd and vicious.

  The rumble of an engine made him shake his head of the thoughts. Jones brought Ray’s brand-new 1901 Locomobile around the curved drive and up to the house.

  An outing was in order. Maybe even to Canada. The thought was ludicrous, but appealing nonetheless.

  He nodded at Jones. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Watkins.”

  Ray wiped at the seat, climbed into the automobile, and shifted it into gear. He took off down the driveway entirely too fast, but he didn’t care. The bricks of the long drive made the tires bounce and jostle at this speed.

  He needed to let off some steam, and right now, this was the only outlet he had.

  As he rounded the corner to the street, a red hoop rolled out in front of him, followed by a towheaded little boy with his stick.

  “No!” Ray pulled on the brake as his heart pounded in his chest.

  The tires screeched.

  The automobile lurched.

  A hideous thud echoed.

  Ray woke with a start. Bolting to his feet, he forced air into his chest. Thankfully, there was no one else in his first-class car this morning. He paced the aisle for several minutes, hoping to vanquish the memory. The dream always played out like a motion picture. He had no control over it. Just had to watch it in horror. And while he knew in his heart that he wasn’t the same man he’d been then, deep guilt and regret threatened to pull him back into the darkness.

  The darkness his parents banished him to.

  The darkness that God had rescued him from.

  The little boy had miraculously lived. Thomas Wright. A name Ray would never forget. The child’s arm had been broken, but other than that, he was relatively unscathed.

  Mrs. Wright had called it a miracle.

  Dad called it foolishness.

  While his parents yelled at him and gave him the silent treatment for weeks when they were in private, in front of the newspapers and their friends, they always talked about the bad parenting skills of the Wrights.

  Ray and Eleanor Watkins declared to anyone and everyone who would listen that it wasn’t their son’s fault that a child ran out in front of Ray Junior’s car. “Children should be home at that hour of the evening. What kind of parent allows their child to roam the streets when night is falling?” And so on and so forth.

  Mother and Dad went back to their normal lives the very next day and encouraged Ray to do the same. But he couldn’t.

  So, he visited the Wrights. Every day. They treated him more like family than his own did. And when little Thomas told Ray how God had saved him that night, Ray couldn’t help but begin his own search. He’d sought out Reverend James, and he’d found new life. Forgiveness. Peace.

  Ray walked back to his seat. As he lowered himself to sit, he reached for his leather satchel. A gift from Mother when he’d gone off to college.

  He ran a hand over the smooth, buttery leather and then lifted the flap. The contents were in neat order, as he knew they would be. He’d always been meticulous and a perfectionist, probably because Mother was that way and required it of him. But after the accident, he’d found that the best way to calm his nerves and quiet the chaos was to organize. His day. His belongings. His desk. His satchel.

  Reverend James encouraged him to give that over to the Lord too, something Ray struggled with on a daily basis. His mind handled things better when everything was neat and in order and when his day was planned out. But the good reverend reminded Ray that he needed to be willing to listen to God’s plan and not be so focused on his own. Because Ray could plan out his entire life, but if that wasn’t God’s will, what good did it do him?

  Before the accident, Ray dreamed of following in his father’s footsteps and one day being at the helm of the Watkins empire. But after he got saved, that dream changed. Oh, he still tried to honor his father by doing his best for the family business, but he had this feeling deep inside that God had something else in store for him. Until he knew what that was, he was committed to his father’s company. But he could feel a yearning . . . some kind of stretching and growing going on inside.

  Since there hadn’t been any messages sent down from heaven to tell him what to do, Ray pulled out his notepad and got to work. If Dad wanted detailed reports, then he would write them. And Ray would keep making lists of ideas for how they could use the money they had to help other people. So far, Dad hadn’t been inclined to listen to any of his ideas, but God could change his father’s heart. Of that he was certain.

  The first few days after telling the truth had been some of the worst Emma Grace had ever endured. Worry and fear followed her around like rabid dogs nipping at her heels.

  But Ruth’s positive tone and constant encouragement chiseled at the wall of fear Emma Grace had built around her heart. It didn’t even bother her that Ruth had shared her favorite verses of Scripture. In fact, they’d been comforting.

  Frankly, she was too exhausted to live in fear anymore. Tired of the façade. Tired of hiding. Not that she wanted to be found. That was the last thing she wanted, but she needed friends. She needed a family. Ruth reminded her over and over that she didn’t have to carry all of this alone. Wouldn’t it be nice if that were true?

  Emma Grace wanted to believe it could be.

  Then, yesterday morning, before their shift started, Ruth pulled her off to the side and said Mr. Owens had done some more investigating and didn’t think there was any reason for Emma Grace to worry. The man that had been inquiring about Emma Grace McMurray seemed to have disappeared and hadn’t asked around at any other Harvey establishments.

  Emma Grace finally felt like she could breathe again.

  Now, the dining room hummed with the sound of conversation and silverware clinking against the china. She had gone from table to table for the past eight hours. Her feet ached, but the dinner rush was still in full swing.

  Where were all these people coming from? Granted, there were trains arriving every day, but it wasn’t like there were all that many accommodations at the Grand Canyon. At least not decent accommodations that most of these wealthy people would consider using. She couldn’t imagine many would want to rent the tent cabins during the winter weather they’d been having. But the hotel had been completely full, and Mr. Owens said that reservations were booked for the next several weeks.

  The flood of customers in January might be a surprise to her, but at least she could enjoy the tips and know that there would be plenty to keep her busy. Not that she ever doubted that for even one day since joining the Harvey Girls.

  The guests at table one left, and she had an inkling that Mr. Watkins would be its next occupant. He’d been weary last night when he returned to the hotel, but as he ate a late dinner, they’d had several moments to talk.

  Refilling coffee and water for her guests, she admitted to herself that their conversation had been nice. Maybe he couldn’t be lumped into the same category as her father.

  A small cringe hit her stomach. It wasn’t good to think ill of the dead, no matter what he had turned into after her mother’s death. There were days she felt a measure of grief over the loss of them both. She had some lovely memories of when she was a child. Before the kidnapping.

  Mr. Cooper’s face flashed before her eyes as she returned the pitcher and carafe to the waitresses’ station. She blinked back the memory. She’d been fooled by that man and told him she hated him after they’d returned home. His chuckle and pat to her shoulder did nothing to win her over.

  When she’d stomped off to tell her father that she refused to go anywhere with Mr. Cooper ever again, Father told her that she would be spending all her time with Nanny Louise anyway and that he had much more pressing matters for Mr. Cooper to attend
to.

  In that moment, she’d known. Mr. Cooper being her driver for those weeks had all been part of their plan. And for that, she vowed never to forgive either one of them.

  The yeasty scent of fresh baked bread brought her attention back to the moment as Caroline carried a basket of rolls to the station.

  “You’re doing an excellent job, Caroline.”

  The younger girl’s smile lit up her face. “Oh, thank you, Miss Edwards. This is the best job I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m glad.” She returned the smile. “I feel the same way. I noticed on the schedule that you have Monday off. Do you have any plans?”

  “Other than resting my sad little feet? No.” Caroline giggled.

  Emma Grace filled a smaller basket with some of the bread for table two. She lifted her eyebrows. “Well, it won’t be resting your sad little feet, but how would you like to accompany me and a couple of others down Bright Angel Trail? I hear it’s quite incredible.”

  “Goodness, I don’t know.” The words were drawn out, and her face paled a bit. “I have a bit of a fear of heights. Do you think I could manage it?”

  “I think you can. And I’ll be right there beside you the whole time.” She sucked in her bottom lip. She didn’t want Caroline to feel pressure from her. That was the last thing she wanted. But rules were rules: Emma Grace wasn’t allowed to go down into the canyon unless one of the other girls went with her. “What do you say?”

  “Well . . . as long as you promise not to leave me by myself, I’ll do it.”

  “I promise.” She reached for a plate of butter.

  “Won’t it be colder down there?” Caroline picked up some silverware.

  “Actually, I’ve heard it’s warmer down in the canyon. Several people even said it almost feels like spring weather once the sun comes out and warms the path. But I would dress plenty warm, just in case. I need to bring this to my table, but thank you for agreeing to go. I’ve really been looking forward to trying the trail.” With brisk steps, she headed to table two, just in time to see Mr. Watkins being seated at his usual table.