“Introduce yourselves,” Mary ordered.
Wayne wasn’t surprised when the redhead went first. “I’m Constance Gibson. I’m here to work the summer. I have six years of experience with the company.”
The brunettes spoke at the same time. “I’m Sar—”
“I’m Mab—”
They looked at each other and laughed. Finally, one said, “I’m Sarah Jane Miller. This is my sister Mabel. We’re from Oklahoma. Our family owns a farm there, and we’re hoping to help out a bit by sending money home.”
The blond didn’t step forward like the other three. She had changed from her elaborate gray traveling dress into a frilly pink dress—one completely inappropriate for the canyon or any type of labor.
Constance nudged her.
“I’m Olivia Prescott from Prescott, Kansas.”
“Ohhh,” came a low murmur from an employee Wayne couldn’t distinguish.
“Ah, my father, er”—she glanced at the twins—“My family is having some hard times, and I need work.”
“You mean your father ran out and left his employees without jobs or paychecks.”
“Michelle!” Mary O’Dell looked daggers at one of the waitresses—the same one who’d said, “Ohhh,” earlier. “Come with me.”
“That’s not true,” Olivia’s soft voice raised, and Wayne, for the first time, thought she might have some spunk after all. “My father is missing. His bookkeeper stole all the money. That’s why the factory closed down.”
“Your father’s missing?” Constance asked. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Watching as Mary marched a hostile Michelle out of the room, Wayne felt sorry for both of them, but especially Olivia. What were the chances of stepping off a train hundreds of miles from home and finding that bad luck had preceded you?
“Wayne? Wayne Gregory?”
Every head turned to stare at the man standing just a few tables away.
A few years ago Robert Thatcher had been a clerk at Conn and Williams. Robert had been a friend of the Conns, hired by family connections and later fired by their orders by Wayne. He’d never figured out what the young man had done to deserve his partners’ wrath, but he’d written a nice reference and arranged for a job interview at a nearby factory. Thatcher hadn’t appreciated either effort.
“Wayne Gregory.” Thatcher nodded, clearly liking that he had everyone’s attention. “When did you get out of Auburn Prison?”
Twenty-one pairs of eyes switched from Thatcher to Wayne. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s my turn to introduce myself. “I’m Wayne Gregory, from New York City. I hired on with the Harvey organization five months ago, just two days after I was released from prison. I served two years and four days for embezzlement. My term was actually longer, but the men who were really guilty of the crime were apprehended and confessed. I received a full pardon from the governor.”
“Whom did you embezzle?” someone asked.
“I didn’t embezzle; my partners did.”
At first Wayne thought Constance had aired the question, but judging from the way the girls and Niles were staring at Olivia, it must have been her.
“Were you a bookkeeper?” she asked.
“No, a lawyer.”
The expression on Olivia’s face turned from curiosity to speculation.
Before the jury of waitresses started asking personal questions, Wayne decided it was time to move on. “Dinah, would you please show Mr. Thatcher to a table?”
Later, in the small room Niles used as an office, Wayne watched as one of the girls cleared Thatcher’s plate. The man was talking a mile a minute and waving his coffee cup around—apparently not noticing the amount of spillage.
“I’m impressed with how you handled that outburst,” Niles said.
“Truthfully, I’m glad Thatcher arrived when he did. I wasn’t going to mention my prison term, but not sharing the information felt underhanded. Puts me in mind of Matthew 10:26: ‘Fear them not therefore: for there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known.’ Almost since the Harvey Company hired me on, I’ve wondered whether to make my past known, and now that I have, I’m not afraid. It’s like a burden has been lifted.”
Niles glanced at his watch and handed a stack of papers to Wayne. “These girls have some interesting pasts. Take a moment to get acquainted with your staff, then we’ll get ready for the lunch hour.”
There were fourteen waitresses in all. The one with the longest employment was Mary O’Dell, whom Niles had identified as the head waitress. She was a widow with ten years of experience. Constance Gibson, who’d impressed him both on the train and during introductions, was a six-year employee. She was a floater more than anything else and couldn’t really call any Harvey House her home. Dinah Weston, whose face Wayne couldn’t recall, had been with the Harvey Company five years. Her record was spotless.
He finished looking over thirteen files. He’d purposely left number fourteen, Olivia Prescott’s, for last. She intrigued him. Why didn’t she like bookkeepers, and why did his being a lawyer—an ex-lawyer—affect her so? Her file was a bit thicker than the others. Along with the sheet documenting her personal information, he perused what he called the Harvey Girl report card. Olivia’s evaluation was quite dismal. He opened an envelope and found newspaper clippings and a personal note from the head waitress who’d trained Olivia.
Dear Sir:
No doubt you’ve looked over Olivia Prescott’s evaluation and are wondering why she was allowed to proceed in the Harvey establishment. I believe that if given opportunity, Olivia can be an asset. She is meticulous and knowledgeable. The local customers took a shine to her in a very short time. This is why I encouraged management to send her to the El Tovar. I believe the slower pace will allow her to find her place in the Harvey establishment.
Please give her every opportunity.
Sincerely,
Ruth Owens
A prima donna. He should have guessed from the way she dressed. Best he send her back from where she came before she caused any more trouble. He fingered Olivia’s file—on the job for just a few hours and already a thorn in his side. She admitted to having family problems. Well, he had family problems, too. He needed to get Esther away from his in-laws before they spoiled her as thoroughly as they’d spoiled her mother.
Wayne closed his eyes. He could almost see Analise, smell Analise. If he were thankful about any aspect of his jail time, it was that Analise had died well before his sentencing. She probably would have wound up in jail herself for protesting. He pushed the thought of his wife away. It still hurt too much.
Yes, he certainly understood family problems.
“Mr. Gregory?” A Harvey Girl stood at the door. He recognized her as the one who’d diverted the discussion away from embezzlement and onto his daughter.
“Yes, and you are?”
“I’m Dinah Weston.”
Ah, his third most experienced Harvey Girl. He remembered her from this morning. She’d stood out because she was the lone female of average looks. Her mouth was a little too big, as were her teeth. Maybe in a different scenario her homeliness wouldn’t be so obvious, but here, with thirteen other waitresses who looked as if they belonged on the cover of one of his wife’s ladies magazines, she was a lone wolf.
Except for her eyes. Those equaled Olivia’s. And they were just as sad. He tossed down Olivia’s folder. She was taking up too much of his time and thoughts.
“Yes, Miss Weston, do you need something?”
“I’m waiting on your acquaintance Mr. Thatcher.”
Wayne kept his face impassive, although he wanted to grimace. “And?”
“He claims that you’ll be taking care of his luncheon bill. I thought I’d better check with you first.”
Chapter 3
This is not going to work!” Michelle Harrison stood in the middle of the dormitory bedroom and glared at Olivia.
“I agree.” Olivia felt her face flame as she rea
lized that not only her acquaintances from the train were witnessing her discomfort but also Mr. Niles.
“Ladies, one of the prerequisites of being a Harvey Girl is the ability to work in harmony with others.” Mary O’Dell might have been talking to herself for all the attention Michelle gave. Her glare never wavered.
“I didn’t know, when I unpacked, that this was your room.” Olivia sat on the bed she’d claimed only this afternoon.
“There are no empty rooms,” Mary said. “And it’s not fair to change room assignments simply because you two cannot get along. You haven’t even tried.”
“Oh, we’ve tried. I’ve known Her Highness since first grade. Her father cheated my father. We lost everything!” Michelle’s face turned a splotchy red.
“My father is missing. He’s as much a victim as—”
“Your father’s a thief!” Michelle insisted.
Olivia closed her eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to be happy and secure. She and Michelle had been in the same class during school. They’d shared desks, books, and a love for chocolate. They’d been best friends. But sometime after sixth grade, when it became apparent that Olivia would be going off to high school and Michelle would be going to work at the factory, their friendship had changed—ended.
“Miss O’Dell, Olivia can share a room with us,” Mabel said. “We’re used to sharing a bedroom with our little sister. Olivia probably doesn’t snore like she does.”
Mr. Niles looked disgusted with the whole scene. Olivia half-expected him to fire her. Instead, he said, “Pack your things, Olivia. You may move into Mary’s room.”
“Head waitresses are not supposed to share,” Michelle muttered.
“Head waitresses can do whatever they want,” Mary said curtly, looking curiously at Mr. Niles. He nodded and left.
Olivia pulled her trunk from under the bed. “I’m so sorry. This is not how I wanted to begin. Michelle, I assure you—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I will do three to a room,” Olivia offered.
“Nonsense. It’s only for a few months,” Mary said. “Once the busy season ends, we’ll reassess the roommate situation.”
Constance, Sarah Jane, and Mabel all pitched in, and soon the girls were carrying Olivia’s belongings to Mary’s room. The head waitress hurried ahead and moved a half-completed dress from what would be Olivia’s bed.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to own a dress like this.”
“But when we did quilting bees back home,” Mabel said, “the ladies always put her on a corner. Later they pulled out her stitches.”
“Did not!”
“Did!”
To Olivia’s surprise, instead of squaring off, both girls burst into peels of laughter. Constance joined in, and even Mary forced a smile.
“I wish my sister and I got along like you two do,” Constance said.
“We’re twins,” Mabel explained. “Mama says we have a special bond.”
Sitting on her newly acquired bed, Olivia listened to the spirited banter and perused the room. Located at the end of the dormitory, it was directly across the road from the El Tovar and was twice the size of the other waitresses’ rooms.
Mary wasn’t just bunking in her room; nesting was a better word. The wooden walls were adorned with photos. Most were scenic views of different locations. There were a few Harvey group pictures. Mary had also put up her own curtains, white and frilly, now fluttering in a warm breeze that couldn’t be equaled in Olivia’s Kansas. A phonograph occupied one corner. A stack of records, more than Olivia had ever seen before, sat on a small table.
“I need to get back to work.” Mary looked at Olivia, who had just started to unpack. “I hope your other clothes are a bit more serviceable. You’ll find the canyon a pretty rough-and-tumble place.”
“These are all of my clothes,” she whispered. She’d owned a closetful just two months ago. She’d sold all but her gray traveling suit and two dresses. All to pay for the lawyer fees Mr. Ennis charged after she turned down his marriage proposal.
“Then I suggest you use your first paycheck to buy a simpler wardrobe. If you want to fit in with the girls …” Her words trailed off, and she walked away.
“I know!” Sarah Jane practically jumped up and down. “I’ll trade you one of my everyday dresses for one of yours. We’re about the same size.”
Mabel’s mouth opened, and it seemed to take her a moment to gather her thoughts. “That’s not fair. I want—”
“I have more than one dress to trade,” Olivia offered. In a blink, all three girls were out of the room.
Mabel, Sarah Jane, and Constance skidded back into the room, each clutching a dress and waiting expectantly with this-is-Christmas expressions on their faces. Olivia obediently handed over her dresses and without hesitating took off the one she wore.
A few minutes later, Mabel, Sarah Jane, and Constance were preening in what they considered high fashion. Olivia felt almost matronly as she watched them prance up and down the hall pretending to be waiting for handsome men and on their way to the social event of the century.
Had she ever felt so flamboyant in one of her dresses?
No, she’d taken them for granted.
The dresses she’d traded were not her best, yet these three women acted as though she’d given them gold. The dresses that now hung in her own closet were … She searched for a suitable word: sturdy. Two were dirt brown, and the other was the same severe dark blue that Mrs. Baudouin favored. They were a bit heavier and coarser than Olivia liked, but they all fit, although Constance’s would need to be hemmed. She reached out tentatively and fingered a patched sleeve. Oh, she wanted her old life back. She wanted Papa and Mrs. Baudouin to take care of her. She’d know not to take things for granted now.
“We’re changing back into our regular clothes,” Sarah Jane called from her room two doors down. “Then we’re going exploring. Get ready, Olivia!”
She’d been standing in her underclothes, too amazed by the turn of events to even be embarrassed. Slowly she pulled a dress off its hanger. Which twin this dress had belonged to, she couldn’t say. A moment later, looking in the mirror, Olivia tried to smile. She felt as drab as she looked.
“Are you ready?” Mabel asked, stepping into the room. “Sarah Jane takes forever.” She glanced around the room. “I’ve never seen so many records. She must spend all her earnings on them.”
Constance joined them. “Mary O’Dell is well-known among the Harvey Girls. She used to be married to a banker. When he died, she didn’t have the money to keep her home. The phonograph is the only thing Mary kept. It’s her prized possession.”
“Must be difficult to keep moving it.”
“Are you coming?” Sarah Jane yelled from her room.
Grabbing her hat and gloves, Olivia followed her friends out the door. They skirted the restaurant’s front porch and hurried to a group of people admiring the most marvelous view Olivia had ever seen. The walls of the canyon jutted out in various formations, reminding Olivia of stair steps, which changed from white to brown with rust and tan interspersed. A mule and rider traveled along what looked to be a tiny trail.
“The Colorado River has to be somewhere down there,” Sarah Jane whispered.
Olivia understood the whisper. The canyon demanded reverence.
“My, my,” Constance breathed. “No wonder all the girls want to transfer here.”
Olivia’s papa had always claimed that the best view was in one’s own backyard. If he were here, she could tell him he was wrong. But if he were here, she wouldn’t tell him he was wrong; she’d tell him she loved him.
“This is nothing like our farm,” Sarah Jane said.
“Our farm’s beautiful,” Mabel defended. “It’s just a bit flat.”
“My hometown is flat, too,” Olivia said.
“Did your father really own a factory?” Sarah Jane asked.
Constance put
a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Maybe this isn’t the best time.”
If she didn’t tell the girls what had happened, they’d hear only Michelle’s side, so she swallowed hard and said, “There never will be a best time. My father did own a factory. He employed most of the town. And Michelle is telling the truth; her family is owed a last paycheck. Nobody seems to know where Papa is. He disappeared.”
“I wondered why you didn’t share your life history on the train like the rest of us,” Mabel said. “What did you do?”
“I wasn’t even home when all this happened. I was in Europe. My whole world collapsed while I was away, and I didn’t even know it.”
“That had to be rough,” Mabel said. “We never had to worry about Ma and Pa. They never go anywhere. I don’t think Ma’s even been outside of our hometown. One of us is supposed to write every night without fail, or she’s sending Pa after us.”
“Europe,” Sarah Jane repeated. “You really were rich. Did you get to go to high school?”
“Yes, and I was set on going to college.”
“Is that why you’re here? So you can earn enough money to finish school?”
“No,” Olivia said. She felt flustered because she was about to share an idea that hadn’t been shared with anyone—not Mr. Ennis, not Mrs. Baudouin. She’d been too afraid they’d laugh.
“I’m going to save my money and hire a private detective to find my father.”
Nobody laughed. Instead, together, they strolled down the walkway in silence for a few minutes. Olivia took a breath. This moment, at the Grand Canyon, certainly felt right: taking in the sights, watching the people, and feeling a part of something, well, permanent.
“What did you do when you got home and found out about your father and the factory?” Constance asked.
“The housekeeper and I packed what we could and sold most of it, and then I joined the Harvey establishment. Like I said, I intend to hire a detective and that costs money.”
The girls nodded. Olivia’s from-riches-to-rags descent seemed to somewhat erase the barrier that her travels to Europe and education might have imposed.
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 9