by Jane Peart
“Oh yes, sure.”
“Good night, then.”
She had turned away to leave when his voice halted her.
“Darcy, remember—things usually look better in the morning.”
She smiled in the darkness, a smile he could not see but which was in her voice when she responded, “Another of your grandmother’s sayings?”
There was a soft chuckle. “Could be. I know I’ve heard it most of my life.”
“So have I. I hope it’s true. Well, good night again.”
“Good night, Darcy.”
TWENTY-ONE
Inside the restaurant Darcy hesitated. It was late. She might disturb Mrs. Ediston if she returned to her adjoining hotel room. It wouldn’t hurt if she slept in her old dormitory room for one night. Quietly she went up the steps. When she reached the upstairs hallway, she moved silently down the corridor to the room she had shared for so many months with Clemmie. For a moment she paused in front of the closed door before reaching out and turning the knob and opening it.
The minute she opened it, she stopped. She glanced around the room. To her total surprise the patchwork quilt and Indian doll were back on Clemmie’s bed, and in the corner Clemmie was seated on a chair, unlacing her shoes.
Clemmie was back and acting as if their quarrel had never happened.
“Whoosh! What a night! My feet are killing me! How about you?” Clemmie asked casually.
Cautiously Darcy entered the room. Was Clemmie still angry, resentful? Had she finally forgiven her? “Clemmie, you’re back! I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Called back. Emergency.” Clemmie winked. “Only the best waitresses wanted for this shindig. That’s me and you, I expect,” she said with a cocky little shake of her head.
“Are you going to stay overnight?”
“I guess so. Truth is, I’ve missed being here.” She hesitated, then said shyly, “Missed you too.”
“And I missed you. Terribly.”
Clemmie placed her shoes neatly together, then said, “Look, I’m sorry I took off in such a tiff. Once I got away, I realized you couldn’t help what that woman, Clara Bingham, wrote.” Clemmie paused. “If you want to know, my folks weren’t all that happy about me coming out here to be a Harvey Girl. They put up a fuss, really, but I came anyway—” Clemmie paused again. “How could you tell such a whopper to your folks? And get away with it?”
Darcy sat down on her bed opposite Clemmie.
“Actually, I didn’t get away with it.” She sighed. “It’s all come out now. Or will in a few days. Probably as soon as Grady gets back to Willowdale.”
“You told him off but good.” Clemmie blushed. “I overheard you. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but hear.” She made a comic face. “You two weren’t exactly whispering. You called in his cards, all right. I was bursting with pride when you told him how much folks around here think of the Harvey Girls. And to think we had our pictures taken with all the Rough Riders—a lot of them are mayors and county commissioners and stuff! And Teddy Roosevelt himself might have been there. If he had shown up, just imagine what our grandchildren would think of us having our photos taken alongside the president of the United States.”
Darcy had to laugh. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? We aren’t even married.”
“Well, who’s to say we won’t be, and soon?” Clemmie put on a mysterious air.
“You’ve met someone,” accused Darcy.
“You might say that.” Clemmie preened. “A really nice fellow and a rancher. We’ve been going out and, well, it’s pretty serious. I still have the rest of my year’s contract to work. Then we’ll make plans.” She got all pink and her eyes danced. “What about you? That Ted Shepherd been back?”
It was Darcy’s turn. She told Clemmie about Ted, how nice he was, her attraction to him. It was like old times, the two of them confiding in each other.
The next day, after Clemmie left on the train to return to her job at the Albuquerque Harvey House, Darcy knocked at the door of Mrs. Ediston’s suite. In all honesty, Darcy felt she had to tell her employer everything, about how ashamed she was that she had lied and how sorry she was about everything that had happened as a result. It was an interview she shrank from, knowing Mrs. Ediston was the soul of integrity herself and expected high ideals of everyone. Darcy wasn’t sure whether, when Mrs. Ediston knew the truth, she would still want her as a companion.
When she told her story, Mrs. Ediston listened attentively, then said, “All this just shows me how much you’ve grown since this”—she smiled—“charade began. Your values and your attitude toward work and others. I believe it’s a worthwhile experience, no matter how painful it’s been for you.”Then Mrs. Ediston echoed what Ted had said. “We all make mistakes. Some are worse than others. You’ve only really hurt yourself. You may have misrepresented yourself to people to whom you should have told the truth.
“Now you can right that wrong,” Mrs. Ediston paused. “Forgive yourself, Darcy. The Lord certainly has to forgive all of us a lot of things. I know from living in Washington all these years that people think what they want, believe what they want, make a great many false assumptions. Pride is the besetting sin among politicians. They want to look good to the public. If we hadn’t come out here and I hadn’t seen for myself what the Harvey Girls are like, I might have thought it was a menial job, too. You’re afraid your family will be ashamed that you had taken such a job. But let me show you this.” Mrs. Ediston reached for the pile of mail beside her chair and drew out a copy of the Ladies’ Home Gazette. She held it up to Darcy.“I’m sure this looks familiar to you? It is one of the most popular and widely read periodicals back east. Maybe your mother and aunts subscribe to and read it as well?”
Darcy nodded.
“This is a letter to the editor from a newspaper columnist in Emporia, in response to Clara Bingham’s article.” Mrs. Ediston slipped on her reading glasses and read it aloud.
Dear Sir,
I must add my accolades to the laudatory article published in your worthy journal about the Harvey Girls. From my personal experience and in my opinion, they are a welcome sight to tired travelers, a treat to their eyes, refreshment to their weary spirits, relief from their hunger and thirst when they alight from the train at any of the stations which are lucky enough to boast a Harvey House restaurant and hotel.
Physically attractive in appearance, cheerful in disposition, poised in demeanor, gracious in service, courteous in manner, Harvey Girls in fact have all the qualities one could wish for in a friend, a companion, a spouse. The latter is perhaps the reason why there are always places to be filled in the Harvey system, as their elite ranks are constantly diminished by attrition to matrimony. But the standards for applicants are so high, it is my understanding that only one out of every ten who apply are selected for this exclusive group of young women.
I would be proud to count any of my young female relatives among this highly sought after position.
Mrs. Ediston finished reading, then glanced up at Darcy and smiled. “So you see, your young man should think twice before he rejects the idea of your change in profession.”
“He’s not my ‘young man’ anymore,” Darcy said. “We’ve both changed too much. He was right when he accused me of not being the girl he’d fallen in love with—I’m not. I’m better, I hope. And I’m still trying to grow as a person. Something he couldn’t possibly understand.”
Mrs. Ediston closed the magazine and put it aside.
“Well, I’m both sorry and glad to hear that, Darcy. Sorry because it’s always sad to outgrow someone we’ve cherished. But, it gives me the freedom to say that another young man is very much interested in getting to know you better.” She paused. “Ted Shepherd. Roger and I have become very fond of him, and we admire him a lot.”
Darcy felt her face warm. She felt it was too soon to say anything about her own feelings.
Dar
cy finally mailed her letter home. She felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted. She’d had the confrontation she’d dreaded with Grady, made up with Clemmie, confessed to both Ted Shepherd and Elizabeth Ediston. Now she felt a glorious sense of freedom. Free to be her new self, free to live her new life, free to perhaps have a new love.
TWENTY-TWO
SEPTEMBER 1904
Their house nearing completion, the Edistons returned to Washington and to their official duties. They would return after the first of January, when the senator’s term was over, and move to Arizona permanently.
Ted was staying on to oversee the finishing of the house’s interior. Darcy returned to her job as a Harvey Girl.
The letters from Darcy’s family came one by one. She dreaded opening them. She could almost have predicted the contents of each one.
From Aunt Maude, written in her bold, slanted script pressed so strongly into the stationery that she must have broken several pen nibs in writing it:
I am shocked, shocked beyond words, that a niece of mine would be capable of such duplicity…
It went on in this vein for several pages, ending with a foreboding final paragraph.
I have not yet found the temerity to bring this information to your Uncle Henry. I shudder to think what he will say when he learns the full story of what you have done since you left home…
From Auntie Sadie:
My Dear Little Girl,
Although you are hardly that anymore and must be treated as the woman you have surely become. To think that you acted with such courage in the face of such dire circumstances brings me to abject admiration. So far from home, with your plans totally shattered, you acted bravely to take the job offered to you. Even though it was the kind of position for which nothing before in your life had prepared you. I tried to explain this to your poor mama and Maude, but Maude felt sorry for Grady and couldn’t think of much else. I have to hand it to him. He didn’t say anything at all about you quarreling. Just that you looked very well and were happy in your work. He left it to your promise that you were going to write and explain everything. Which you did. Henry of course sided with Grady; men just don’t like the idea of being jilted. Hurts their pride. Now don’t you worry, dear girl. Your mama will come around, left alone without anyone (and I’m talking about sister Maude, for one!) fueling the flames. Again, you know how small towns are. As soon as this bone is passed around and chewed upon, something else will soon take its place. Remember, your old auntie is proud of you. I know it took a lot of gumption to do what you did, and I don’t blame you one bit.
With love, Auntie Sadie
The last one she opened was from her mother.
Dear Daughter,
Everyone thinks I’m nursing a migraine brought on by your letter. Nothing of the kind. But I did need some time to think things through. First of all, I agree with you that Grady is not the man for you, even though I don’t agree with the way you handled it. But who knows what is the best way? You may be surprised that I thank God you two haven’t gone through with the wedding.
I look back and think I made a mistake in moving back here after your father died. I let others influence my way of thinking, and maybe let them take over some of my responsibilities as your mother. Maude and Henry are fine people, don’t misunderstand me, but they look at things one way. They regarded Grady as a good match for you and didn’t understand that you didn’t want to live the same kind of life in which you’d been brought up. So everyone has something they’re sorry about and need to be forgiven for.
I’m sorry you felt you had to lie to us. But I understand why you did. We live in a tight little world back here in Willowdale and probably care too much what other people think and say about us.
Sadie gave me her copy of the Ladies’ Home Gazette, marking the complimentary letter from that journalist in Kansas who wrote such high praise of the Harvey Girls.
I’ve never been a reader of the Gazette, like Sadie has been all these years, following the romantic serials and all, but I looked over the whole issue this time and came to the conclusion that it is a fine periodical. So I’m ending this letter with something I saw printed in the personal section of the classified ads: “Come home, dear child, all is forgiven.”
Ever your loving Mother
Darcy read the letter through twice. She had never suspected that her mother was so understanding or had such a sense of humor.
“Come home, all is forgiven” indeed!
TWENTY-THREE
OCTOBER 1904
Darcy’s one-year contract with the Harvey House system was over, and she made plans to go home. She had fences to mend, bridges to rebuild, hurt feelings to soothe, breaches of trust to heal, understanding and forgiveness to seek.
She was ready to do it now. A few months ago she wouldn’t have been. She had a new source of strength, a new confidence, a new faith.
When she went to tell Miss Cannon good-bye, the head waitress said, “Well, I hope you’ll be back and renew your contract. We don’t like to lose one of our best Harvey Girls.”
Darcy felt pleased. A year ago she might not have considered that a compliment. She had not even been sure she wanted the job. A lot had happened in a year, a lot had changed. Mostly Darcy had changed.
The day before she left for Willowdale, she and Ted took a horseback ride into the desert. It was late afternoon, and the sun’s last golden gleams were a blend of pinks, blues, and purples.
The sculptured, arrow-shaped mountains rising into the sky were silhouetted against the red-gold glory of the sunset. They halted their horses to watch. A blaze of glorious color spread across the sky; then gradually the colors faded into twilight.
Night descended quickly in the desert after the drama of the sunset. As they rode back toward town, the sky darkened into a deep-blue canopy studded with stars. The night air was still and clear. The only sound was the whisper of wind.
Even though they deliberately slowed their horses, they soon arrived back at the hotel. The day was over. Their last ride together for who knew how long. Darcy felt an unnamed sadness. She did not know when she could return to Arizona. Or even if she would.
Ted got down from his horse, came around to help Darcy dismount. As she slipped out of her saddle, his hands went around her waist. For a minute they stood there, inches apart. Very aware of him, she drew back.
In a husky voice Ted asked, “What time does your train leave tomorrow?”
She told him, and then he said, “There might not be time tomorrow, or there might be other people around, so…” He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small, narrow box. “I’ll give this to you now. Open it after you get on the train.”
He leaned forward, lifted her chin in one hand, and kissed her lightly. It was a sweet, very tender kiss. When it ended, he started to say something else, then evidently changed his mind and just said, “Good-bye and God bless, Darcy.”
As she walked slowly back into the hotel, Darcy wondered why Ted hadn’t asked her if she was coming back. Everyone else had. Didn’t he care? Or did he care too much to want an uncertain answer? But then, her own feelings were unsure. She had a growing excitement about going home. For the first time in this strange, eventful year, she admitted to herself how much she had missed her family, her friends, Willowdale. She was also curious about the outcome of the sheriff’s election.
The next day Arizona’s fall weather was at its most beautiful—warm, sunny, blue sky, air like crystal. It all made it harder for Darcy to leave. She realized how much she had come to love Arizona.
Just as the train whistle blew its warning and Darcy was ready to board, Ted came running down the station platform. He reached her, out of breath.
“I had to see you off. I forgot to tell you something last night.”
“What? What did you forget to tell me?”Darcy’s heart suddenly raced.
“I forgot”—Ted swallowed—“forgot to say how much, how very much, I am going to miss you,�
�� he finished lamely.
Darcy was sure that wasn’t what he’d forgotten to say. He seemed to be having second thoughts about what he wanted to tell her.
“All aboard, folks,” the conductor announced and held out his hand to assist Darcy up into the coach.
All she had time to say was, “Thank you, Ted.”
“Have a good trip!” Ted called. “And vaya con Dios!”
Darcy mounted the train steps, then hurried to find her seat so she could wave to Ted from the window. She pressed her face against the glass, looking back as the train moved down the track, gaining speed as it rounded the curve. Soon the adobe-brick station house and the tall figure on the platform waving his wide-brimmed hat were lost from sight.
After a few minutes Darcy remembered the little package Ted had given her and opened it. Inside was a beautifully crafted silver cross imbedded with turquoise stones, made by a Navajo artisan.
She clasped the chain around her neck, touching the pendant cross with caressing fingers. What a lovely gift Ted had chosen for her. She had come to cherish their friendship. She might have hoped for something more, something deeper. But maybe she wasn’t ready for that yet.
As the train rattled across the prairie, carrying her back to Willowdale, Darcy thought back over the past year. Little had she dreamed, when she started her journey, how much she would change. She realized now that all the things she had thought were happenstance in her life were part of God’s plan. The chance meeting with Bertie, becoming a Harvey Girl, her friendship with Clemmie, and the important night she had gone to church with her.
Two days later as the train pulled into the Willowdale station, Darcy peered out the window, scanning the platform, looking for the relatives who would be there to meet her. She spotted Auntie Sadie in one of her flowered hats; next to her was her mother, holding a bouquet of flowers; standing a little apart was Aunt Maude, looking stern but also excited. Even Uncle Henry was waiting there, looking dignified but, Darcy hoped, not judgmental. What he thought about her deception, she could only guess. He had not written as the other members of the Beehive had. Had he forgiven her for breaking her engagement to Grady and supposedly breaking his heart? He had certainly disapproved of her traipsing all over the country by herself and taking a job so far away. He was a gentleman of the old school. He firmly believed that a woman’s place was in the home, under the roof of either her family or her husband.