Etta flushed, as if admonished by a teacher. “I meant no offense, ma'am. I am certain that, even in the loneliest parts of the country, your company operates respectable and efficient places. It is only that I am city bred. Used to the uproar of the horse cars and paper hawkers that ran by our dry-goods shop. It is difficult to imagine myself surrounded by the prairie's silence.”
Loretta Kelley leaned forward. “You need not pretend with me, child. The attorney for our Wabash region, Mr. Bledsoe, is an old classmate of your good counselor Larabee. He has entrusted me with your full story. Therefore I know your true name and recent history, and I offer my condolences. I can readily imagine that your imminent departure for parts west is something of a shock to you, but your great friend wished it this way. Knowing you to be of a strong and independent nature, he worried that you might refuse to come here had you known your true destination. And so this small deception about Chicago was devised.”
Mrs. Kelley rose from her desk and gently entwined Lorinda's hands in hers.
“I said yesterday that I hoped you all would think of me as your mother, but I know that, for you, no such good woman has ever been present. I also know of the degree of danger that looms for you. The men who seek you have ears at every wall, and—believe me—the gangs of Chicago with whom they are surely affiliated are far more cutthroat than any to be found along the Delaware River. Although the kind of work in which you are about to engage is far different from any you have ever known, a young woman of your education and breeding can be a positive asset, not only to your employer but most certainly to the other girls as well. I realize you are frightened, but trust me when I say that just as your background sets you apart from them, your fear also provides you much in common.”
Mrs. Kelley released Lorinda's hands from hers and reclaimed her chair. Across the room she could see the girl's beautiful head stiffen in resolve, or perhaps defiance; although she adjudged herself to be an expert reader of young women, there was no hint in those green eyes as to which emotion claimed dominance. Or perhaps, she thought, I have misinterpreted this one altogether.
“Have you a pen, please?” she asked.
Mrs. Kelley dipped the nib of a long glass quill into the purple ink she kept for these signings—and these signings only. A harmless affectation, she had always thought, a unique color to remind the central office that these were “Kelley's girls,” unique even among the fine specimens deemed good enough for such an enlightened concern.
Lowering her eyes, the woman who would be known as Etta Place signed the contract, gently gripping the clear cut-crystal pen.
It felt in her hand like an icicle.
n 1898, the town of Grand Junction, Colorado, was officially sixteen years old in a state that wasn't much older. It stood like a small interruption at the foot of the Little Bookcliffs, whose rocky terra-cotta walls reach to the summits of rugged mesas. Only a few years before, the buildings had been plank wood, hastily constructed and makeshift, built in a fever to establish the practical and mercantile. Just a year prior to its birth, Grand Junction, with Washington's aid, had given permanent walking papers to the Utes, banishing them forever to reservations elsewhere in the state and far west into Utah. Thus were the miners and farmers left undisturbed to carve a new life from the virgin land without fear of being carved up themselves by the ax of the Indian.
The railroad that provided service to this growing outpost was far less luxurious than the Pennsylvania. There would be no bed for Etta over the four days that it took for the El Capitan to wend its way from Chicago to the Grand Valley. Like the other women under contract to the company, Etta's ticket reserved only a parlor-car seat. When fatigue seized her aching muscles, she would console herself with the spectacular scenery flashing across the train's windows: the vast long grass of the Missouri prairies and the shorter paler plains of Kansas. Through her sleep-worn eyes she tried to imagine what they might have been like when black with buffalo, beasts now mythical for having been slaughtered.
She took solace, too, in the courage and good humor of the other girls. Some were born performers, singing or telling stories bawdy enough to make most of the car blush. Others were more serene, listening or nodding or obeying the call for a song, happy to be included in anything that might approximate a family. These last were usually also the ones who watched over the shy or terrified among them, comforting the girls who cried whenever another would mention a father or perhaps a sweetheart. Etta had assigned herself this role although she knew that her manner of speech might quickly mark her as fancy or high-toned and thus less of a support to her sisters, so she consoled the sad ones not with words but with touch, caressing the hands of the grieving, cradling the heads of the homesick.
Still, this leg of the journey held a pleasant surprise. To Etta's great relief, it came from the kitchen.
The El Capitan was a train of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe railroad and as such had contracted with the Fred Harvey Company to operate its food service. There would be no hog swill aboard a Sante Fe train! Instead, breakfasters would awaken to fresh eggs fried in butter and biscuits baked aboard. Luncheon might consist of a fresh tomato, hollowed out to admit a mixture of meats and cheeses. Dinner took advantage of the West's bounty of beefsteaks, with huge tender slabs offered up beside roasted potatoes and stewed collards. Broiled capons rested gingerly on beds of pure white rice. Apple and peach pies were rich with fruit and lard and fragrant with allspice. If this was the caliber of fare on the railroad, with its small kitchen cars and tiny staff, what then must await her at her final destination? Even in her anxiety, Etta was comforted by the thought that at least if she had to earn her own bread, it would not be stale. And if she had to serve food to earn her keep, at least it would be fare she could serve with pride.
By the fourth day of travel, however, no amount of cinammon or sage could disguise the odor arising from the women, not to speak of the men. As the train traveled on, it picked up scores of rough fellows seeking fortunes in the new mines and mills and who boarded the cars already reeking. As for the Harvey employees, the sweet scent of the Luxor had long deserted even the most dainty of them, let alone those who were used to waiting a week or even a month between baths. Etta and some of the others devised whatever methods of toilette they could. Some used daily applications of soap and water. Others relied solely on perfume, although this was frowned upon by Mrs. Kelley. Cologne, she said, when applied to an already redolent body, was enough to sicken the sensitive.
For diversion, Etta read one of the volumes she had managed to rescue from her father's library. Thompsons New Compact Encyclopaedia of the Horse seemed the perfect traveling companion. By day it was thorough enough to provide fresh knowledge of her favorite subject; by night, boring enough to help induce sleep in her uncomfortable chair. But afternoon or evening, try as she might, Etta could not concentrate on fetlocks or hooves or the proper proportions of hay to oats. Ever since spying the ornate double barrel of the derringer, she had spent much of her time in observing Laura Bullion.
During their short cohabitation and on the journey since, Laura had spoken little and then in an odd and choppy manner. Somehow, she had learned to economize on her sentences, as though she were saving words for a day when they would be scarce. For example, the article the had disappeared from her speech, as had the personal I. One morning when she and Etta sat down to breakfast, Laura Bullion indicated the butter with a slight smile and said, “Looks good. Toast, Pretty? Jam?” It took Lorinda a long moment to make the translation. She had meant, Doesn't breakfast look good! Would you pass the the toast and marmalade, please? For one so laconic, it had also struck Etta as odd that, although her erstwhile roommate had never bothered to ask her given name, she had assigned her the sobriquet “Pretty.”
At first, Etta had been worried that Laura Bullion might be a female agent sent to punish her for her father's bad dealings. But there had been too many opportunities to kill or maim her in Chicago, the easiest of whic
h would have occurred as she slept in their shared room. And then there was Laura's inexplicable habit of staying close to Etta in all situations. By the time they reached their destination, Etta realized that the dark girl had managed to sit by her side all the way from Chicago, making sure they took all their meals together, even though each one was ultimately consumed in silence.
Once they reached Grand Junction it was much the same. Laura Bullion had been just behind Etta when the girls queued up for their first baths; she had secured a bed next to hers in the dormitory that occupied the entire floor above the restaurant; she had received her uniform just before Etta was issued hers and sat to either her right or left through all their training classes.
Her reticence did not deter Etta from attempts at conversation. “Such a beautiful day today Miss Bullion,” she would suggest. “One would certainly wish to be in that lovely field yonder with a handful of those spring poppies.” Her reward might be a half smile or a nod of the head and the reply “Yeah. Nice, Pretty.” Sometimes it would only be the smile. Sometimes only the nod.
Before long, however, Etta and the other young women would have little to concentrate upon but work. The new Harvey House, Grand Junction, Colorado, was gearing up for its maiden meals. Every woman had to learn the company's precise technique, its famous “system.” Day after day the core principles of the concern would be drilled into them: posture, cleanliness, friendliness without fraternization, a clean apron, a clean apron, and, again, a clean apron. A Harvey Girl was a handpicked angel, expert in a scientific method that allowed a full-course meal to be served to the traveler in less than thirty minutes while his or her train picked up passengers and mail and took on water. A woman who worked for Harvey was not merely a waitress and was never to be referred to as such. She was a Harvey Girl, a spotless symbol of all that was sanitary and civilized, even here in the wilderness: the American ideal laden down with steak and eggs.
2
PINKERTON'S NATIONAL DETECTIVE AGENCY
Founded by Allan Pinkerton, 1850
“We Never Sleep”
ROBERT A. PINKERTON, New York
WILLIAM A. PINKERTON, Chicago
Representatives of the American
Bankers Association
$4,000 REWARD
internal memorandum. confidential.
do not remove from files
November 1, 1898, about 2:30 P.M., MONTPELIER CATTLEMEN'S AND MERCHANTS BANK, Montpelier, Montana, was “held up” by highwaymen who took tellers and patrons hostage and opened the main safe by the use of dynamite.
After robbing the establishment, the bandits mounted horses and rode away. No patrons or bank staff were injured.
SUSPECTS IN THIS ROBBERY
Description of GEORGE PARKER
NAME: GEORGE PARKER, alias “BUTCH” CASSIDY, alias GEORGE CASSIDY, alias INGERFIELD
AGE: 30 years HEIGHT: 5 ft, 9 inches
WEIGHT: 165 lbs BUILD: medium
COMPLEXION: light COLOR OF HAIR: flaxen
EYES: blue MUSTACHE: sandy, if any
NATIONALITY: American OCCUPATION: cowboy, rustler
CRIMINAL OCCUPATION: Bank robber and highwayman, train robber, cattle and horse thief.
MARKS: Two cut scars back of head, small scar under left eye, small brown mole on calf of leg.
“BUTCH” CASSIDY is known as a criminal principally in Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Colorado and Nevada and has served time in Wyoming State penitentiary at Laramie for grand larceny, but was pardoned January 19, 1896.
Description of HARRY LONGBAUGH
NAME: HARRY LONGBAUGH, alias LONGABAUGH, alias “KID”
LONGBAUGH, alias “SUNDANCE KID,” alias HARRY ALONZO, etc.
AGE: 30 to 35 years HEIGHT: 5 ft, 11 inches
WEIGHT: 165 to 170 lbs BUILD: rather slim
COMPLEXION: light COLOR OF HAIR: black
EYES: black MUSTACHE: if any, black
NATIONALITY: American OCCUPATION: cowboy, rustler
CRIMINAL OCCUPATION: Bank robber and highwayman, train robber, cattle and horse thief.
MARKS: Black birthmark over lip above mustache, right side of face.
HARRY LONGBAUGH served 18 months in jail at Sundance, Cook Co, Wyoming, for horse stealing. In December 1892, LONGBAUGH, Bill Madden, and Harry Bass “held up” Great Northern train at Malta, Montana. Bass and Madden were tried for this crime and sentenced to 10 to 14 years respectively; Longbaugh escaped and has since been a fugitive. June 28, 1897, under the name of Frank Jones, Longbaugh participated with HARVEY LOGAN (alias “KID” LOGAN, alias “KID” CURRY), Tom Day and Walter Putney in a Belle Fourche, S.D. bank robbery.
All were arrested but Longbaugh and Logan escaped from jail at Deadwood, Oct 31, 1897 and have not since been found.
LETTER TO JOSIAH LONGBAUGH
12 State St., Phoenixville, Pa.
10 November 1899
Dear Father,
There is no further need to worry about your captured lamb as I am broke out and have hit the highway. In no time flat I will be safe among my fellows where John Law and his brothers will never find me in a thousand years. Ha-ha! Only trouble I have these nights is to keep warm in this South Dakota territory, but I am used to such hardships and will survive well. There is plenty to hunt, and as I managed to borrow a rifle from my jailer (and six-gun as well), I have had no problem arranging feasts for myself. South Dakota and Wyoming have the biggest hares you have ever seen, and they are fine for eating.
You will also be glad to know that I am not alone in the wilderness. Harvey Logan—we call him Curry here—is with me just as in Belle Fourche. He is not always the best company and I have spoken him down harshly over the bloody beating he gave the turnkey before we left town. He did not really need to do it. But Logan said the man had mistreated him by telling him just before bedtime that he would soon do a rope dance. God help him. Cruel is his way, but maybe it is good for any group of no-goods to have at least one man with no conscience. Butch and me have him.
I hope I am not too much of a disappointment to you after these fourteen years. But when we lost the farm to the bank I just couldn't take watching Mother grow thinner and thinner and her hair fall out in patches. I figured a boy of sixteen ought be able to care for himself, and when the cousins left for Durango I counted it my best chance. I have so far killed no man and robbed only those richer than their fair share. And me and Butch have made a pact that we will give something to the poor people when we can, so that maybe we can help balance the money scales. And though it may be achieved by the goods of a thief, at least now I can afford to help a woman or a child that's been made sad and beaten down.
As soon as I get to where I am going I will send some money to you, if you will accept it. And I promise you that when I do return someday it will be as a man of property. And then no bank nor no one else will never take a farm nor a mother nor nothing else from a Longbaugh again.
Please wait for word of me. Where I am going there are only caves and tents and no mail cars. Give my love to my brothers and read over Mother's grave for me, as I am afraid that the prayers I say come from too far away for her to hear.
My best to you and for your health, Father.
Affectionately, your son,
Harry Longbaugh
n the months she had been in Grand Junction, Etta had learned all the nuances of Harvey service: how to greet the diners as they emerged from the trains hot and dusty in summer, freezing and sooty in winter; how to make them comfortable in their chairs, and how to make sure they didn't take too much time choosing their dinners. After all, the trains stopped for only half an hour, and in that time she was expected to serve a four-course meal, complete with cake or compote.
As it had with every aspect of its business, the Harvey system (or “the Company,” as it was called by those in its employ) had reduced every detail of food and service to a nearly exact science. There was, for example, a code for every beverage. If the waitress placed the cup right-side up in i
ts saucer, it meant the patron had ordered coffee; upside down was the signal for hot tea; upside down but tilted by the saucer meant iced tea, and upside down to the side of the saucer meant milk. Once these table-side signals were established, a drink girl would appear as if by magic and fill each astonished diner's cup with the correct requested liquid. It was only one of many tricks the company used to save time and increase efficiency; if a girl had a good memory, her day could be made considerably easier by it. During the past months, Etta had seen all the women with bad recall unceremoniously dispatched back to their homes, farms, orphanages, or pimps.
For those who remained, the Harvey life may have afforded toil with dignity but it was far from ideal. Because the restaurant served all trains, no matter what their schedule, it was usual for a woman to awaken at two in the morning to rendezvous with hungry passengers debarking the 2:27 from Indianapolis. And even at such an hour, the Harvey Girl was required to greet all comers with a smile and the utmost courtesy. Never mind that most of the customers were allowed to be as cranky and sleepy as they desired and thus were more prone than usual to bark orders or snap fingers.
But the most difficult part for Etta had been the uniform, a set of garments often described as “a cross between a nurse and a nun.” It consisted of a black ankle-length long-sleeved dress with a wraparound skirt and a black ribbon knotted below the white collar in the manner of a man's bow tie. This was combined with black hose, black shoes, and a strarched white apron that stretched from collarbone to hem and hung exactly four inches from the floor. No more was allowed and certainly no less. Reflecting Fred Harvey's seeming obsession with the sanitary, the dresses were washed and ironed after every shift and any apron despoiled by so much as a dollop of gravy or a speck of chutney was quickly exchanged for one stiff and spotless. Etta found the outfit rigid, unforgiving, and far more suited to a woman less well endowed than herself.
Etta: A Novel Page 4
