by Keli Gwyn
She chuckled. Her brother had teased her ever since that day in the seventh grade when she’d challenged convention and gotten a whole class to change their minds about who could run for class president. Her folks had both said she would get herself in trouble with her crusading someday, but Lars was always proud of her for dreaming big and taking up causes others tried to ignore. What would he say about her signature quilt?
He closed with the plea to keep sending letters.
They’re what keep me going these days, Megsie. Don’t let on to the folks, because they don’t need the worry, but conditions here are horrible. We’re stuck in these trenches day after day, up to our knees in mud most of the time, and always and forever dreading the order to go “over the top” and into the path of enemy fire. I keep my gas mask with me all the time, and my rifle, but we all know that when it’s your time, you won’t have time to grab either one. Twice now I’ve been nearly buried alive when a mortar shell hit our trench. I’ve lost so many friends. Some days it’s all I can do to hang on. Pray for me, Megsie. And write often.
Love, Lars
She glanced up, blinking hard. Her poor brother. Mortar shells and mustard gas and mud. How she wished she could do more to help him and all the boys over there. Pouring coffee and sewing quilts seemed so feeble in the light of what they faced every day.
Natalie was lost in her own letter, so Meghan picked up her other piece of mail. Turning the card over, she frowned. No return address and no stamp. Hand delivered? Slowly, she stuck her fingernail under the flap and ran it along the edge.
A single sheet of plain white paper. Her gaze dropped to the signature, and her heart started bumping. She swallowed and raced through the lines.
Miss Thorson,
I apologize for any difficulty I might’ve caused you last Friday evening. Now that you know the regard in which I am held in this town, I am sure you want no further dealings with me. I wish you all the best with your project. You even inspired me, and I’m beyond inspiration these days.
Sincerely, Caleb McBride
She read the lines again, remembering his face in the moonlight, the stoic mask that fell over his features when Mrs. Gregory found them. And all the questions flooded back. Why hadn’t he enlisted? Was he really just out to make a profit off this war? Comparing Lars’s letter with all she’d heard said about Caleb set up quaking doubts. Perhaps Mrs. Gregory was right. And the head waitress wasn’t the only one who held such beliefs. The temperature of the party had gone down several notches when Caleb arrived at the dance.
And yet, Meghan couldn’t deny the pull of attraction she felt toward Caleb. Something about him drew her, and it wasn’t just his handsome features. There was something inside him, something wounded and sheltered and guarded that she longed to uncover, bring to the light, and heal.
She shook her head for being so fanciful. Lars would tease her about her penchant for helping lame dogs cross the road and taking up lost causes.
Natalie folded her letter and used her cuff to swipe at her eyes.
“Is everything all right at home?”
“Yes, thank the Lord. My mother-in-law is doing better. She’s starting to talk again, though slowly, and she’s learning to do more with her left hand. The doctor is sending his nurse every day still to bathe her and change the linens, but the money I send home is covering that expense with a little left over for them to buy food. The church is also helping out, bringing meals and supplies.”
“Any word from Derek?”
She nodded, and whether it was from the heat or something Derek had put into his letter, her cheeks pinked. “He’s fine. Misses us all. He says he can’t wait to come home and take a walk with me down by the creek. When we were first courting, we’d stand on the bridge and drop leaves into the water and make a wish, then hurry to the other side of the bridge to see which one came out first. A silly game, but so fun.” Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. “If we were together now on that bridge, neither of us would have to make a wish, because our most important wish would’ve already come true.”
Meghan tamped down the surprising envy that oozed out of some hidden place inside. What would it be like to have someone’s fondest wish be just to be with you? Unbidden, Caleb’s face rose to her mind. Stop being silly. He would never feel that way about you, and you shouldn’t feel that way about him.
Footsteps on the gravel path caught her attention. Jenny Ralston, skirts gripped in one hand and the other gripping her lace headband, ran toward them.
“Did you hear?” She flopped down onto the grass beside Meghan and Natalie, panting.
“Did we hear what, and you’d better not let Mrs. Gregory catch you sprawling on the grass in your uniform.” Meghan nudged her shoulder. “You should’ve heard the bawling out she gave Sarah Jane yesterday for having a coffee stain that was no bigger than a pin head on her apron. Imagine what she’d be like if she found a grass stain.”
“She won’t have time to notice, not with the news she just got.”
“It must be something to have you running in this heat.” Natalie tucked her letter back into its envelope and leaned back against a tree trunk, letting her eyes fall shut. A trickle of worry coasted down Meghan’s spine. Natalie looked paler and more drawn every day. She was still tired at night, and she didn’t eat enough.
“Natalie, what say we go back inside and sneak down to the cold store and cool off? It’s hot enough, I’m thinking of going wading in the fountain.”
“I’m not getting caught doing either. I need this job too much.” Natalie spoke without opening her eyes, her voice just above a murmur.
Though she’d only been playing, a prickle of guilt feathered across Meghan’s conscience. “I know, Nat, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize either of our jobs.”
Jenny grabbed Meghan’s arm. “Are you even listening to me? This is the biggest news to hit Needles since the railroad came to town. Mrs. Gregory just got word that a celebrity train will be coming through on a Red Cross appeal trip. And guess who will be on it?”
“Woodrow Wilson.” Meghan couldn’t resist teasing Jenny, though the words “celebrity train” sent her mind spinning and her heart racing.
“Better.” Jenny’s eyes grew round.
“Better than the president?”
“That’s right. The celebrity train will carry none other than Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford!” Jenny stacked her hands under her cheek, tilted her head, and batted her eyes. “Can you imagine? Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford, right here in little old Needles. And they’re dining at the hotel. Mrs. Gregory is about fit to be tied. She’s been such a grump since her son enlisted—not that she was exactly cozy before he left, but at least she was bearable—but when she got this news, she actually smiled. A real smile all the way up to her eyes and everything. I hardly recognized the old girl.”
Movie stars coming to the hotel. Meghan bit her lower lip. Her mother loved the cinema, and together, she and Meghan had cajoled Papa into taking them over to Rochester whenever a new Mary Pickford film came to the theater. And Charlie Chaplin? Maybe President Wilson and the Kaiser were more famous than Charlie Chaplin, but only maybe.
“When?”
“One week.” Jenny stood and smoothed her apron, checking for spots. “That’s why I came out here. Mrs. Gregory sent me to fetch you. No more time off until after the movie star train has come and gone. She says we’re really going to concentrate on the polishing.”
Meghan groaned. “We already do concentrate on the polishing. If I rub those coffee urns any harder, they’re going to wear right through.”
Jenny held out her hand and pulled Meghan to her feet. “C’mon. She’ll be out here in search of us in a minute.”
Meghan and Natalie hurried to their room to change, Meghan with alacrity, Natalie lethargic.
“If I wasn’t so excited, I’d gripe about missing our afternoon off.” Meghan threw her letters onto the dresser and reached for her uniform, but thoug
ht better of leaving Caleb’s note out in plain sight and tucked it into her top bureau drawer. She lifted her dress off the hanger and shook it out, studying it for flaws. “I hadn’t counted on having to wear this again today.”
Natalie moved slowly, putting away her letters. “I’d counted on a nap this afternoon. I’m so tired. This heat just saps the life out of me.”
“Sounds like no one will get any afternoon naps this week.”
The lunchroom, blessedly free of customers at the moment, was in a complete uproar. Harvey Girls bustled and chattered and laughed, and Meghan paused in the doorway. She hadn’t realized it, but she really loved her job here at the hotel. They were a team, a well-trained and organized team, serving shoulder-to-shoulder to serve customers and represent the company.
“Girls.” Mrs. Gregory clapped her hands, her signal for all work to cease and everyone to pay attention. Meghan had begun to hear those claps in her dreams. Skirts rustled and cutlery clanked as they hurried to gather around the head waitress.
“Girls, I’m sure you’ve all heard the news. Now, before you get all scatterbrained and giddy, let me assure you, I will not tolerate laxity, shirking, or silliness. You are professionals, and you will behave accordingly. Tonight, after the last train pulls out, we will start with the crown molding in both the dining room and the lunchroom and work our way down, cleaning every inch of every surface.”
Meghan joined in the groan that rippled through the group. As if they didn’t clean and polish nearly every waking minute already.
“I know.” Mrs. Gregory made damping motions with her hands. “However, there will be a reward at the end. I will be watching each of you this coming week. The Harvey Girl who works the hardest, does the best job serving customers, keeping her station clean, and acts as the best possible representative of the company, will be given the honor of serving our distinguished guests when they arrive. Every girl, even the lunchroom staff, will be considered when I make my decision.”
Meghan’s mind fizzed and popped. A glimmer of hope that perhaps, if she worked hard enough, she could actually meet Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin, rose in her chest. And perhaps in the doing, she’d get off Mrs. Gregory’s naughty list. They hadn’t gotten off to a great start together, and since being found strolling in the moonlight with Caleb McBride, Meghan had the feeling Mrs. Gregory had been looking for any reason to fire Meghan and send her packing.
This was her chance. And she wasn’t going to waste it. Her confidence in her abilities as a waitress had grown since that first day, and though Mrs. Gregory still found reasons to criticize, Meghan knew she was good at her job. Perhaps good enough to be moved to the dining room. Perhaps good enough to serve Mr. Chaplin and Miss Pickford.
Tiredness fell away, and she dove into the work. She had seven days until the train arrived. Seven days to prepare and prove herself.
The housekeeping staff, the kitchen crew, the busboys, and the groundskeepers joined in the task. Mr. Stock and Mrs. Gregory conferred often, compared notes, and critiqued. Meghan plastered a smile on her face, spoke only pleasant words, and worked until she could barely move.
One of her assigned chores was to remove the glass globes from the light fixtures and hand them down to Natalie who took each one while also holding onto the ladder for Meghan.
“Don’t you dare drop one of these. That would be the end. Can you imagine the tizzy Mrs. Gregory would be in if one of the light bulbs was left bare?” She passed a frosted shade down while studying the whorls and twists of brass that made up the fixture itself. “There, that’s the last. Now I just need the polish and a rag, and I’ll have these lights shining like the King’s scepter in no time.”
The ladder wobbled, and Meghan clutched the top. “Whoa. Natalie?”
Natalie had abandoned her post of ladder-steadier and leaned against the lunch counter, pressing her hand to her forehead. Hurrying down as fast as prudence dictated, Meghan joined her friend.
“What is it? Are you ill?”
Keeping her eyes closed, Natalie took deep breaths. Her pulse jumped in her throat, and a faint sheen of perspiration clustered at her hairline. At last she opened her eyes and swallowed. “Sorry.”
“What happened? Do you need to sit down?” Meghan tried to guide her to a lunch counter stool.
“I’m fine.” Natalie resisted gently. “It was just a dizzy spell. The heat and working so hard got to me, and I imagine craning my neck gave me a spot of vertigo.”
Her face was still the color of fresh milk, and her hand trembled as she smoothed her hair.
“Are you sure? Maybe you should take a break.”
“No. I’m better now.” She lifted the box of globes. “I’ll just get these to soaking in hot water, and I’ll be back.”
“Let me take them.” Meghan reached for the box, but Natalie swung it away.
“Nonsense. I’m fine. You have polishing to do.” She disappeared into the dish room, setting the doors flopping in her wake.
Frowning, Meghan picked up the bottle of brass polish and the cleaning rag and ascended the ladder. The high ceilings of the hotel, helpful in keeping things cool, meant she had quite a climb, especially with no one holding the ladder. And in order to reach the highest points of the light fixture, she would have to stand on the next to last rung.
With a few wobbles, she finally got settled. The pungent smell of the polish wrinkled her nose, but she ignored it and began on the many nooks and crannies. Her arms, raised above her head as they were, began to ache, and a knot formed between her shoulder blades, but she refused to slow down. This very morning, Mrs. Gregory had praised the way she’d dusted and polished the ceiling fans. Meghan had every intention of garnering praise once more for her work on the lights. Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled from her temples.
Shifting her balance carefully, she tilted the bottle of polish again onto a clean spot on the rag. Below her, Jenny and Sarah Jane attacked the swivel chairs bolted to the floor. Their scrub brushes swished, and not a particle of dust or dirt remained in their wake, not even around the bolt heads. The boots and shoes of hundreds of customers had kicked the stool supports and rested on the rails, but Mrs. Gregory insisted that the seating areas must be as perfect as when they were first installed.
Meghan hummed the popular tune “There’s A Long, Long Trail A Winding.” As she scrubbed, the humming became singing.
Nights are growing very lonely,
Days are very long;
I’m a-growing weary only
List’ning for your song.
Old remembrances are thronging
Thru my memory.
Till it seems the world is full of dreams
Just to call you back to me.
By the time she reached the chorus, she realized she wasn’t singing alone any longer. Jenny and Sarah Jane had joined in, as well as Natalie, now holding the ladder once more.
There’s a long, long trail a-winding
Into the land of my dreams,
Where the nightingales are singing
And a white moon beams:
There’s a long, long night of waiting
Until my dreams all come true;
Till the day when I’ll be going down
That long, long trail with you.
Natalie brushed a tear from her cheek and her lips trembled in a smile. Meghan’s heart swelled to think of how happy Natalie would be when Derek came home from the war, safe and sound.
All night long I hear you calling,
Calling sweet and low;
Seem to hear your footsteps falling,
Ev’rywhere I go.
Tho’ the road between us stretches
Many a weary mile.
I forget that you’re not with me yet,
When I think I see you smile.
They finished with the chorus once more, and when they’d done so, applause from the kitchen and lobby doorways had them laughing. The hotel and kitchen staff grinned and waved, lots of w
hite hats and aprons in evidence. One laundress clapped around a huge armload of bed sheets, her cheeks red and her hair straggling out of her mobcap. A couple of the busboys whistled and stomped before Mr. Stock, smothering a smile, sent them on their way back to work.
Meghan finished wiping the last brass curlicue and crevice and made her way down the ladder. The singing had somehow brought them all together, made them forget how tired they were, and lightened the burdens, if only for a moment. Natalie squeezed Meghan’s arm.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Meghan capped the polish and wrapped the rag around the bottle.
“For just being you. I think we all benefitted from the singing. It was fun.”
“Miss Thorson.”
The prunes-and-persimmons tones of Mrs. Gregory’s voice pierced the camaraderie.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You have the brass polish. The counter rails are not going to polish themselves. I expect them to be finished today.”
All the fun went out of the room, and once more heads bent and scrub brushes scratched.
“Yes, ma’am.” Though she wanted to stalk over to the head waitress and poke her cheek to see if she was even human, or at the least roll her eyes and sigh, Meghan refrained. If she wanted to be chosen, she couldn’t afford to give in to impulses. The restraint nearly killed her.
