Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  Think of Mary Pickford. Think of Charlie Chaplin. Think of anything except grabbing Jenny’s scrub bucket and anointing Mrs. Gregory with its contents.

  Gathering her skirts and apron so she wouldn’t be kneeling on them, she began at the far corner. Three horseshoe-shaped lunch counters, each one possessing a continuous brass footrail for customers to rest their shoes on. Over a hundred feet of brass rail and brackets to polish. She raised her head like a gopher above the countertop to check the clock over the kitchen door. Only an hour until the next train arrived. She’d have to break off the polishing and make sure the light fixtures were reassembled. No way would she get the rails done today, not with two more trains expected and all her regular work to do as well.

  Mrs. Gregory’s foot tapped on the tiles. “Miss Thorson, is there a problem?”

  Meghan returned to rubbing, jettisoning the idea of being finished before lights-out tonight. “No, ma’am. I’ll get it done.”

  “See that you do.”

  By the eve of the celebrity train arrival, Meghan’s muscles ached and her patience had worn paper thin. Mrs. Gregory drove everyone hard, but it seemed to her—and Natalie when consulted—that she was especially hard on Meghan.

  Barely holding on to her determination not to complain, Meghan worked longer hours, did more tasks, and served more customers than any other Harvey Girl in the hotel. She rose extra early each morning to press her uniform and all her aprons in case she needed to make a hasty change during the day. She even pressed Natalie’s, giving her roommate a little more time to sleep. Though it didn’t seem to do much good. Natalie looked paler and tighter-drawn every day.

  When the last train pulled out that night and the finishing touches had been put on every work station, Mrs. Gregory called all the girls together.

  Meghan met Jenny’s eyes and smiled, blowing a wisp of hair off her forehead. They’d done it. Not a thing remained on the list on the head waitress’s ubiquitous clipboard. Both the lunchroom and dining room smelled of soap and polish, and every surface, from the woodwork to the marble to the brass and silver shone as if it had just come out of the box. Jenny shrugged and bit her lower lip. They’d all worked hard. Now it was up to Mrs. Gregory to choose who would have the honor of serving their special guests.

  “You’ve all done amazing work this week. You are to be commended. I know some of what I asked you to do seemed unreasonable and overly picky, but you’ve all responded well. I couldn’t be happier with the results.”

  Meghan gripped her hands together until they ached. Surely, after all her work, she would be chosen. No one had stayed later than she, arrived earlier, done more.

  “Now to the awarding of the positions.” Mrs. Gregory consulted the clipboard she had clasped before her. “Serving the drinks is Miss Ralston.”

  A quiver went through Meghan. Jenny beamed, her smile lighting up her face. Barbara threw her arm around her much shorter roommate and squeezed her shoulders, a broad grin making her glasses slide on her nose.

  “And the waitress for the main table will be…”

  Meghan held her breath.

  “Miss Daviot.”

  Disappointment crashed through Meghan’s chest, and her heart took an elevator to her heels. Natalie? Girls congratulated Natalie while Meghan stood rooted to the spot. Shaking herself, she smiled and hugged her roommate and friend. She was happy for her. She was! But it would be silly to deny being sad for herself.

  Mrs. Gregory read the list of girls who would also be working in the dining room. “You six, plus Miss Ralston and Miss Daviot, are the best of the best. There will be nearly one hundred guests on the Red Cross train, and sixty-five of those will be eating in the formal dining room. The overflow will be dining in the lunchroom. You should all get your rest tonight. I expect everything to go smoothly tomorrow and for each girl to do her job as she has been trained.” She sent a pointed look at several of the girls who hadn’t been chosen, and that piercing gaze rested longest on Meghan.

  Meghan’s chin came up. So, she hadn’t been chosen. Fine. She’d show Mrs. Gregory she’d made a mistake. Meghan’s customers would be the best served, most contented, most taken care of customers the El Garces Lunchroom had ever seen. Natalie and Jenny might be serving cinema royalty, but Meghan’s customers would be treated better than royalty. She smiled politely to Mrs. Gregory, as if the decision to leave her off the dining room serving roster met with Meghan’s complete approval.

  Once back in their room, Natalie tried to apologize. “I wish it was you, Meghan. You deserved it. You worked the hardest, and everyone knows it.”

  Meghan hung up her dress and slipped into her housecoat. She shrugged and began unpinning her hair. “We all worked hard, and Mrs. Gregory had the final choosing. It’s all right.”

  “But it isn’t fair.”

  “If there’s one thing this war and Mrs. Gregory are teaching me, it’s that life isn’t fair.”

  “You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”

  “Am I? I’m disappointed, but it isn’t the end of the world. I keep reminding myself that others have it far worse than I do.” Meghan smiled at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Mocking green eyes stared back at her, rueful, a bit embarrassed. Though she tried to brush it off as no big deal, she knew better, and inside, her heart was bruised. She’d made no bones about how much she wanted to be chosen to serve the movie stars. And she hadn’t made it. Hadn’t made Mrs. Gregory’s cut. Now everyone knew that in spite of her best efforts, she hadn’t been good enough. And Mrs. Gregory’s choice had little to do with Meghan’s work over the past week. From the first, the head waitress had been biased against her, and all because of Caleb McBride. Caleb, who had taken Mrs. Gregory at her word and steered clear of the hotel since the night of the dance. Three weeks, and Meghan hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of him.

  And yet he’d occupied her thoughts. How often she’d thought of him while scrubbing and polishing this week. His memory had the power to make her forget the celebrity train. The look on his face when Mrs. Gregory had accused him of being a draft-dodging coward seared her mind, and she knew she should forget about him, but when she was falling asleep, in that blessed twilight between wakefulness and slumber, another memory dominated her thoughts. Caleb McBride, his face so close to hers she imagined she could see her reflection in his eyes, his lips hovering over hers a breath away.

  She set her hairbrush down and turned away from the now dreamy-eyed girl in the mirror. Get a hold of yourself, you ninny. He’s brought you nothing but trouble, and he’s shirking his military duty. Quit mooning about him and pull yourself together. “I’m happy for you, Natalie. I really am. You’re going to do a wonderful job, and just imagine what you’ll have to tell Derek when he comes home.”

  Natalie sank into the rocker and put her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I only hope he can forgive me for lying to him.”

  Chapter 8

  C aleb climbed out of his truck in front of the Feed and Seed and used his sleeve to wipe the dust off the hood ornament. With the roads so sandy and gritty out here, keeping the automobile clean was impossible, but he couldn’t resist buffing the silver radiator cap shaped like a running horse. He’d poured over a catalog for a week trying to make up his mind whether to get the ornament or not, finally deciding to purchase it after squaring it with his conscience to give the equivalent amount in the offering plate the next week.

  Joshua joined him, hands jammed in his pockets. “You want to load the feed first?”

  “Sure are a lot of people in town.” Wagons and motorcars lined the street, and peering through the window of the feed store, he spied quite a crowd at the counter. Not wanting to face all those disapproving eyes, he turned and studied the substantial bulk of the El Garces three blocks up the street. Hard to miss, since it was by far the largest building in Needles. That and the fact that his thoughts had strayed there again and again all week, in spite of the finality he’d tried to in
clude in his note to Meghan. “We’ll head over to Doc’s first and then come back to the feed store.” He started across the street.

  “Wonder what everyone’s doing in town on a Friday. Most folks wait till Saturday.” Joshua sidestepped a group of teenage boys who laughed and shoved each other. He didn’t move fast enough, and one of them knocked into him.

  “Dirty Indian. Go back to the reservation.”

  Joshua tensed, his hands fisting. His face turned to stone except for his eyes which glowed hot. The town boys formed a half-circle with Joshua at the center.

  Caleb stepped up onto the sidewalk once more. “Maybe you boys should move along.”

  “Maybe you should mind your own business, coward. You’re too scared to fight the Huns, you’d best not mess with the likes of us.” A cocky youngster threw out his chest, raised his fists, and danced, throwing a few playful jabs that just missed Caleb’s chin. His compatriots laughed, egging him on.

  “Go ahead. Smack his mug, Pierce. Show him what this town thinks of cowards.”

  “We should tar and feather him. Him and his dirty Indian friend.”

  “Enough.” Caleb kept his voice even, but he sidled closer to Joshua so he could keep all of the young thugs in view. “You’ve had your fun, now move along. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Trouble? We haven’t even started yet.” The leader, Pierce, reared back to spit, his mouth twisting and his lips puckering. At the same time, he tried one more jab, this time aiming for Joshua.

  Like a snake striking, Caleb grabbed the boy’s fist and twisted his arm up and behind his back. “I said that’s enough. Now, you and your friends back off and leave us be. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time, and I have better things to do than teach you all a lesson in manners.”

  The boys, eyes wide, backed up a step. Giving Pierce a push, Caleb sent him toward his friends. “Now get.”

  The boys slunk away, but regrouped half a block up the street and turned back to jeer. The smallest boy made a rude gesture before they took flight, running toward the hotel.

  “Jerks. Punk wood for brains.” Joshua stared after them, his muscles taut.

  “Forget about it. Let’s go over to Doc’s.”

  Caleb started up the street, aware that several folks had witnessed the confrontation and were eying him unfavorably. You’d think he would be used to it by now, but it still stung. And with each new war report from the front, animosity and fear grew. Every time the list of casualties for the county was printed, his neighbors’ eyes got harder, their lips thinner, their tolerance shorter. What had started out as dislike had begun to feel a lot like outright hatred.

  They reached Doc’s and Joshua stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “Why do we have to come here? I’m not sick, and you aren’t sick. Are you?”

  “No, I’m not sick. I just have to see the doc for a minute.”

  “I’ll wait out here. Don’t know why I had to come to town today anyway.”

  “Stop your griping. You’ve met Doc before. He doesn’t care if you’re Indian, Chinese, or ancient Babylonian. It’s too hot to hang around out here.”

  Caleb knew pricking Joshua’s pride was the quickest way to get him to do what Caleb wanted. Often it was the only way.

  Doc greeted him with a smile, looking over his half-moon glasses and setting aside the magazine he’d been reading. “I hoped you’d come to town today. Saved me a trip out to your place. Your order arrived yesterday.”

  His glance went past Caleb. “You brought reinforcements today, eh?”

  Joshua stood by the door shifting his weight, his hand on the knob.

  “Doc, you remember Joshua Hualga. He’s working for me this summer.”

  “Ah, of course. I hardly recognize you. You’ve grown some since I last saw you.” He came forward and held out his hand. “Come in, come in.”

  Joshua released the doorknob and eased his hand forward. “Sir.”

  “Caleb, why don’t you head into the examination room, and Joshua, let me get you some cake. One of the neighbor ladies dropped it off, and there’s no way I can eat it all by myself. And we’ll get you some milk. You look as if you could use some to put some meat on those bones.”

  Caleb smiled at the wary look on Joshua’s face and jerked his head to tell the boy to go with Doc. No sense fighting it. Doc was kind of like a flash flood. Barreling downstream and not much you could do to stop it.

  Wiping his hands on a towel, Doc joined Caleb in the exam room. He opened a corner cupboard and withdrew a box. “Here, try these on.”

  Caleb sat on the ladder-back chair next to the doc’s desk and tugged off his tattered boot. “Sure hope they fit. This pair has had it.”

  “That boy, Joshua, he’s kind of prickly. Doesn’t look much like his father, does he? Cairook’s a big, broad man. Joshua could pass for a streetlamp.”

  Grunting, Caleb nodded. “He’s skinny, but he’s a hard worker. Surprised his back isn’t bowed with the size of the chip he’s carrying on his shoulder.”

  “Oh, really? Remind you of anyone?” Doc cocked a gray eyebrow, and his moustache twitched.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Caleb shrugged and rolled his eyes, unable to stop a smile at Doc’s ribbing. He opened the box and withdrew the butter-soft leather boots. Rusty-brown, calf-high, they had the look of cavalry-issue footgear.

  “Put on the right one first. Then we’ll deal with the left. The manufacturer sent me some insoles so we can customize them further.” Doc reached into the box and pulled out some leather of varying thicknesses while Caleb slid his right foot into the new boot and stamped it on. Perfect.

  “Feels good. Hope we don’t need to do too much to the other one. Joshua can eat you out of house and home faster than a swarm of locust.”

  “He can have all the cake he wants. I’m not much of a fan of fruitcake, and Mrs. Bennington brought a whopper. Payment for a bottle of cough syrup.”

  “Guess you do a lot of barter these days, eh?” Searching the inside of the left boot, Caleb felt the rigid staves along the sides of the upper as well as the thick back wall. His stomach muscles tightened, and his palms slicked with sweat. Please let these work, Lord.

  His arrow prayer surprised him a bit. Lately, he’d been working up quite a bout of frustration against God, and prayer wasn’t on the top of his to-do list. Oh, he went through the motions, attending church, praying before meals and before bedtime, but he knew his heart wasn’t in it. He and God had a few things to work out between them, but not until he was ready.

  Working his mangled leg into the boot hurt, but he refused to stop until he’d pushed his toes all the way to the bottom. Snug, firm, and molded to every buckle and bend of his foot. He stood, keeping his weight on his right foot, gradually shifting so his left took more.

  “How’s it feel?”

  He took a few steps. The upper gripped the back of his calf, supporting it and giving him some added stability. “Nice.” Better than his last pair had been, even brand-new.

  “Does it pinch anywhere?” Doc went through several checks, and when he was satisfied, he sat back, smiling. “It’s not as good as a brace would be, but better than nothing.”

  “Thanks, Doc. These will be just fine. How much do I owe you?”

  “The bill’s in my office. Why don’t you join Joshua in the kitchen and have some cake while I fetch it?”

  Caleb found Joshua at the table reading. The boy looked up with a start, his hand around his milk glass and the other holding open the pages of a book.

  “Any cake left?”

  Doc entered, holding an envelope. Joshua quickly closed the book and pushed it away a few inches, leaning back with a bored expression. But Caleb knew better. Joshua, in the six weeks or so that he’d been living with Caleb, had blown through every book Caleb had in the house and had read several of them over again.

  Doc hadn’t missed it either. “Are you interested in medicine?” He picked up the book and turned it to look at t
he spine.

  Joshua shrugged. “Interested in a lot of things. Not that it will do me much good.”

  “And why not?”

  The boy rubbed his skin. “Don’t you see this?”

  “A fine example of healthy, human epidermis.”

  “It’s Indian skin, and nobody can see past it. Doesn’t matter if I’m interested in medicine and science. Doesn’t matter that I was tops in my class at the mission school. Any college would take one look at me and send me packing. No way I’d get into a medical school.”

  The yearning in Joshua’s voice caught Caleb’s attention. It was the first time he could recall Joshua mentioning any specific desire he had beyond getting out from under the authority of his father and away from the reservation.

  Doc poured himself some milk from the glass bottle. “Not with an attitude like that, I assure you.”

  “This attitude comes from years of experience, Doc. Ask Caleb. I can’t even walk down the street here without running into some bucket-head who wants to remind me how low in the pecking order I am in this town.”

  “What you do is up to you, not someone else. If you want to be a doctor, you’re the only one standing in your way. Don’t use the color of your skin as your excuse not to try.”

  “Tell that to the marines.” But the yearning in his voice and the spark of hope in his eyes belied his words. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  Doc pushed the book toward him. “Start here. Read it, study it, and when you’re done, come get another one. If after a summer of learning medical terminology, anatomy and physiology, therapeutics, and diagnoses you still want a career in medicine, we’ll see what to do next.”

  Joshua took the book, cradling it against his lean stomach, a determined tilt to his chin.

  “Hey, Doc.” Caleb took a slice of fruitcake. “Why’re so many people in town today?”

  “Don’t you know? There’s a movie star train due to pull into the station”—Doc slid his watch from his vest pocket—“in just under an hour.”

  “Movie star? Like who?”