by Keli Gwyn
“Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford, if the posters at the El Garces and over at Claypool’s are to be believed. They’re gathering money for the Red Cross from San Francisco to New York. Lots of bigwigs on the train and folks flocking to each stop. I thought I might go myself.” He flicked a glance at Caleb. “I thought that might be why you’d come to town today. Surprised you didn’t know about it. Folks have talked of little else for the past week.”
“I haven’t been to town for a while.”
“Since the hotel dance? Didn’t I see you there, and in the company of a certain titian-haired maiden?”
Caleb refused to be pushed off-center, but it was a fight. Doc saw way too much. Joshua looked up from his book, his dark eyebrows climbing. Caleb remained still.
Doc drained his glass and wiped his moustache. “Tell you what, how about we all head over there? I’ve a hankering to see me a genuine, for-real, in-the-flesh movie star.” He put a funny drawl in his voice and winked at Joshua. “Don’t you want to see one, Joshua?”
So Caleb found himself on the platform at the El Garces with several hundred of Needles’s finest, watching for the eastbound train. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from every porch rail, and streamers floated in the lazy breeze. Caleb remained on the edge of the crowd, glad that everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere. Maybe he and Joshua could get a peek at the movie stars and get out of the throng unnoticed.
Behind him, the doors to the lunchroom stood open, and from his position, he had a good view of the interior. Half a dozen Harvey Girls bustled behind the counters, disappearing through the kitchen doorways, setting the doors to flopping. Sidling a few feet closer and craning his neck, he spied Meghan filling a coffeepot. Nearly every stool was full, and she didn’t see him, being focused on her customers.
His heart started the familiar crazy bumping it always did when she was near, and he tugged his hat down lower on his brow, turning away and leaning against the wall, taking the weight off his left foot and feigning boredom. Joshua joined him. Doc had disappeared into the crowd.
“What do you think they’re like?” Joshua held the medical book tight to his chest behind his crossed arms.
“Just like us, I guess. Probably better dressed though.”
“I’ve never been to a movie before. Seen the posters out front of the theater, but never been inside. Have you?”
“Couple of times.”
“What’s it like?”
Caleb shrugged. “Depends on who they have playing the piano. There’s a piano down front and someone plays music to go along with the film. First time I went, the piano was so out of tune it sounded like a bloated cow, and the player must’ve been deaf, because he just kept banging away. Next time was much better. Music was good and sounded like it fit the picture.”
A ripple went through the crowd and someone yelled, “Here she comes!”
Hissing, clanking, rocking, the eastbound chugged down the track, belching smoke and steam. Bunting hung from every roof edge and rail, mirroring the decking-out the hotel had received. As the train slowed to a stop so that the last car was opposite the main hotel doors, the crowd surged forward.
A small, dark-haired man emerged onto the railed platform smiling broadly and waving to the crowd. A cheer went up.
“Is that him?” Joshua had to shout to be heard.
“I guess so. I thought he’d be taller.”
Charlie Chaplin himself. The little man turned back to the door and held out his hand. A woman emerged, her shoulders draped in a fox stole. Furs in this heat? She must’ve felt it too, for she let the fur slip from her shoulders and tossed it playfully back through the door into the car. The crowd cheered and clapped.
“Guess that’s Mary Pickford.”
“She’s pretty.”
Caleb shrugged. Pretty enough, he supposed, but nowhere near as beautiful as a certain waitress had been with the moonlight on her skin and the fire of her cause in her eyes.
The crowd swelled as the patrons of the lunchroom and dining room came out onto the sidewalk.
“Might be a good time to get some chow.” Joshua straightened. “I don’t care much for speeches from people I don’t know.”
Caleb checked around the corner. Not a customer remained in the lunchroom. One of the passengers must’ve had the same idea as Joshua about beating the crowd, because he climbed down from the train about midway up the line, skirted the throng, and walked to the lunchroom doors.
He was greeted by Mr. Stock, the guy in charge of the hotel. They held a quiet conversation as if Mr. Stock knew the man. Stock practically tugged his forelock and bowed as they spoke. The hotel manager’s eyebrows rose at something the passenger said, and he gestured to the dining room, but when the man said something and shook his head, Stock nodded and stepped back so the man could go into the lunchroom.
“Let’s get in and get out before the speechifying is done and the whole town moves in.” Joshua nudged Caleb’s arm.
This is a mistake. Why is it you vow never to come back to this place, and yet, you’re always here?
At the doorway to the lunchroom, Mr. Stock stopped them. “Mr. McBride, you may go in, but I have to insist the boy stay outside.”
Joshua gave a low figures-everywhere-I-go-people-treat-me-the-same-way grunt and hunched his shoulders.
Caleb went cold inside in spite of the heat. “Excuse me? Why would you want him to stay outside? He won’t welsh on the meal. I’m paying his tab.”
Mr. Stock’s nose twitched like a rat’s. “I’m sorry, sir. Hotel policy. Especially in light of the distinguished guests we have dining with us today.”
“What hotel policy?” He knew what Mr. Stock was driving at, but he wanted to hear the man say it.
The skinny manager’s Adam’s apple lurched, and he dug a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow.
“Really, Mr. McBride, now is not the time or the place. Can’t you see we have important guests today? I would rather not discuss hotel admittance policies at this time.”
“I bet you don’t, but I need to hear it, just so we’re clear. I wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”
Lowering his voice along with his eyebrows, Mr. Stock leaned close to Caleb. “It is against the policies of the El Garces to allow Indians into the public areas.”
“Since when?” Caleb raised his voice, not caring who heard. “The whole interior is decorated from top to bottom in Indian designs. You invite members of the Mohave tribe to stand out on the sidewalk all dressed up in their Indian finery and hawk their wares to the tourists and travelers, but you won’t let them inside to eat at the lunch counter?”
The man who had left the train and entered the lunchroom ahead of them showed up at Mr. Stock’s shoulder while the hotelier made damping motions with his hand and looked back toward the crowd and the train.
“Is there a problem here?” The man, though not big, had a commanding presence that certainly brought Stock up short.
“No, sir, not at all.”
“Actually, there is a bit of a problem.” Caleb put his hands on his hips.
“Forget it. It won’t make any difference. I’m used to it.” Joshua tugged on Caleb’s elbow. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
“No way. If they won’t serve you, they don’t serve me.”
The stranger’s eyes widened. “What’s this? Are you refusing admittance to these gentlemen?”
Stock looked like he wished one of the palm trees would crash right down on top of him and knock him out. He swiped at his brow with the sweat-soaked hanky again. “I just thought, with the prestigious guests—”
“Every guest at a Harvey House is a prestigious guest.” The man nodded toward Caleb and Joshua. “My name is Ford. I’d be honored if you’d be my guests for lunch today. I hope you don’t mind eating at the lunch counter. I’d rather bypass the hoopla of the dining room.”
Caleb made sure he showed no triumph as they walked past the wilted Mr.
Stock, but he would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a little bit of satisfaction.
They took their seats, one on each side of the man called Ford. Whether it was his first name or his last name, Caleb didn’t know, but whoever he was, he had some clout.
The kitchen doors flopped, and Meghan came to a stop before them. “Hello, and welcome to the Harvey House lunchroom at the El Garces.” Her smile lit on each of them, but when it got to Caleb’s it wobbled just a fraction. “What can I bring you to drink? We’ve got freshly brewed coffee, or, if you’d like something cooler, there’s iced tea, or I could squeeze you some orange juice.”
She looked cool and fresh and every bit as beautiful as he remembered, but questions lurked in her green eyes, and he sensed her withdrawal from him. Mrs. Gregory’s warnings must’ve penetrated even Meghan’s idealistic heart.
But you’d never know it by the service she gave him. Everything was perfect, from the shine on the silverware to the easy way she set the plates before him. And it wasn’t just him. When the speeches outside finished, diners crowded into the lunchroom until not a seat remained empty. The noise level rose, and the batwing doors into the kitchen were in constant motion with uniformed girls coming and going.
Meghan fairly flew, carrying, pouring, serving, chatting. And she never needed to write down an order. With a smile and a nod, she listened, answered questions, made recommendations, and hustled without ever seeming hurried.
Ford examined each item of his place setting as if he were preparing to buy it instead of just eat off it, and his eyes searched every part of the lunchroom like Pinkerton. Lifting his coffee cup, he inhaled the steam rising from the dark liquid and took a sip, savoring the brew. Caleb watched him but made no comment. The train brought folks from all over the country through Needles, and there were bound to be a few odd socks in the mix from time to time. If this fellow wanted to parse and examine every morsel and mouthful, that was his business. At least he’d smoothed things over with Mr. Stock. Joshua ate as if he’d never heard of fruitcake, much less eaten three pieces an hour ago at Doc’s.
At the end of the meal, the Ford fellow sat back, patted his lips with his napkin, and neatly folded it beside his plate. “Miss, I must commend you on your service. I’ve never received better. Are you perchance filling in here at the lunch counter? I would think someone of your caliber would be in the dining room serving the distinguished guests.”
Meghan paused, a smile curving her mouth. “No, sir, this is my customary position. And as far as I’m concerned, every guest of the Fred Harvey Company is a distinguished guest. But I do thank you for your compliment.”
Ford followed her movements, a satisfied look in his eye.
Joshua couldn’t keep still, watching everybody and everything, curious as a cat. Meghan treated him as well as everyone else, smiling, serving quickly, and when it came time for dessert, she chose the largest piece of chocolate cake from the refrigerator cabinet and placed it before Joshua.
“A growing boy deserves a nice big piece. They’re all supposed to be cut exactly the same, but somehow this one came out a little larger.” Her nose wrinkled, and Caleb found himself staring at her freckles.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. McBride?”
He swallowed and shook his head. “No, thank you, Meghan.” Her use of his last name pricked him. When they’d been together at the dance, she’d called him Caleb.
“Very well. Have a nice day, and thank you for dining at the El Garces.” Her skirt belled out as she turned toward the coffee urns near the kitchen door.
He swallowed and tore his eyes away from the gentle sway of her hips and the narrow span of her waist.
“Do you know her?” Ford crossed his knife and fork on his plate.
“We’ve met.” He pressed his lips together at the memory of their first cataclysmic encounter, and his heart quickened at the thought of how close he’d come to kissing her in the moonlight during the dance.
“What’s her name?”
He cleared his throat and his head. “Meghan. Meghan Thorson. She’s been here…must be a couple of months now.”
Ford stroked his moustache, his intelligent eyes following her every move. “Interesting.”
A stab of what Caleb had to admit was jealousy pierced his gut. This geezer was old enough to be Meghan’s father and here he was watching her like a hawk eyeing a mouse.
“Do you know the head waitress?” Ford dug in his pocket for his watch, flipped open the cover and compared the timepiece with the clock on the far wall.
“Mrs. Gregory. We’ve met.” He rubbed his cheekbone. “I imagine she wouldn’t be too pleased to see me and Joshua in here. She can be a bit sticky. Do you know her?”
“I’ve not had the pleasure, yet. She’s new since my last trip through Needles. Promoted from housekeeping, from what I understand.”
“Where is it you’re from?”
“Kansas City. But I’m through here quite often, though with the war on, my travels have been more eastward than westward recently. What about you? That isn’t a Southwest accent I’m hearing.”
“Vermont, actually, though I haven’t lived there in some years. Lived in Kentucky for a while, and moved here for a job with the army.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re a soldier? My son, Frederick, is an aviator.”
Why’d he mention the army? It only brought uncomfortable questions he didn’t want to answer, but there was something about this man that made him feel more at ease than he’d felt in weeks. “I’m not a soldier. I train horses for the cavalry. Bring ’em in by train from the west coast, season them a bit, and ship them to Fort Riley to finish their training.”
“Well done. We need men like you. You’re doing good work, though I suspect you don’t get quite the glowing accolades as those with more high profile jobs. The current circus-on-the-rails that I’m traveling with, they’re doing good work, too, raising funds and such, but it does get to be quite the extravaganza. I prefer less ostentatious means of helping the cause.”
Caleb’s chest swelled. If only other folks thought like this man, his time in Needles wouldn’t be so difficult.
Ford tucked his watch away. “Now, I must see Mr. Stock before it’s time for the train to pull out. I enjoyed dining with you, and I suspect, after this, any time you want to bring the boy in with you to eat, there won’t be any trouble.”
With a brisk handshake, he rounded the lunch counter and disappeared toward the lobby. Caleb drained his water glass while Joshua polished off the last crumbs of his cake. Meghan appeared to clear their spaces, and when she picked up Ford’s plate, a bill fluttered to the counter. She blinked.
“Ten dollars?” She searched the lunchroom. “He must’ve dropped this by mistake, or perhaps he thought he was putting a dollar bill under his plate, though that would be far too big a tip in any case. Do you see him? Which way did he go?”
“He headed toward the lobby. Said he had to see Stock before the train left.” Caleb stood and dug in his pocket. “That was a fine meal, Meghan, and well served. Thank you.” He left as big a tip as he dared, though it couldn’t compare to ten dollars.
Her eyes collided with his, and he read all those questions and doubts she must be harboring about him. A pretty flush tinted her cheeks, and his heart bumped hard against his ribs. How he wished she’d heard what Ford had said about his job being vital to the war effort, even if it wasn’t worthy of a medal or a headline.
“I need to find that gentleman and return his money to him.”
“We’ll help you look. He’s bound to be around here somewhere. I’d like to thank him again for a little service he did me and Joshua.” He stood and waited for Meghan to round the end of the lunch counter. “He’s probably at the front desk.”
Caleb identified Ford’s voice before he actually saw him. Meghan, continuing on her way toward the dining room, stopped when Caleb touched her arm. Caleb raised himself up on his good leg to scan over
the people.
“There he is.” They crossed the tile floor near the fountain. Caleb almost paused in the spot where he’d nearly kissed Meghan before pressing on with a stern warning to himself to forget such foolishness. They wove through passengers now exiting the lunchroom and dining room and working their way toward the train. The man they sought stood near one of the pillars conversing with the hotel manager and the head waitress.
“Maybe we’d best hang back until they’re done. Mrs. Gregory sees us together, she’s liable to pitch a fit.”
“Mr. Stock, I trust there will be no more unpleasantness with our guests. The El Garces will not refuse service to any paying customer. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Harvey.”
Meghan gave a small gasp, and her fingertips came up to cover her lips. “Mr. Harvey?” She whispered, seemingly half to him and half to herself. Her green eyes widened.
Caleb put his lips close to her ear. “He said his name was Ford.”
She clutched his arm. “Ford Harvey. Son of Fred Harvey, the founder of the company. I served Ford Harvey?”
“And Mrs. Gregory,” Ford Harvey continued. “I have to wonder why the young woman who served my meal is being wasted in the lunchroom. She was as attentive to detail, as personable and professional a Harvey Girl as I have ever seen and certainly deserves to be moved up to the dining room. I hate to think of one of the girls missing out on the larger tips offered in the dining room if she deserves to be there.”
“But, Mr. Harvey, she’s only been here a short while, and there have been…some issues.”
“Would you care to explain these issues?”
Meghan’s eyes closed. Caleb wanted to draw her away, but he wanted to hear what Mrs. Gregory had to say as well. They certainly weren’t having a private conversation, not out here in the crowded lobby where anyone could hear.
“She’s been seen several times in the company of a rather undesirable man in the Needles community, and she’s impertinent.”
A small groan escaped Meghan, and she clutched Caleb’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Right.”
