Hidden in a Whisper (4 page)

Rachel knew the hardest part wouldn't be keeping up with the job. The hardest part would be the long, lonely nights of isolation. Ever since her first promotion to head waitress, Rachel had known the pain of being separated from the crowd. She made friends easily, but as the waitress in charge, she often had to rebuke those friends. This in turn inevitably created hard feelings and conflicts. There were exceptions and a few friends had remained, but Rachel had never known it to be enough. She knew the emptiness of a life unfulfilled. A life lacking what she most desired—a husband and family. Refusing to let her emotions get carried away, Rachel refocused her attention on the girls. There were some very promising young women in her group, and she had little doubt that the affairs of the dining room would run smoothly in no time at all.

After allowing the girls to acquaint themselves with their duties, Rachel put them into teams, with one of the more experienced girls heading up each group. They practiced being customers and servers in order that they might have an understanding of the days to come.

With the girls duly occupied, Rachel made her way into the kitchen and found Reginald Worthington reorganizing his new kitchen. A refined gentleman in his forties, Worthington cut a striking figure in the sterile kitchen. Rachel had thought him a handsome man upon the occasion of their introduction, and seeing him now only confirmed her assessment. His brown hair, parted down the middle and slicked back with tonic water, was no less orderly than his kitchen, and his eyes, dark brown and quite appealing, seemed to take in everything around him in a manner that suggested he might well be taking inventory.

“Ah, Mr. Worthington,” Rachel announced with a smile, “I'd like to introduce you to the girls when you have a chance.”

The tall, slender Englishman glanced up from where he sorted through his knives and returned her smile. “Miss Taylor, I would be delighted.”

He put the knives away in exacting order while Rachel watched him in fascination. He knew precisely where he wanted each instru-ment and assigned it a proper place in no less detail than Rachel had used to assign her girls.

“Well, then,” he said, coming from around the massive preparation table. “Let us be about our business.”

Rachel nodded. “The girls, as you know, will report to the head waitress and ultimately to me. Should you have trouble with any of them, I would appreciate it if you would bring the issue to me rather than try to deal with it yourself. As chef, you will have a free hand with the kitchen staff, but the girls are strictly my responsibility.”

Worthington laughed. “And happy is the man who knows his place.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rachel questioned before opening the door to the dining room.

“I'm very glad they are your responsibility,” he replied soberly. “I would no more know how to deal with their tears and tempers than I would know how to construct a building. Women are a peculiarity to me, and save a quiet relationship with my dearly departed mother, I am at quite a loss to determine exactly how to conduct myself with them.”

Rachel nodded. “I wouldn't worry overmuch about it. We often feel the same way about men.”

“Do tell,” Worthington replied, his thin moustache quivering ever so slightly at the tips as a hint of a smile played upon his lips. “I can't imagine you suffering from that feeling.”

Rachel looked away, not willing for him to see that the same words that amused him caused her to feel a sharp pang of regret and pain. “I assure you, Mr. Worthington, the enigma regarding men and women is mutually acknowledged and endured.”

She moved through the swinging kitchen doors into the dining room, where her girls were still working amicably together.

“Ladies!” she called, and all heads turned to her. “I would like to introduce the chef for Casa Grande. This is Mr. Worthington. He comes to us from a very prestigious New York hotel at the insistence of the Santa Fe management. His culinary skills are highly regarded, and he will no doubt bring to Casa Grande a flavor of the European continent as he has trained in Paris, Milan, Madrid, and his own native London. You will heed his instruction regarding the serving and preparation of food; however, should any problems arise regarding your conduct, Mr. Worthington will not hesitate to bring the matter to my attention.”

“I'm delighted to make your acquaintance,” the Englishman said, his accent clearly marking his origins. “I shall endeavor to better know each of you as our duties require.”

Rachel thanked Worthington, then turned to address her girls as he returned to the kitchen. “I believe it is necessary to restate something for your benefit as well as for mine. There is to be absolutely no fraternizing of Harvey Girls with male staff members. You are under contract to Mr. Harvey, and in being so, you agree to refrain from marrying before your contract is up. Those of you who have been with the Harvey system for longer than the initial contract realize the importance of these rules. They are for your own good,” Rachel told them, but her mind was taken back to a time when she had been young and in love. Who could have possibly convinced her that such rules were wise and necessary?

It was hard to convince the heart that some matters were better left unexplored. She would, if she could, advise each and every woman before her to avoid romantic entanglements at all costs. Nothing was quite as hard on the spirit as realizing that the only dream you had dared to allow yourself would never come true. And, as far as Rachel was concerned, nothing lasted longer or hurt more than a broken heart. Which was the case with Braeden Parker. Even the mention of his name—the single thought of his smile—caused Rachel to tear up, even as she was just now. Coughing, she excused herself and appointed Gwen Carson, a young woman she'd trained several years earlier in Topeka and the one to whom she'd given the number one badge, to take over supervising the girls in their duties.

Back in the silence of her office, Rachel took several deep breaths and forced her emotions to reorder themselves to their proper places. She would not allow Braeden's memory to destroy her happiness. She couldn't. He was in the past and that was where he would stay. No matter the cost.

  
TWO
  

TWO DAYS LATER, as the girls finished cleaning the dining room after practicing a supper service on area railroad men and hotel staff, Ivy Brooks watched as Rachel took Gwen Carson aside to discuss some matter in private.

This has to stop
, Ivy thought.
It's bad enough Gwen gets the number one badge while I have twenty-five. I won't be able to stand it if Miss Taylor assigns head waitress to her as well
.

She finished washing down the last table in her assigned area, then turned to see what her newest follower, Faith Bradford, was doing. Faith, a short, skinny nineteen-year-old whose immaturity irritated Ivy, stood listening to two of the other more experienced Harvey Girls explain their way of clearing a table. Faith, being the rather mindless twit that she was, would be the perfect victim to Ivy's plots and schemes. Manipulating such a creature would hardly be a challenge at all, but then, it was better that way. Faith would do as she was told without question, and Ivy would never have to worry about informing Faith of her comings and goings, especially when those activities kept her out past the ten-o'clock curfew.

Ivy smiled to herself.
I might be the most inexperienced Harvey Girl on staff at Casa Grande, but if I have my way, it soon won't matter
.

When Rachel finished with Gwen, she made another boring speech about the details of Fred Harvey's beloved system. Ivy found the entire matter unimportant. Her only reason for demanding that her aunt Esmeralda allow her to work as a Harvey waitress was in order to set herself up to acquire a wealthy eastern husband. The railroad restaurants owned by Harvey were, as she had noted in the local paper, notorious for bringing couples together. Ivy would have seen this as an answer to prayer—if she'd been the type to issue such requests. A husband would be the answer to all of her problems. He would be rich enough to see her kept in a fashionable style, with all the comforts she could possibly desire, and he would live somewhere other than Morita, New Mexico. These were the most important requisites for the man she would marry.

Rachel concluded with some sort of nonsense about the Harvey Girls keeping themselves spotless at all times. As if a person working in and around food and sloppy diners could be responsible for such a matter. She further enraged Ivy by instructing that should their uniforms become stained or spotted, they were to immediately retire to their bedrooms and quickly change their clothes. The idea was ludicrous, but Ivy kept her mouth closed on the matter. She wanted and intended to have the head waitress job in spite of her inexperience. She might be new to the system, but her aunt was wealthy and influential, and Ivy intended to use that to her benefit. Already she'd penned her aunt a letter and sent it by way of one of the hotel maids. Esmeralda might have stupid notions about making Morita into some sort of desert oasis, but Ivy knew she was capable of even more impossible feats and intended to enlist her aunt's help in the matter. Until then, Ivy planned to bide her time, doing what she could to ease her discomfort while plotting to change the Harvey system.

When Rachel dismissed them with high praise for a job well done, Ivy grabbed hold of Faith's arm and fairly dragged her back to their room.

“We need to talk,” she told Faith, and the easily influenced girl simply nodded her head enthusiastically and followed after her new mentor.

Once inside the small bedroom, Ivy began stripping off the hated white apron and black skirt and shirtwaist. “I am embarrassed to have to be seen this way,” she said, unbuttoning her skirt. “I believe Mr. Harvey to be unusually cruel to dress us as nuns in a church.”

“At least we don't have to pay for the uniforms,” Faith offered in a singsong voice. She plopped down on her bed and smiled.

Ivy cut her with a glance. She knew the power of a look and had spent many an hour crafting her expressions to be just right. “You fool.

It certainly doesn't excuse the fact that I must go about looking ridiculous while handsome men of influence and fortune make their way about the resort grounds.”

“I don't understand,” Faith replied, her tone more modest and sober.

Ivy pulled the net from her hair and unpinned her thick blond hair. Shaking it out, she reached for her hairbrush and began to stroke through the lengthy mane. “I couldn't care less about Mr. Harvey or his rules and his resort,” she explained. “I'm simply here to get a husband of means and to leave this sad excuse for a town behind me.”

“Oh,” stated Faith as though such an idea made no sense whatsoever. The puzzled look on her face made Ivy frown.

“Why did you come to this job, Faith?”

The girl brightened a bit. “Because my family thought it would do me good.”

“And has it?” Ivy asked, halting her brush long enough to consider Faith's response.

The girl shrugged. “I don't know.”

Ivy wondered if the girl had a single thought in her head that hadn't been previously placed there by someone else.

“Well, I wouldn't count on it doing you much good, unless you're looking for a husband. I certainly don't intend to wait on people and serve meals the rest of my life, and frankly, polishing silver is something the servants will do when I have a home of my own.” She resumed her brushing, stroking the cornsilk-colored hair until it crackled. “And I will never again wear black and white, at least not in this capacity.”

She put the brush down and finished undressing until she stood in nothing but her lace-edged chemise, silk corset, and drawers. Positioning her hands on her tiny waist, Ivy gave a twirl.

“I won't grow old in this town. I won't be an ugly spinster and boss other girls around like Miss Taylor does.
I
shall have a beautiful mansion in St. Louis or Chicago and fifty servants to wait on me hand and foot.”