The Harvey Girl Mystery - Part 4
Quick Recap: Willa Abbot heard the startling news that her father has a secret life in Kansas City and is given the address to his home, but first… she has to officially become a Harvey Girl.
Links: Prologue, Part #1, Part #2, Part #3, Harvey Girl page
Short on time? Scan the story and just read the bold parts. You’ll get the gist and come back later to read the whole thing!
“Welcome to the Harvey House!”
The cheerful greeting didn’t affect the lady’s constipated expression. As a one-woman welcoming committee, she looked part prison warden and part Queen Bee. She stood tall and dominated the lobby of the Kansas City Harvey House.
I gulped, trying to remember why I’d thought being a Harvey Girl was a good idea.
“I’m Mrs. Agnes Q. Downs, your Harvey House dorm mother,” the stern lady said. She squinted. “Do I frighten you?”
Clearing my throat, I blinked, thinking fast. The last thing I wanted to do was offend the lady, who seemed offended by my arrival. I’d known women with similar dispositions. We would be at odds unless I distracted her with wit and charm—or just confused her to the point of frustration. It had worked for me once, albeit by accident. “Actually, ma’am, I’m curious as to your middle name. What does Q stand for? It is so rare a letter for a lady that I am assured to be enthralled.”
“Don’t be clever with me, child.”
“I knew a Quinlan,” I said as if she’d not reprimanded me. “She was quite a character, but I don’t believe it had anything to do with her name. What do you think?”
Mrs. Downs stared at me, the wheels turning. I believe I’d nudge a cog loose. One could almost hear it clanking around in her head. The distress only lasted a moment. She scrunched a thin nose at me, which nearly dislodged the wire-framed glasses perched at the end, defying gravity. I seriously doubted they helped her vision, sitting so far away from her eyes.
“You will be given a uniform and assigned a mentor,” Mrs Downs said, clearly deciding I wasn’t worth a battle.
I took the win. “Will my training start today?”
“The girls work in pairs,” Mrs. Downs said. “You will take your cues from a seasoned partner. Didn’t you read the handbook?”
The handbook was buried in my suitcase. I would have dragged it out on the train for a quick read, but the trip took several turns that left no time. How could I admit as much to the she-wolf? Instead, I directed the conversation toward the information I needed to find my father. Despite what I’d learned about his possible secret life, I felt compelled to locate him for my mother’s sake.
“When will I have a moment to venture into town?” I asked.
Mrs. Downs scoffed. “Why would you go into town?” Her critical eye sliced across my frame. “At least you’re thin. Fitting your uniform won’t require alterations. You’ll be assigned a room, where you will change and be ready for the next service.” She glanced at a gold chatelaine that held a watch at her waist. Tilting the clock face upward, she clucked her tongue. “You have little time to dawdle.”
With no chance to question or complain, I was given a uniform and introduced to my mentor, a petite girl named Shirley Ott. Her tired eyes barely held my gaze. The distracted, soul-sapped look was also reflected in the handful of Harvey Girls I’d seen rushing around.
“We’ve lost three girls this week,” she complained. “They come with grand ideas and let the first dashing stranger whisk them away into marriage.”
“Dashing strangers will do that to a girl,” I joked.
“Dating the customers is forbidden. And no flirting. All we offer is good food. Nothing else.” She gave me a severe glance. It was the first good view I got of her face. “Is that why you’ve come, as well? Looking for a rich husband?”
I hadn’t planned to tell anyone why I’d journeyed to Kansas City, but opportunities could not be overlooked. “I’ve come to find my father.”
She snarled. “How are you going to do that?”
“I have an address of a residence in town,” I said, “and plan to go there and inquire after him.”
She snorted. “You don’t get time to go into town.”
“Why ever not?”
“You are here to work, girly,” she said, shaking her head and writing me off. “You’ll work. You’ll sleep. That will take up all your time.”
“I don’t need to sleep,” I said, wondering if it was safe to venture out at night.
She must have guessed my thoughts. “You have no time to leave this building; if you do, you’ll be out of a job. We have a curfew. Do you understand?”
I nodded, but it didn’t stop Shirley from muttering under her breath. She showed me to a shared room on the restaurant’s second floor. It was at the end of a long, narrow hallway. The floorboards creaked, and I didn’t see how I could sneak out silently.
“Ten minutes! You hear?” Shirley asked like she had to repeat it. You have ten minutes to change and get yourself downstairs.” She slammed the door as she left.
“Thank you,” I called after her. As a mentor, she could be worse, but not by much.
Standing in the middle of the utilitarian room, I took in the sparse furniture and white walls. Thankfully, my roommate was elsewhere, as the space would feel crowded with more than one person. I frowned at the two twin beds, one table with a washbasin, and a solitary window. It looked out over the tracks, making me wonder how late the trains ran.
I laid the uniform on a bed, unsure if I could change in ten minutes without wrinkling the perfectly starched material. The uniform consisted of a modest black dress with a high collar and a crisp white apron overlay. It came with a matching white linen bow for my hair.
I’d seen pictures of Harvey Girls and knew the outfits helped set a standard of fine dining. Even gentlemen passengers were required to wear coats, and every Harvey House was stocked with a supply to loan out. No one was turned away for their attire. The dress code aligned with the whole Harvey House experience—tablecloths, china place settings, and sizzling streak dinners served during the short train stops.
If I did something that made a train passenger late to re-board the train…? I didn’t want to think about such a mistake. The Kansas City Harvey House had been around for so long that it would survive me.
As I hurried to change, I whispered a quick prayer that my appearance would be as perfectly crisp by the end of the day as it was starting. I took an extra second to rake a comb through my hair. It hung past my shoulders with a gentle wave. The tawny color made the white bow stand out. I quickly tied my hair back with the bow, then went downstairs to join fifteen other Harvey Girls.
We crammed into the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room. I ended up closer to the kitchen. The proximity made my stomach rumble. The air teased the senses with juicy steak drippings and fried butter for the extra-crispy hash browns.
A bell sounded. I later learned that it was an alert we received minutes before a train arrived. It started the clock on our service, which usually ran for twenty minutes, to present our guests with one of the finest meals West of the Mississippi River.
Shirley yanked on my elbow, and I fell into step behind her as all the girls filed toward the dining room. “I talk to the passengers and get their order,” she hissed. “I signal you, and you hand me the plates of food. We do not speak.”
I nodded, wondering if I’d be close enough to hear the order. She quickly explained we’d communicate with subtle hand signals. Two fingers at the side of her skirt meant the customer wanted the sirloin and crispy hash browns. Three fingers the fish and potatoes Francaise. Four fingers the pork. We had a howler, a disgruntled guest if even one of her fingers was bent in half. It meant: call the manager! Luckily, it was a short menu, and Shirley took care of the drinks and any substitutions.
The next twenty minutes were a blur. I pasted on a smile and didn’t take my eyes off Shirley’s fingers. She shook me off several times, tapping her fingers against her dress to signal I’d brought the wrong plate. It only took a second to get the right one, but her withering stare put me in my place. Our train guests, however, never noticed. She could converse politely with the men and reprimand me simultaneously.
I was ready to slink into my tiny room and collapse, but the bell rang again. We’d have three more trains before the nightly service day ended. When I finally returned to my room, I learned I’d have the room to myself. Another new girl had missed her train and would arrive tomorrow.
“You’re lucky,” Shirley grumbled. “Use the free bed for your uniform. Get it ready before you sleep. There will be no time in the morning.”
“When is the first train?” I asked.
“I’ll wake you,” she smirked.
The promise gave me a chill. It sounded like waking the new recruits was one of Shirley’s mentor perks. I steeled myself for a trumpet blast in my ear.
Alone in my room, I felt a bit left out. All the other girls had quickly headed to bed, chatting only with their roommates. None of them wanted to talk to me. I gathered that it had been a long day after a string of long days. They didn’t seem to have the energy for anyone new unless I proved I’d stay for the entire six-month contract. I worried that if I didn’t sneak out tonight, I’d be too exhausted tomorrow.
Checking the window, the sun had an hour or so left before it set. I dared to head downstairs and exit to the street. I counted on finding someone outside and asking for directions to my father’s house. I clutched the address card in my hand. If this was my only chance, I’d make the most of it. And if Mrs. Agnes Q. Downs popped up and stopped me…? I didn’t dare not think of the outcome.
“One disaster at a time,” I whispered.
Heading out, I decided to walk like I owned the world and knew where I was going, but I did not cross anyone’s path within the Harvey House. I assumed they were all too tired to care about anyone sneaking out. I hoped returning was as simple.
Once on the main street of Kansas City, I asked a man for directions. He looked me up and down but pointed the way. I was close to the address, which left me feeling like the house might have been chosen for its proximity to the train. I quickly walked the blocks, finding most residents at home. Noises floated to me of children playing in backyards, mothers cleaning up after dinner, and fathers enjoying naps on their front porches.
Then I saw it… the house. My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t as grand as our home in New York, but it would do. The red brick was covered in ivy that framed the iron arches along the wrap-around porch. It spoke of lemonade and lazy summers. The two stories were topped by an attic space with dormer windows, their bays looking more like unblinking dark eyes. I wondered what secrets they held.
I would have patted myself on the back, but locating the home left me cold. Not a single light shone within, and I could not believe I’d found it only to discover no one at home.
“This will not do,” I muttered, quickly going up the front steps to peer in a window. No sound nor light could be seen from within, but I noticed the window latch was undone.
It really didn’t take me long to make the decision to enter. After all, if it was my father’s home, wouldn’t I have every right to climb in the window like a common thief?
Pushing up the window pane, I struggled to enter. My dress, which I’d changed, trapped my legs. Unless I hiked up the skirt, my progress would be stalled, and standing on the porch felt like being on a stage. I expected someone to see me.
Without care for any damage I might cause, I flopped onto my belly and wiggled through the window. However, I misjudged the entry. A low bookcase was set under the window. My entrance knocked over a bronze statue and a stack of books, as I slid right over its top and fell to the floor.
“Willa Abbot!”
The voice cried out my name from the street—a familiar voice that made me cringe.
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That would be my luck crawling through a window too 😂 poor Willa!!
I love Willa! Her whispered “One disaster at a time” could be my own mantra. This is so good!