CHAPTER EIGHT

After the debacle with the governor, Mrs. Wallace doesn’t allow me more than an arm’s length from her side. I spend the rest of my twelve-hour shift folding napkins, setting tables, and being lectured about the proper etiquette to which Harvey Girls must keep. I’m not even allowed to sit as I fold the napkins but spend the rest of the shift on my feet. Even in this era, I’ll bet I could find convents that aren’t so strict.

Meanwhile, the train rolls on westward and my mind wanders to the conversation with the governor and what I could have—what I should have—done differently. If only I could have sat him down, shown him the PVDs, and forced him to listen somehow. I realize that time travel is a difficult concept to accept. Less than a week ago, I’d thought it was impossible, too. But how will I ever be able to prevent the Great War if no one believes my warnings?

The train stops at small towns here and there—La Junta, El Moro, Trinidad, Raton, until late evening, at which point all I can think of is the warm bed, clean sheets, and soft pillow of my bunk. How nice would it be to simply stop moving, to not have to hold up my head or arms or body?

However, when the dining car finally closes and the other girls hustle back to the berth, Mrs. Wallace holds me back to lecture me yet again about my behavior and warn me that such sloppiness will not be acceptable.

Alice, Mary, and Fanny are already in the tiny compartment when I’m finally able to get away from Mrs. Wallace. When I arrive in the berth, they’re busy untying their aprons and pulling their hair from their hairnets. Outside in the corridor, I’d heard them talking and laughing, but as soon as I slide the door open, the conversation dies on their lips. My feet drag across the threshold, indecisive about what I ought to do. What I ought to say.

“Here.” Fanny steps forward and holds out an envelope. Alice and Mary look on with unabashed curiosity, their hands still working as if of their own volition, unbuttoning buttons and rolling locks of hair into curlers, though all their attention is focused on me.

“What is this?” I ask, taking the envelope.

“We’re hoping you’ll tell us,” Fanny says. “The truth, this time.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“A woman in the dining car snuck it to me, asked me to give it to Miss Argent and not to tell our house mother.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” It’s a stupid question; I know as soon as I say it. If they’d told Mrs. Wallace, she’d have confiscated it. After all, one of the rules she’d drilled into me throughout the day was to maintain a professional distance from the diners. I’m pretty sure that means I shouldn’t be accepting notes from them.

Fanny shrugs. “I told you: us Harvey Girls have got to stick together. You think we like all these rules any more than you do?”

“Oh, don’t get us wrong,” Alice jumps in. “We’re proud to be Harvey Girls and glad that folks know we’re respectable women. We’re treated well and paid well, and that’s not something to take for granted.”

The others nod solemnly.

“It’s a good job,” Fanny agrees. “And we need these jobs. That’s why we do what it takes to keep them. Even if it does involve stretching the truth a bit. Or telling harmless white lies. Or keeping our mouths shut about things like envelopes or spectacles or certain clerks’ admiring glances. You’re one of us now, and we look out for each other.”

I nod slowly and study the envelope. My heart feels heavy, guilty. I haven’t lied to them, not really, but they think I have, and that’s bad enough. Maybe a harmless white lie isn’t such a bad idea. The problem is: I still don’t know how to come up with a lie that they’ll believe.

“Well, go on,” Mary says, flopping down on her bed in her nightgown. “Open it up.”

I run my thumb along the edge of the envelope. I have no idea what this letter will say, but this fast camaraderie is entirely new to me. I hadn’t even been so close with Kenzi, and we’d roomed together for months. Still… they’re right. Times are different now. It’s a tough world for women. We need the companionship, need to trust one another.

I tear the envelope open and slip out the letter, skimming it silently to myself first before reading it aloud.

“Dear Miss Argent. My name is Madeline Barker of the New York Barkers. I wish to speak with you about the interaction that took place this morning in the dining car. We may be able to assist one another in our goals. I am in Suite 24A and will be awaiting you following your day’s shift.”

“What does it mean?” Mary asks.

“I don’t know.”

Fanny shoots an “I-told-you-so” glance at the others, and I realize I have to come up with something believable—something that doesn’t have to do with time travel—or I’ll crush every bit of goodwill I’ve built over the past few minutes.

“That is, I don’t know for sure,” I say, stalling. I turn over the letter, half-hoping to find some sort of postscript scribbled on the back. There’s nothing. Finally, I think of an idea. “I think she overheard Mrs. Wallace talking to me, though, about how I don’t make a particularly good Harvey Girl. Maybe she has a new job opportunity for me. Do you think I ought to go?”

I glance around, trying to read their expressions to see if they believe me.

“You have to,” Fanny says matter-of-factly.

“I do?” Her enthusiasm surprises me. “Why?”

“So we don’t all go mad with curiosity, of course.” Fanny snatches up the skirt and blouse I’d worn to the train station and hands them to me. “Go on, then. We want a full report when you get back.”

“But Mrs. Wallace—?”

“Don’t worry about her,” Fanny waves a hand. “We’ll stuff your bunk with pillows and tell her that you were so exhausted that you fell asleep the moment you stumbled into the room.”

I glance longingly at the bunk. I wish I could do just that.

“What are you waiting for?” Fanny asks, tipping her head.

I open my mouth but can’t think of what to say. I can’t explain to her everything warring within me. Making a difference in this era has been far more difficult than I imagined it’d be, and I still don’t know how to convince anyone to listen to me. I couldn’t even convince a bunch of Harvey Girls that I’m a time traveler; how do I expect to convince anyone with real power or authority? Besides, right now, I’m so exhausted that I’m tempted to just forget it all. It’d be so much simpler to go along with all this. I could crawl into bed and do my best to forget the future looming over us, drawing closer every minute. I wish I was back in the 22nd century with Kenzi, ordering Punch-In and planning speeches about how to help children in underdeveloped countries or raising funds for de-extinction research.

“Look,” Fanny says, “if you want to sit here and follow Mrs. Wallace’s rules and serve meals to rich folks for the rest of your life, you’re welcome to it. But if this woman really is offering you another option, you ought to at least hear her out. Women like us don’t tend to get an overabundance of opportunities in this world. Just promise you’ll come back and tell us what she says?”

I nod. She’s right. It’s time to see if this woman really can help.