Cooking Up Love Page 3

  She counted Adam as the first of the many friends she would make. No longer would she fear the night or feel alone even in the midst of people. She’d work hard and move up the ranks until she was number one. The interviewer had mentioned the girls were given numbers to signify their rank, and as they worked, the numbers lowered until they became head waitress. Wouldn’t that be grand!

  Mrs. Harvey cautioned that men often snatched up the girls, sometimes before they’d fulfilled their contracts. Well, that wouldn’t happen to Tabby.

  The click-clack of the train’s wheels lulled her to sleep. She dreamed she wore the head waitress uniform.

  Chapter 3

  “Welcome to Harvey House.” A dark-haired woman wearing a pleated skirt the color of ink and a spotless white blouse that sported a black ribbon at her throat stood on the top step leading into the building. She folded her hands in front of her and stared down at Tabby and two other young women. A small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I am Miss O’Connor, the head waitress here. Please follow me.”

  Tabby glanced at the pale-faced girl walking beside her, and said, “I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Everything seems so perfect and businesslike.” She held out her hand. “I’m Tabby McClelland.”

  The girl returned her handshake. “Abigail Smythe, and I completely share your sentiment.” She giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Tabby liked the auburn-haired girl immediately. Her infectious laugh went a long way toward relieving Tabby’s fears.

  The other girl, with hair the color of corn silk, leaned around Abigail. “I’m Ingrid. I, too, am very nervous.”

  “Move faster, ladies. We have a lot to do today.” Miss O’Connor cast a stern look over her shoulder. “We don’t allow dawdling.”

  Tabby and Abigail lifted their skirts and increased their pace, their shoes slapping against the platform. Tabby barely had time to register the polished wood floors, starched tablecloths, sparkling glassware and girls in the noticeable Harvey uniform before she and the other two were whisked up a back staircase to the third floor.

  They entered a large room filled with racks of black dresses and starched aprons, and a white-haired woman waved them forward. “Come. We must fit you for your uniforms. These must be kept spotless at all times.” She lifted a black dress from a hanger. “If you soil your dress or your apron, it must be changed immediately. No excuses. You wear a black ribbon tied at the neck, and a white bow in your hair.”

  “That’ll be a lot of laundry,” Abigail said.

  “Don’t be silly, girl.” Miss O’Connor squinted at Abigail with an irritated flicker in her eyes. “Mr. Harvey doesn’t require his waitresses to do their own laundry. We send it all out to be taken care of.” She sniffed. “I do hope you won’t be a complainer.”

  Tabby grinned. What would there be to complain about? They’d be treated like queens. She couldn’t believe her good fortune.

  Miss O’Connor pulled three tags from a shelf. “We work on a points system. Each of you will start at number fourteen. As you do a good job, points will be taken off. I made it to number one in less than a year. I expect no less from my girls.”

  She pulled a clipboard from a nail on the wall. “Tabitha McClelland and Abigail Smythe will share room three. Ingrid Schultz, you will bunk with one of our older girls in room two. Please report promptly to me in one hour to begin your training.” She turned on her heel and left.

  “Roommates.” Tabby clapped her hands. She’d made a friend and prayed they’d be like sisters.

  The older woman chuckled. “Don’t mind Miss O’Connor. I’m Mrs. Moore, the seamstress. Been working here since my beloved Ezra passed away a year ago. Miss O’Connor’s bark is often worse than her bite. But she does run a tight ship. Mr. Hastings, the manager, is worse. But don’t let me be scaring you girls none.” She held up a pair of uniforms. “There’s a story to be told there, but I’ve yet to find it. Try these on.” She handed each of them a uniform.

  “I’m good at sizing a girl by looking at her, but once in a while I make a mistake, and you’re a scrawny thing,” she said to Tabby. “Mark your uniforms some way so you can retrieve them later. The basket for soiled clothing is in the corner. Quickly, girls. You still need to unpack, and the wagon boss doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”

  “Wagon boss?” Tabby asked. My, that sounded harsh.

  “Head waitress. Same thing.” Mrs. Moore smiled. “But don’t let her hear you call her Wagon Boss. Now scoot.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tabby scurried down the hall and to her room. Her carpetbag waited for her on one of two single-sized beds. A four-drawer oak dresser sat between the beds. An oval mirror hung above it. One window relieved the starkness of the wall. Tabby rushed over and peered out.

  Several people meandered up and down the train platform. Tabby raised the window and closed her eyes against the gentle breeze. Murmurs of conversations filled the air. The morning sun stretched long shadows along the wooden planks.

  “What are you doing?” Abigail pulled her back. “We have to get dressed. There isn’t much time.”

  Tabby sighed. “You’re right. But days on a train left me wanting a breath of fresh air and to feel the sun on my face.”

  “You most likely won’t be feeling that except for Sunday afternoons.” Abigail let her traveling dress fall to the floor and slipped into her uniform.

  Tabby rushed to follow suit. Some of her previous enthusiasm had waned at the stern appearance of Miss O’Connor, but Tabby vowed not to let a sour woman’s attitude ruin her adventure. She sat on the bed to roll up her new stockings. When was the last time she wore stockings that didn’t have holes or runs in them?

  “Come on!” Abigail dashed out the door.

  With a last glance at the open window, Tabby rushed after her. They met Ingrid in the hall, and the three girls headed downstairs.

  At the sight of them, Miss O’Connor pulled a pocket watch from her waistband and scowled. Without another word, she led them to a small room off the kitchen.

  Tabby caught a glimpse of Adam stirring a huge copper pot and her heart fluttered. Would she ever get used to seeing his handsome features? She took one last look at his broad back then stepped through the doorway Miss O’Connor had disappeared into.

  “Girls, once I’ve gone over the rules, you will be assigned to follow and work alongside a more experienced waitress until the time you are deemed capable of working without close supervision.” She lifted her chin.

  “You must always uphold a strict moral code. There is no fraternizing with male customers or employees. This includes the workmen on the railroad. You may not sit down while serving customers. No makeup, no jewelry and absolutely no gum chewing.” She let her gaze settle momentarily on each girl. Tabby did her best not to squirm.

  “We set a high standard for our girls here at Harvey House. Should you find the time for courting, which I doubt, Mrs. Moore or myself will act as chaperone. The breaking of any of these rules can result in immediate dismissal. Remember, all three of you have the number fourteen, as new girls should. If you do well, you can move up the ranks to lower numbers. Are there any questions before you begin?”

  Abigail leaned close and whispered, “I’ve heard despite the rules, many girls find husbands. I know I plan to.”

  “Is there something you’d like to share, Miss Smythe? Miss McClelland?”

  Tabby shook her head and prayed she could remember all the rules. Her previous excitement had drained like sand through an hourglass. Regardless, she promised herself she’d never give a reason for her job to be jeopardized. In fact, she’d be number one by the end of her contract or die trying. She wouldn’t give the snooty head waitress any reason to doubt her work ethic or moral standards. Tabby straightened her shoulders
and returned the woman’s stare.

  Besides, with all the restrictions about who not to fraternize with, how did a woman find a man to court her anyway?

  * * *

  Adam didn’t miss Tabby’s passing by the kitchen. The air practically shimmered with her presence. He’d read the rules posted on the wall. They applied to him, same as anyone else. He stirred the hollandaise sauce with all the attention of a gnat. Not good. It’d be his head if he burned the fixings for lunch.

  He liked the idea of the menu planned far enough in advance that frequent travelers could rely on a varied menu while traveling. Today’s lunch was sliced ham with asparagus. The diversity wouldn’t allow boredom for him or the passengers. Adam sniffed, breathing in the warm, yeasty scent of baked bread.

  “Josiah, is the bread ready to come out of the oven? The train will be here in an hour.” Adam motioned for one of his assistants to stop ogling the waitresses and get back to work.

  “Right away, sir.” The wiry young man leaped to do Adam’s bidding. Grabbing a thick towel, he pulled a pan of loaves from the large oven.

  Adam eyed the browned mounds. “Perfect. Good job.” He moved the pan of sauce to a back burner and checked the meat. It’d be ready right on time. He could use the next few minutes to start the salads. First opportunity he got, he’d ask why he didn’t have another assistant or two. Hard to be productive with little help.

  Light footfalls on the stairs alerted him that one of the waitresses had arrived for work. His heart lifted at the sight of Tabby in her uniform. As modest as the dress was, her beauty shone through. “Miss McClelland, you look lovely today.”

  She curtsied, her cheeks darkening. “Thank you, Mr. Foster.”

  They both turned at the sound of someone clearing his throat. Oh, no. Adam met the hard gaze of Mr. Hastings, the restaurant manager.

  The man straightened his bony shoulders and stared down his long nose. “There is no fraternizing between help. Do not let it happen again.”

  “Sir, I only greeted—”

  “Rules are rules, Mr. Foster.” The man strode through the kitchen and into the dining room.

  Adam glanced at the tearful eyes of Tabby and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded and scurried out of sight.

  “Don’t let Mr. Hastings bother you none. He’s a masher, always after the girls, but none of them will let him court.” Josiah slid out the last pan of bread and set it on the wood counter with a clatter. “Nobody dares complain against him for fear of losing their jobs, but there’s rumors that him and the lemon-sucking head mistress sometimes meet up after hours. The rest of the girls escape him by getting hitched.”

  Adam chopped tomatoes into wedges. Two more waitresses glided into the kitchen in search of rags to wipe tables. He avoided their glances.

  Mr. Hastings chased the girls? Had rendezvous with O’Connor? Adam shook his head, wanting nothing more than to stay out of work politics, save his money, pack up his family, and head to California. That’s what he’d focus on.

  Soon, salad bowls lined the workspace. The reds and greens of the vegetables provided a nice contrast with the white porcelain. He glanced around the up-to-date kitchen. This wasn’t the first restaurant Adam had cooked for, but it was the nicest. He couldn’t believe his fortune. Everyone had heard of Fred Harvey’s newest venture. Some applauded his efforts; others laughed, at least in the beginning, saying the man would lose his shirt. Adam never dreamed he’d be involved in such an undertaking.

  Tabby scooted around another girl, nodded in Adam’s direction without making eye contact, and grabbed napkin-wrapped silverware. High spots of crimson dotted each fair cheek.

  Adam smiled. She wasn’t unaffected by him, despite the averting of her glance.

  * * *

  Tabby paused to catch her breath and leaned against the wall. From the moment she came downstairs after donning her uniform, she’d flitted from one workstation to another like a black-and-white hummingbird. She hurriedly tucked flyaway strands of hair back into her bow. It wouldn’t do to be reprimanded again on the first day, especially for her appearance.

  “If customers aren’t waiting, there’s a dining room to be dusted, also silverware to be rolled and napkins to be folded. There’s no end to work, Miss McClelland.” Miss O’Connor sailed by, her arms full of folded linens. “No dawdling.”

  With a sigh, Tabby pushed away from the wall and shuffled back to work.

  If she thought she was busy before, the first trainload of passengers caused a whirlwind of activity. By the time folks were in the door, each waitress waited calmly by a table, arms seemingly relaxed at their sides and a smile on each girl’s face. Tabby’s nerves jumped like frog legs in a hot skillet.

  “Relax.” Mary, the girl Tabby was assigned to follow, smiled down at her. “The work’s hard, but rewarding, and the passengers hardly complain. They’re happy to get a quality meal. You watch me this time, then later you can work the coffee machine at the lunch counter. Once training is complete, you’ll have an easier job than waitressing.”

  “All right.” Tabby took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. She could do this. The twelve-hour days were worth the future of adventure in the West and the thrill of meeting new people and hearing their stories.

  A family of six sat at the table assigned to Mary. The children’s excited chatter rose above the gentle clinking of silverware as the napkins were unrolled and voices murmured in soft conversation. Tabby stood to the side as Mary greeted them, poured water and coffee, then moved to the kitchen to get their salads, all without breaking stride or losing her smile.

  Tabby followed. Would she be as efficiently pleasant as the other girls seemed to be? Were they as happy on the inside as they appeared on the outside? What if a customer grew irate? Miss O’Connor didn’t tell them what to do then. Tabby’s head ached from all the questions.

  Although the thrill of working in such a nice establishment filled her, she couldn’t help but realize her last job, however messy, had been easy. She pushed open the kitchen door.

  A movement caught her eye, and she glanced down. A mouse skittered across the toe of her shiny black shoe.

  Chapter 4

  Tabby shrieked and leaped to the closest object above the floor, the kitchen counter. A pan of white sauce crashed to the floor, its contents splashing across the sparkling tile. A drop burned Tabby’s skin through her wool stockings.

  Mary squawked and clasped a hand over her mouth as she backpedaled from the room.

  Adam whirled, brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon. “What is it?”

  “A mouse.” Tabby pointed behind a small table with wheels. Goose bumps crawled up her spine.

  Adam laughed. “You’re afraid of a little four-legged creature?”

  “Don’t jest. Kill it!” She tucked her legs under her long skirt.

  “What is going on in here?” Mr. Hastings stormed into the kitchen, eyebrows raised and hands on his hips. “Miss McClelland! Get off the counter this instant.”

  “But, Mr. Hastings, there’s a—” She clamped her lips together at Adam’s fierce shake of his head and hid her trembling hands in the folds of her apron.

  “A what?” He snapped his fingers, motioning for her to get down.

  Tabby gulped and slid off the counter. “A mouse, sir.”

  “Impossible.” His took a deep breath. “Mice are not allowed in Mr. Harvey’s restaurant. I will be letting Miss O’Connor know of your shameful behavior. Of that there is no doubt.”

  Lump in her throat, Tabby’s shoulders slumped. Averting her eyes from Adam and the young man already at work cleaning up her mess, she lifted her skirts and carefully made her way back to the dining room.

  “The water, Miss McClelland.” Miss O’Connor scowled.

  Oh! That’s why
she had gone into the kitchen. She turned and dashed back for the wheeled cart with pitchers of fresh water. She slipped on the spilled sauce, windmilled her arms, continued her slide past the cart and came to a crashing halt against Adam’s chest. His strong hands steadied her. Goodness.

  “Are you all right, Tabby?”

  She was anything but. Especially with his arms around her, which was entirely inappropriate and could get them both reprimanded no matter how innocent. Still avoiding his gaze, she rested her forehead against his solid chest, just for a moment while she caught her breath, then nodded.

  Willing her heartbeat to return to normal, she guided the cart into the dining room. What could Adam possibly be thinking of her ridiculous behavior? Other than his laugh, and her insane response, she hadn’t looked his way again. But it had felt good to have him hold her. She shoved away the foolish thoughts. She was a Harvey Girl. Work came first.

  She rolled the cart to where the other waitresses stood, and waited while each took a pitcher. This day might be her first, and last, once Mr. Hastings had a chance to talk to Miss O’Connor. She prayed she was wrong.

  Needing to think of a way to redeem herself, she gave a faint smile and took up her position next to Mary at their table.

  “What happened in there? Was that a mouse I saw?” Mary glanced toward the door. “Mr. Hastings came from the kitchen perfectly livid.”

  Tabby squared her shoulders. “We’ll talk later.”

  “There’s a spot of hollandaise on your shoe.” Mrs. O’Connor stopped next to her. “Clean it at the first opportunity. We do not condone slovenly appearances.”

  Tabby groaned as her smile faded. The head waitress condoned very little, and now Tabby had another strike against her. Her hopes of adventure in the West were dying by the minute. If she lost her job, she would have no funds available for a trip to anywhere.

  Mary waited for the head waitress to move on. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Families are the easiest to please. Much better than a society lady on her own who tends to be demanding. No one will notice your shoe.”