A Tangled Web Page 7

  “I congratulate you.” Clara nodded her approval. “I admire a young woman with spunk. It’s important to be your own person.”

  Darcy certainly did admire Clara Bingham. She had never met anyone like her. Certainly not in Willowdale, where a single woman past the age of twenty-five was called an old maid and was looked upon with pity if not scorn.

  Getting to know Clara Bingham gave Darcy a new perspective. Maybe it was possible for a woman to chart her own course in life, not conform to the traditional roles women were expected to take. Even among the Harvey staff were examples of women who had done just that. Viola Colby, the personnel manager in Topeka, for one; Paula Casey, the head waitress in Emporia. Both led independent lives. They dressed stylishly on their days off, took advantage of the policy of free railroad passes for employees. Paula Casey had even gone to California on her last vacation. Darcy began to think of what her future might be within the benevolent Harvey system. A chance to see the world, explore the possibilities of travel. The future seemed wider, less limited, than it had only months ago.

  TWELVE

  Darcy loved everything about Arizona. She enjoyed the mild climate, the extraordinary beauty of the area, the outdoor life it offered. On their days off, she and Clemmie went hiking and sometimes rented horses to ride into the desert. The longer she was here, the more she could imagine living in Arizona forever.

  Being a Harvey Girl had broadened her horizons in every way. She was daily coming into contact with interesting people. The hotel guests were sophisticated travelers from cosmopolitan backgrounds. She was learning so much just observing them. Even though the Harvey system prohibited socializing with customers, it was natural to form warm relationships with those one served regularly. Most of the Harvey Girls received social invitations from customers not aware of the rules, Darcy had not found this Harvey code hard to live by. That is, until one morning when a tall young man walked into the restaurant.

  Darcy was on the breakfast shift and noticed him at once. Who wouldn’t have? At six foot three he was a towering presence. At the door he removed his wide-brimmed cowboy hat and surveyed the room, then moved with a kind of athletic grace over to the counter and sat down.

  In spite of his cowboy appearance, he spoke with an eastern accent as he ordered one of Harvey’s famous cinnamon rolls—always served warm from the oven—and coffee, black.

  As she poured his coffee, Darcy had a chance to observe him at close range. His features were strongly molded in a deeply tanned face, his eyes very blue. He wore a blue shirt under a riding jacket of worn tweed with leather elbow patches. He thanked her courteously as she placed his plate before him.

  Soon after that first morning, Darcy could almost set her watch by him. Every day as soon as the restaurant opened, he arrived in a fresh shirt, cleanly shaved, his hair combed neatly. For breakfast he always sat at the counter, acknowledging Darcy with a shy smile and a cheerful “Good morning.”

  In the evenings he dined in the restaurant alone at a table in Darcy’s station. He was very polite, speaking in a cultured voice and always leaving a large tip.

  None of this was lost on Clemmie. She began to tease Darcy about him. “I think he’s sweet on you.”

  At first Darcy dismissed that claim. But after two weeks she could not deny it. It was too obvious. She could feel his eyes upon her as she went about her regular duties in the dining room, setting up tables in her station, placing the plates just so, lining up the flatware, arranging the cups and saucers, folding the napkins. The fact that it did not annoy her was surprising. He was always perfectly gentlemanly when he addressed her. It was Clemmie who learned his name from the hotel desk clerk and informed Darcy.

  “His name is Ted Shepherd. He’s not a cowboy or a cattleman. He’s from back east. From Maryland, it says on the hotel register.”

  “Leave it to you, Clemmie. Did you ever consider becoming a Pinkerton detective?” Darcy said, rolling her eyes and pretending not to be too interested.

  “Want to know what else I found out?”

  Darcy shrugged with pretended indifference.

  “Well, all right, then—” Clemmie turned away.

  “Wait! Yes, sure I want to know,” Darcy admitted.

  “I also found out he rents a horse and rides out to the desert every morning before he comes in here for breakfast. He may be looking for ranch property. Could be he’s looking to settle down here. Maybe looking for a wife?”

  “More likely he plans to bring a bride out here when he finds what he wants,” suggested Darcy, hoping it wasn’t so.

  “More important, when is he ever going to get up enough nerve to say more to you than ‘Good morning’ or ‘Good evening’ or ‘Much obliged’ or ‘Thank you, miss’ when he’s finished?” demanded Clemmie.

  “What good would that do?” countered Darcy. “Remember, he’s a hotel guest as well as a restaurant customer.”

  However, Darcy considered the possibilities. Maybe on her next free day she could rent a horse herself and ride out to the desert. No one could say anything if she happened to meet Ted Shepherd on the trail and had a friendly conversation, could they?

  Before Darcy could act upon her vague idea, something unexpected happened.

  One evening when Ted had finished his meal, Darcy came forward to clear his table. Instead of thanking her, placing the tip under his plate, and leaving, as he usually did, he remained seated. She continued removing the silver and plates onto her tray, trying not to be aware that he seemed to be deliberately lingering.

  Finally he got to his feet, took a few steps, then turned back. “By the way, miss, I just wondered—do you ride? I mean, if you do, would you like to go riding sometime? With me?”

  Startled, Darcy stared at him. Had he been reading her mind? She felt a rush of pleasure. Clemmie was right. He was interested in her. She hesitated. Wouldn’t it be all right to go horseback riding? Then her better judgment took over. What if someone saw them and reported back to the manager? Why risk getting fired? The idea of sneaking around to be with a man who was essentially still a stranger, the notion of carrying on a clandestine association, didn’t appeal to her. She was finding her ongoing deception to be a wearying burden. Why take on more guilt?

  Darcy darted a quick look over her shoulder to where the head waitress, Miss Cannon, was standing, then said in a low voice, “I’m sorry, I can’t. I mean, we aren’t supposed to…you know…go out with hotel guests.”

  Ted looked genuinely disappointed. After a minute’s pause he said, “I understand. Sorry. Actually, I’m leaving to go back east day after tomorrow. I just thought it might be possible—” He halted as if not sure how to go on.

  Darcy saw Miss Cannon looking at her curiously. Probably wondering about her prolonged conversation with one of the male diners. Darcy’s station was still not completely cleared, nor had the tablecloth been removed.

  “I have to go,” Darcy murmured. She quickly gathered the rest of the dishes onto her tray.

  She was sorry to see Ted Shepherd leave. She wished it had been possible to get to know him. She felt as if somehow she’d missed something. Something important.

  She did miss seeing him every day. More than she could have guessed. She missed seeing him come in the dining room door and look around for her. She also missed the silly little flutter she got at the sight of him. His shy smile and the way his blue eyes seemed to light up when he saw her. How foolish! she chided herself. She hardly knew him.

  Even so, she had been attracted to Ted Shepherd more than she liked to admit, more than she was willing to confess, even to Clemmie. The fact that she might never see him again made her strangely sad.

  She compared her feelings about him with how she had once felt about Grady. Actually, she couldn’t remember what that had been like.

  THIRTEEN

  After Ted Shepherd left, life at Harvey House for Darcy settled down to routine again. Not that she didn’t still enjoy her job; there just wasn’t that little
expectant spark that had existed with his coming and going.

  However, as she continued to improve as a waitress and the work became increasingly automatic, she had more time to think. The lie she was living still nagged her. The longer it went on, the harder and harder it would be to explain it. Most of the time she tried not to think about it.

  Back east people had a distorted picture of the West, drawn from the sensational tabloids and the popular, exaggerated “Wild West” stories, with all their lurid details about barroom brawls and shoot-outs, about Billy the Kid, the James Brothers, and other outlaws. In fact, a common saying was, “West of Dodge City there is no Sunday. West of Tombstone there is no God.” This of course was totally untrue. There were several churches in Redsands. Clemmie had found a church she liked and attended regularly. One Sunday Clemmie persuaded Darcy to come with her.

  “There’s going to be a special speaker tonight, an evangelist with a powerful message. He’s really good. I heard him once in a tent meeting back home.”

  Darcy felt a prick of conscience. In Willowdale she had always attended church with her family because it was expected of her. Often bored, inattentive, nonetheless she felt the guilt of a sinner without knowing the joy of the saint. It was her own fault. She had always resisted when an altar call was given, too embarrassed to go up in front of all those people. Besides, everyone in the Willowdale church had probably assumed she was already saved.

  But Darcy could not come up with any reason to turn down Clemmie’s invitation. On second thought, it would be a good thing to mention in one of her letters home that she had attended this revival and heard this preacher. With some inner reluctance she agreed to accompany Clemmie to church.

  The choir was already singing when they entered the church. They found places and had just settled into the pew when two men came in from the side entrance and took seats in the chairs at the front. After the choir finished their hymn and filed out, one of the men came to the podium and announced, “Since Brother Barry has an important message to deliver tonight, I won’t take up any of his time.” He turned and gestured to the man who had accompanied him into the church.

  Brother Barry, a robust fellow with a wiry mane of rusty gray hair, rose, came to the podium, and thumped down the tattered Bible he was carrying. In a voice that resonated to the back of the building, he greeted everyone. “Well, praise the Lord, folks, it’s good to be with you tonight. And don’t think any of you is here tonight by chance. You’re here by divine appointment, and this message is for you.”

  Darcy squirmed a little uncomfortably as Clemmie gave her a knowing look. For some reason, nerves most likely, Darcy felt an irrepressible urge to giggle.

  She dug her fingernails into her palms. She had a history of laughing at the wrong times, in the wrong places. As a child she had been banished from Sunday school a number of times for just such behavior.

  She tried to concentrate on the beflowered hat of a stout woman sitting in the pew in front of them and wondered vaguely if she should retrim her own straw hat. But Brother Barry’s loud, persistent voice soon penetrated Darcy’s distraction.

  Did Brother Barry know she would be here tonight? He seemed to be speaking directly to her.

  “Today I am going to speak on what is an abomination to God according to Proverbs 12:22: ‘Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord.’”

  Darcy felt a prickling along her scalp, a sick, queasy feeling in her stomach. Brother Barry was right. Her being here tonight was no accident. Everything he was saying laid bare her soul. How could she ever have justified the lie she was living? The preacher’s voice zoomed out to her again, striking her inmost being.

  “We should not ignore the fate of Ananias and Sapphira when they lied.” The preacher extended his arm, pointing his index finger. His voice deepened dramatically. “‘Do not be deceived; God is not mocked. For whatever a man sows, he will also reap.’ No one who knowingly lies escapes the wrath of God.”

  Darcy felt hot, then cold. She clenched her hands together compulsively. Waves of cold shivers swept over her. This must be what they called “conviction of sin.” She had no excuses. All she could do was beg forgiveness.

  “God is a just God,” the preacher continued, “but he is also a merciful God. All he asks us to do is say we’re sorry, and he is quick to forgive. To wipe the slate clean, to let us start over.” Brother Barry stopped. For a full minute, it seemed, the congregation held its collective breath. Then the preacher asked, “Is there anyone here today who has a contrite heart, a broken spirit? Jesus can heal that. Come to the altar and let us pray for you. No one should leave here tonight with any burden on their conscience. If lying has been a problem with you and you want to repent of that sin in your life and start a new life free of guilt, shame, and lies, come now. Don’t wait to reform yourself. We aren’t able to do that. We can’t do that. For that we need Jesus.”

  In a sudden flash of memory, Darcy recalled the day she had boarded the train for Kansas and found the tract that someone had left on the seat. The one that she had carelessly picked up and tossed into her handbag, the one that had claimed in bold print, “You need Jesus.”

  All at once she realized that was a message for her. One she had ignored. Without him she had got herself entangled in her stupid lie. She was stricken with remorse.

  Brother Barry’s voice went on, soothing, cajoling, compelling.

  “And he already did that for us on the cross. He’s more than willing to do that for you now. Just come…”

  The organ began playing softly. A deep longing filled her, tears stung, and she knew she had to go forward. To be free from all that guilt she’d carried all this time, the burden that had robbed her of complete joy and peace.

  But she couldn’t move. All around her, other people were getting up, moving down the aisle to the altar rail. Darcy debated. Did she really have to go forward in front of all these strangers? Couldn’t she just repent right where she was? Ask God to forgive her? Write those letters home, whatever the price she would have to pay for lying? She was sorry. Wasn’t that enough?

  Her palms were slippery with perspiration. Her heart was pounding so loud, Darcy marveled that Clemmie and the man sitting on the other side of her couldn’t hear it.

  Clemmie nudged her with her elbow. “You all right? You look awfully pale. Are you sick?”

  Darcy turned to face her. She started to speak but nothing came out. She swallowed. Should she nod yes and slip out of the pew, leave the church before she made a complete fool of herself?

  Then Brother Barry’s words repeated themselves in her ears: “Don’t think any of you is here tonight by chance. You’re here by divine appointment, and this message is for you.”

  Those words struck her very soul. This was her chance to be free of all the accumulated guilt she had tried to deny for so long. If she didn’t do it now, there might not be another chance.

  Almost without being aware of what she was doing, Darcy got up. She moved past Clemmie and found herself in the aisle making her way toward the altar. When she reached it, she went to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Brother Barry was saying, “Just repeat after me this simple prayer: Dear Lord, forgive me my sins. I want to make a fresh start in my life. Please help me. In Jesus’ name I ask.”

  In a daze Darcy walked back to their dormitory. Clemmie was full of questions but Darcy was unusually quiet.

  “Didn’t I tell you Brother Barry was great? I’d have answered the altar call myself if I hadn’t been saved since I was ten years old. I thought you were, too, Darcy.”

  Not if you knew what a liar I was, Darcy said to herself. But she wasn’t ready just yet to confess to her roommate about her long deception. She’d asked forgiveness from God and was convinced she’d received it. That was all she could handle for tonight.

  What she was sure of was that something real had happened to her. Something that would change her life. She had experienced God’s grace, his unmerited favor, at work
in her heart.

  Now she had her own work to do. First she would have to write home and tell her family everything, no matter what. Whatever happened as a result of telling them she lied, she’d accept. The Lord might have forgiven her, but her family was a different story altogether.

  Clemmie finally broke the silence that had fallen between them on the way home. “Are you glad you came tonight?”

  “Yes,” was all Darcy managed to say. Her heart was too full of thanksgiving. The Lord had done a marvelous thing. The rest was up to her. That was the hard part. Darcy had always wanted to look good in the eyes of other people. Branding herself a liar wasn’t something she looked forward to, but it had to be done.

  FOURTEEN

  APRIL 1904

  For the next few weeks Darcy seemed to float in a cloud of euphoria. Clemmie kept giving her strange looks and finally one day demanded,“When are you going to stop being so angelic? I can’t stand it. It’s not like you at all. It’s all very well and good that you got saved. I’m pleased about that. But I miss my old roomie, the one who teased and joked and laughed and told funny stories.” She pouted. “Did you ever hear about people who were so heavenly minded, they were no earthly good?”

  Darcy stared at her friend. She didn’t know what to say. Here she had been trying so hard to be good, to control her little bouts of impatience or temper, and now Clemmie was criticizing her.

  Clemmie rushed on. “I just want you to be natural again. Nobody expects you to be a saint. Especially not me.”

  “I’m sorry—,” Darcy started to say. She halted for a moment, then burst out laughing. “I thought that’s the way I was supposed to act after I got saved!”