[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years

© 2003 by Tracie Peterson

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2011

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ISBN 978-1-4412-0314-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

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Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates

CHAPTER ONE

W
INSLOW
, A
RIZONA
, S
EPTEMBER
1929

Ma’am, my train leaves in less than ten minutes,” an irritated passenger complained.

Ashley Reynolds pulled a slip of paper from her apron and handed it to the man. “Sir, there’s plenty of time. Here’s the check, and I’ll have those sandwiches ready for you to take momentarily.” She sighed. The life of a Harvey Girl was not all it was cracked up to be. Especially when working the lunchroom counter. Ashley much preferred her regular duties in the dining room. It always seemed the lunchroom counters of Fred Harvey’s restaurants were frantic-paced battlegrounds where a girl’s only weapons were her charm and quick wit.

In another hour it was all behind her—at least the work was behind her. The worst was yet to come. With feelings of trepidation, Ashley finished straightening her station and headed to the back room.

“Are you going home?” one of her co-workers questioned.

Ashley didn’t feel like chatting. “Yes,” she answered in a rather curt manner. “See you tomorrow.” But even as she said the words, Ashley realized that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t be back to work tomorrow or the day after. Maybe never.

Turning in her resignation was the hardest thing Ashley had ever done. After working nearly ten years for the Harvey Company, Ashley was quite comfortable in her routine. Now everything was changing—and not for the better.

A hot desert wind whipped across Ashley’s skirt as she made her way home from work. Worn and perspiring from her long hours waiting on customers, the dry breeze created the tiniest sensation of cooling, and Ashley cherished it. A weariness unlike any she’d ever known, however, sapped all
remaining strength. How was she ever to find solace when she would soon become the bearer of such bad tidings?

Walking past the construction of the new Harvey hotel resort, Ashley couldn’t help wondering if the throngs of tourists would come as they had predicted at the onset of this proposed high-dollar dream. Vast gardens, orchards, and lavish furnishings were to beckon the wealthy to come and take their rest—and spend their money.

Having worked for nine years at the established Harvey House to the west, Ashley thought the new resort a waste of money and time. She found it impossible to believe people would actually spend a small fortune to come and bask in the desert heat. Not that she didn’t love Winslow and all it had to offer. This had been, after all, home for the last ten years, and she’d grown rather attached to its idiosyncrasies and lovable characters.

“Mama!”

Ashley glanced up the street. The animated movements of the skipping girl brought a smile to Ashley’s face. Despite the warmth of the day, her daughter fairly danced along the brick sidewalk.

“What are you doing this afternoon, my little miss?” Ashley questioned.

“I took over that mending you did for Mrs. Taylor at the boardinghouse. She said to tell you that you sure do fine work.” Natalie beamed her mother a smile. “She also gave me a nickel for being such a good delivery girl.”

Ashley couldn’t help grinning and shaking her head. The child positively owned Winslow, Arizona. She was everybody’s darling. Everyone from the train yards to the downtown businesses knew Natalie Reynolds. Knew her and loved her.

“Well, that was kind of Mrs. Taylor.”

Natalie fished into the pocket of her cotton dress. “She said to give you this.” She handed a dollar bill to her mother. “She said this was for last week’s mending too.”

Ashley tucked the bill into the skirt of her Harvey apron
and pulled out a nickel. “Why don’t you go get an ice-cream cone. I need to talk to Grandpa, and dinner won’t be for hours yet. You might well feel done in before then.”

“I already have the nickel Mrs. Taylor gave me.”

“Yes, but you may need that later for some other treasure. This time the treat’s on me.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Natalie took the money. She leaned up on tiptoe as Ashley bent down, then kissed her mother soundly on the cheek before making a beeline for her favorite ice-cream parlor.

Ashley sighed as she watched Natalie’s gleeful exit. She was such an easy child to care for, but Ashley worried about her. Being loved by the town regulars, Natalie held a loving attitude toward most everyone she met. With the trains that came and went at a constant pace, there were always strangers in town, yet Natalie knew no stranger. She would just as soon strike up a conversation with someone she’d never met as to talk with a friend. Soon she’d come to an age where that could be misconstrued as flirting—or worse yet, it could become very dangerous.

She’s growing up so fast,
Ashley thought as she continued her journey home. Had it really been ten years since Natalie had come into the world? Ashley remembered the easy delivery with fondness and regret. She had been alone, except for Grandpa Whitman. Her own parents had exiled her, rejecting her for marrying without their permission. Worse still, she’d married a man of no real means or status, something absolutely vital to her social-climbing mother and father.

Ethan . . . her beloved. The pain that had one time been a stabbing, white-hot torture was now a dull ache. Expecting Natalie had given her a will to go on after receiving notice that her war-hero husband had been killed. Ethan had never even known about the baby they’d created. They’d married in a whirlwind in March of 1918, and before either one knew what had happened, Ethan had gone to war and had given his life for his country. There was no time for letters to tell
of the pregnancy. No time for letters telling him how much she loved him. No time for letters saying good-bye.

Ashley paused at the iron gate and stared at the brick house she’d called home. The two-story house was quite simple, but it suited her and Natalie and Grandpa Whitman just fine. They’d had a great life there—just the three of them. Together they never felt isolated. They had each other . . . and loved each other and it was that love that helped them through each difficult event.

But with the doctor’s visit at the Harvey House today, Ashley knew all of that was about to change. She’d been serving at the lunch counter when he’d come in and asked to talk to her privately. The news was not good, and now she would have to break it to Grandpa. But how? How could she tell him that he was going to die—and quickly?

Cancer of the liver was the culprit, and like an unseen evil that had crept in while everyone slept, Ashley felt the burden of this horror wrap around her and threaten to squeeze the life out of her.

She pushed open the gate, her legs heavy—weighted, barely moving. She trudged toward the front door and sighed. A person should never have a duty like this befall them, she thought. Ashley had been the one to make her grandfather go to the doctor, and upon completing the exam, Grandpa had flippantly told the doc to just let Ashley know the results of his tests. Grandpa had strolled out of the office as if he owned the world, in spite of the pain he’d been suffering.

Now the tests and examinations were complete, and the doctor felt confident that her grandfather would rather hear the truth from her than from him. He’d offered to accompany Ashley, but she knew her grandfather would resent the intrusion. He hadn’t wanted to go to the doctor in the first place, but the pain had become nearly unbearable, and he could no longer ignore his weakness and loss of weight.

“Grandpa?” Ashley called out as she pulled open the screen door.

“I’m here.” His voice lacked its usual firmness.

She entered the room, pausing momentarily to allow her eyes to adjust to the shaded room. Grandpa sat slumped at the dining room table, a newspaper laid out before him.

“We need to talk,” Ashley stated matter-of-factly.

Russell Whitman looked up at her, appearing to gauge the importance of the matter without being told. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

Ashley pulled out the simple wooden ladder-back chair and sat. It felt so good to be off of her feet. She stretched her legs out under the table before looking up to meet her grandfather’s intense stare.

“I talked to the doctor today.”

Grandpa nodded, seeming to understand. “It’s not good, is it?”

Ashley fought back the urge to cry. “No. It’s very bad. You have a cancer in your liver.”

“Can anything be done?” the eighty-two-year-old asked as he straightened in the chair.

Ashley longed to give him better news. She wanted so much for the entire matter to be a mistake. She bowed her head. “No. They can’t do anything to eliminate it. The doctor did say he could give you morphine for the pain, but otherwise . . . well . . . it’s just a matter of time.”

“How much time, Ashley?”

His tone was almost childlike, causing Ashley to immediately seek his face. She saw the acceptance in his expression but also something akin to concern, even worry. “The doctor said it could be weeks, maybe even months.”

“Not much time, then,” he said, growing thoughtful.

Ashley reached out her hand and covered his bony fingers. “Not nearly enough.” Again, she forced back the tears. His gruff, weathered face appeared so thin and pale. Just months ago he’d seemed vibrant and alive and now . . .

“Well, we need to make plans.” He got to his feet slowly, grimacing in pain. “We have to see to everything right away. I
can’t be taking medicine like morphine and think clearheaded. I saw what it did to old Jefferson Dawson.” He paused and looked at Ashley. “You remember him, don’t you? Used to work at odd jobs around town.”

“I remember.”

“As I recall, he took up with using morphine after he’d had that scaffolding accident. Never was the same after that. I don’t need that kind of confusion.”

“But you also don’t need to live in anguish,” Ashley said, getting to her feet and coming to his side. “I don’t want you hurting anymore.”

He patted her hand. “Sweetheart, soon there will be no more pain. I reckon I can bear up just a little while longer. But the truth is, you and Natalie need for me to make some good choices and decisions now. I don’t intend to see you left without provision.”

With those words Ashley allowed the tears to come. A sob broke from her throat. Even with this terrible news, the old man was more concerned for her well-being than his own. “I can’t lose you.”

Grandpa pulled her close and gently patted her shoulder. “There, there. You’re not losing me. You know that. I’ll go to a better place. A place with no pain or sorrow. Would you deny me that?”

Ashley shook her head. “But I’ll still be here with the pain. I know that sounds selfish, and I was really determined to be brave and strong for you. But, Grandpa, what will I do without you?”

“You’ll survive. You’ll live for Natalie, and you’ll work to see her happy and healthy. It’s just as it should be. I’ve lived longer than most. I’ve had some very good years.” He chuckled weakly and added, “And some not so good years. But you’ll see. It’s all going to work—”