The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [125]
At the newspaper office in Spokane, I searched the help-wanted ads. No openings were posted for any accounting work, furrier work, or even ranch management. I chose a job waiting tables at the Davenport Hotel, a grand facility that had opened the year before. I’d apply and see if my previous years of domestic service would meet requirements. Of course, they might want younger people now, but a mature woman could be an advantage in handling disgruntled customers.
The city directory lay next to the Spokane Daily Chronicle. Because I couldn’t resist, I found the Estby page. Helga, Arthur, Agnes, William, Ida, Lillian. All still lived on Mallon Avenue. I wondered who Agnes was. Maybe Arthur or Billy had married.
Spokane felt like an eastern city to me as I walked toward the Davenport Hotel. New construction promised prosperity. Washington women had earned the right to vote in 1910, and there were parks with benches to sit on that I attributed to their influence. The Huttons had poured much of their $150 million silver, lead, and zinc strike into Spokane, especially helping with orphaned children. The Colville and Spokane Indians I met walking on the street stood taller. Fewer leaves gathered in the door wells, and the streets looked cleaner to me than I remembered. The Church of St. Joseph, grown from a carpenter’s shop and a brick structure when I’d left, had become the Our Lady of Lourdes Cathedral, a building as imposing and intricate as any I’d seen in Europe.
I passed a furrier. I’d need to bring my motor coat here not for summer storage, but to sell.
The Davenport Hotel rose up several stories between Sprague and First Street, and the elegant lobby was as astonishing as the Waldorf-Astoria’s, though much newer. I didn’t swirl around like a country bumpkin beneath the domed ceiling nor stare too long at the intricate wrought-iron railings that defined the balcony, but I considered it. The thick Persian carpets, large potted plants, and English furniture softened the noise of a very busy place. Men and women in fine fashion, many wearing furs, sauntered after bellboys carrying stacks of luggage like layered cakes. The men behind the desk wore ties and vests and boutonnieres, while the scent of fresh croissants floated like a melody from the kitchen.
This is what my life had come to.
I turned around, entered the more appropriate service entrance.
I found a house for us to rent on Fairview, the same street Olea’s home had been on, just down the block. She’d sold it to enter our adventure with my designs. From that quiet street I walked to the streetcar stop and began my life as a waitress at the Davenport Hotel. After three months, both Louise and Olea were hired as domestics at a smaller hotel down the street, changing sheets and washing towels. It troubled me to see them working so hard, but unexpectedly, Louise perked up with steady, routine tasks. Olea could encourage her and urged her to rest at various times through the day. It kept Louise from thinking about the garden she no longer tended.
On the streetcar, we made a game of looking at the people, guessing where they hurried to or what happened in their day to make them laugh or scowl. When I ate my lunch outside, the sun warm on my face, I wondered what I’d do if I saw Arthur or Billy or Lillian, or if I’d even recognize them. Lillian had been twelve, writing in a diary, when I’d seen her last. Maybe I’d find out where Lillian worked and take an order to her, have a dress made for Louise when I had enough saved up.
While elegant, the Davenport didn’t pay waitresses all that well. But a meal was included, and I liked working among the other servers. I enjoyed the finery of the hotel and its well-portioned guests. The kitchen help told jokes, and I often took my lunch with them, remembering the hotel in Minneapolis where the reporter had found us laughing in the kitchen. Even the Deer Park Egg Farm delivery man sometimes sat down for coffee with us. His presence made me briefly long for my idea of the fur ranch. Eggs would be good food for captive