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with rich, dark walnut furniture upholstered in a golden raw silk. Blended with the red and gold accents of the carpet and furniture, heavy brocade draperies complemented the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. Rachel knew from experience that the scene transported the person who walked through the doors of Casa Grande from a quaint, dusty village to a wealthy resort.
    In spite of the grand opening still being a couple of weeks off, Casa Grande was, even now, aflutter with activity as the girls worked to feed breakfast to a bevy of railroad workers. Rachel felt pleased, in general, with the way things had progressed. She had heard that it might be difficult to pull together a staff of twenty-five girls, especially given that they were experienced in working elsewhere along the line and might expect to do things their own way. The uniform training and regulatory operations of each dining room along the Santa Fe made it easier, however. Every girl knew what was expected of her under the Harvey rules, and because of this, Rachel felt confident that the transition would be fairly simple.
    Now if she could just eliminate the pesky problems that seemed to frustrate her efforts. Problems like Ivy Brooks’s insistence to stir up strife and problems like …
    â€œMiss Taylor!” an elderly voice boomed out, causing all heads to turn toward the main entry doors.
    Rachel sighed. Problems like Esmeralda Needlemeier.
    Crossing the dining room, Rachel smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Needlemeier. What may I do for you today?”
    â€œI have come to observe your operations,” the older woman replied, tapping her cane on the hardwood floor.
    â€œWe are nearly finished with the morning meal. It was only a trial run for the railroad staff, but if you would like to partake of breakfast, I could check with the chef.”
    â€œMercy, no!” the woman exclaimed. “I’ve already taken my morning meal. I’ve merely come to watch you work and to speak to my niece.”
    â€œVery well,” Rachel replied. “You may take any seat you like.”
    She watched the elderly woman move across the room to position herself in one of the far corners. Sitting very primly on the edge of the oak dining room chair, Esmeralda Needlemeier observed the room with a critical eye.
    Rachel tried to be unaffected by her presence, but the icy blue of Esmeralda’s eyes chilled her. The old woman was difficult at best to relate to, but she was nearly impossible to understand. Rachel had tried to extend a warm welcome on many occasions, but inevitably Esmeralda held her at arm’s length. No, Rachel smiled to herself, she keeps me at a far greater distance than an arm’s length .
    Jeffery O’Donnell, stationmaster for the Santa Fe in Morita and a very dear friend from Rachel’s past, had told her that the old woman was key to the success of Casa Grande. She owned most of the land upon which the town surrounding the resort sat, and she appeared to be highly esteemed by the board of directors for the Santa Fe Railroad— especially given that additional negotiations were still in the works. Jeffery had explained that the Santa Fe was dependent upon her good graces since she owned the passageway from the depot to the resort. She also owned the omnibus company that would transport passengers along that same passage.
    Rachel thought it rather amusing that one tiny old woman could cause the mighty Santa Fe Railroad to come to its knees. She glanced up and found Esmeralda frowning in her scrutiny of the operations.
    She was dressed in black bombazine from the tip of her high-collared jacket to the hem of her skirt. Her snowy white hair had been pulled back in a tight bun, its severity only altered by the application of a rigid black felt hat and veil. Her widow’s weeds were reverent attire in the memory of her dearly departed Hezekiah, or so Rachel had been told.
    Jeffery explained to Rachel that if they