The Cure for Dreaming(57)

An argument rushed up my throat, but the fight wilted at my lips.

You are free to speak your mind, but you will do so with caution around your father, Henry had instructed me in his hotel room. You will limit your volatile words only to moments when someone is about to get hurt.

Father moved to leave the room.

“Father,” I said before he could go. “Frannie’s family invited me over for Mr. and Mrs. Harrison’s twentieth anniversary dinner tonight, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Am I allowed to go? I’d prepare your meal before I left.”

He picked at the ends of his beard. “I would have to escort you to their front door and pick you up. No bicycling.”

“Because it’s unladylike?”

“Because I don’t want you conspiring with that hypnotist. He’s signed a contract with me.”

“I—” I bit down on my tongue, for I was about to slip and say, I know.

“You what?” asked Father.

“I’m glad you signed a contract. It’s a sensible thing to do.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve forgotten—what time did Frannie say they’re serving dinner?”

“Three thirty, I believe.” A lie—the dinner was set for five o’clock.

“Then I’ll walk you over at three and pick you up at six.”

“Thank you, Father. That’s very kind of you.”

He retreated from the kitchen, and my mouth hissed a gust of white steam—my snuffed-out arguments.


AT THREE O’CLOCK SHARP, FATHER DELIVERED ME TO Harrison’s Books, which was closed for Sunday.

“I’ll fetch you at six, Olivia,” he said with a peek at his pocket watch, as if he were already counting down the minutes.

“Can you make it seven o’clock, Dr. Mead?” asked Frannie from the bookshop’s doorway. “Martha and I baked a cake. We’ll need time for dessert.”

“Well . . . I suppose.” Father crinkled his brow. “If you think the festivities will last that long.”

“At least that long. Eight might even be better. Papa will likely play his fiddle.”

Father frowned. “Eight at the latest.”

I patted his arm. “Thank you, Father.”

Frannie shut the glass door behind me with a jingle of the bell, and Father retreated down the street with his gray derby bobbing up and down on his thick hair.

I grasped Frannie by the shoulders. “I’m here early because of a plan.”

“A plan?”

“I need to go to the theater and speak to Henry.”

“But—”

“Wait before you try to talk me out of it. Gerda quit yesterday. Father won’t let me go to school anymore.”

“What?” She reached up and gripped my elbows.

“Father hired Henry for a second treatment that was even worse than the first, but Henry is helping to alter the effects. Father got himself invited to an election-night party hosted by the Oregon Association Opposed to the Extension of Suffrage—” I involuntarily covered my mouth and belched a horrid, gagging sound.

Frannie grimaced. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” I let my hand flop down to my leg. “Anyway, at this party, in order to receive Father’s payment for the hypnosis, Henry is supposed to hypnotize me in front of everyone and prove there’s a cure for suffragists.” Again, I smacked my hand over my mouth, and I hacked like a cat.

“Why are you gagging?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s all a part of the hypnosis.”

“Livie! This is terrible. Are you still seeing terrifying sights, too?”

“Oddly enough, that’s the least of my troubles.” I clutched her hands. “But never mind that. Here’s where I need your help. First, please let me borrow your cloak.”

“But—”

“Second, talk to Kate on Monday at school. Let her know that the antis are congregating for some election-night hoopla at the Portland Hotel at seven o’clock. It would be splendid to have a team of suff”—my right hand slapped my mouth again—“ragists, ack”—I spat up another foul sound— “standing out front, singing anthems, wearing yellow ribbons. But tell them they must leave the hotel grounds no later than seven fifteen. That part is vital.”

She stared at me with unblinking eyes.

“Please, Frannie.” I pulled her against me and squeezed my arms around her.

“Livie, what’s going to happen to you when the party is over?” she asked into my hair. “How in the world can you keep living with your father?”

I closed my eyes and pulled her so close, her shoulder dug into my throat. “I’ll likely leave for New York Tuesday night.”

“What?”

“My mother lives there. Near Barnard.”

“Your mother has been an absent fool all these years.”

“But she doesn’t want to transform me into a creature who doesn’t even resemble me.” I pulled free of our hug. “Please, Frannie. Help me. I need you. Genevieve needs you, too. I’ve seen her in her room in the Hotel Vernon. She’s fading. The cancer will kill her if it’s not removed soon.”