The Davenports(29)
“Oh!” The startled sound escaped Ruby’s lips and her hand flew to her cheek. She slipped back into the fray, making sure she was still in Agatha’s sightline. Smile, she told herself. “I’ve got it from here, gentlemen,” she said to no one in particular.
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he said.
Ruby offered him a handkerchief. A stark white piece of cloth, embroidered with her initials.
“It looks plenty awful to me.” She looked around at the spectators. “Let’s get you in the shade.” He let her steer him to a nearby tree. Close enough to the others that they were easily observed, but far enough that they may speak without being overheard. He sat down abruptly, taking her with him. It was silly and awkward and she laughed.
Ruby remembered the last time she had sat under a tree with a member of the opposite sex. It had been at the peak of a crush-come-to-life, and not nearly enough to satisfy her.
“Perhaps I should be struck by more fly balls,” he said, smiling, then wincing.
She pulled her hand away. “Please! You could have been seriously injured.”
The corner of Mr. Barton’s mouth twitched, and Ruby’s shoulders relaxed. Stop, she scolded herself.
“You’re worried about me,” he said.
“No more than I would be for any other person suffering from a similar injury. You should really pay better attention.”
He smirked. “Well, someone on the sidelines stole mine.”
“Ha,” Ruby said. “Don’t pin your lack of focus on me.” Ruby turned her head away then, watching him clean himself up from the corner of her eye. “She must have been someone special,” she added.
“Very special indeed. Maybe the most beautiful girl in all of Chicago.”
Ruby’s face warmed, and she gave him a challenging look. “Maybe?”
He released a surprised bark of laughter, wincing again as he did. Ruby liked the sound. And the way he looked at her. “Miss Tremaine, as soon as I can hold my own, I’d like to take you dancing.”
Ruby smiled victoriously. “I’d love that.”
CHAPTER 15
Amy-Rose
The kitchen was quiet. Clean and deserted. Amy-Rose liked working from the stool in the corner late at night, feet tucked under the counter where the oven, still warm from a pie or a roast, kept her warm. Most nights, only the sound of the pencil scratching against the rough pages of her notebook could be heard. She couldn’t get her ideas down fast enough. And when she finished, she felt lighter, braver.
Brave enough tonight to reread the last thing her mother had written: a grocery list. Clara Shepherd had sat in the seat Amy-Rose now did, writing down the ingredients for her accra. She could almost hear her mother and Jessie argue over the proper way to prepare the fish cakes over a sizzling pan, the smell of chopped greens and onions in the air. She enjoyed listening to them go back and forth and to watch her mother mix the ingredients, measuring them out with her strong, slender hands. People from all over the house would be drawn to the kitchen.
Amy-Rose rubbed her temples and looked away from her work, thinking how quickly everything would change. There’d be no real reason for her to stay on with the Davenports once the girls were married. But the counter by the window in the kitchen was where her mother had sat her after Amy-Rose scraped her knee trying to sneak horses out of the stable with Olivia and John. The room upstairs was the one they’d shared, where she listened to stories of Saint Lucia so detailed, they felt like her own. Everything around her sparked some little memory of the only parent she knew, the only real family she had.
That’s not entirely true, she thought. The Davenport girls may not be her sisters, but for a time, that’s what they’d felt like. Jessie and Ethel, in the role of aunts, bickered from dawn until they disappeared into their room at night. The moments of tenderness between the pair of them were rarely seen, though they had always had more than enough for her. Harold, Tommy’s father and the Davenports’ coachman, whittled the miniature horse figures she displayed by her bed. There was no corner untouched by a fond memory. The Shepherd family of two grew here.
What would life be like to wake up in a new place? Surrounded by different people? The thought made her uneasy, but excited too.
Amy-Rose gathered her notebook and pencil, and tiptoed through the door leading out to the garden. The brisk wind raced across her face, cooling the sudden flush of panic that overtook her. She moved across the Davenports’ backyard, careful to stay out of the line of the windows, as she wasn’t meant to be out on the grounds so late. She hugged her sweater closer and stepped off the path where an assortment of native foliage and sturdy New England greenery thrived. Mrs. Davenport took great pride in its maintenance, having grown up in a small Boston tenement far from the Boston Public Garden.
Now it served as Amy-Rose’s refuge. Once the house was out of sight, she settled against the trunk of a great oak tree. Through its leaves she watched the stars wink in and out, her heart rate returning to normal. Just like the East Coast trees around her, she could be replanted.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re following me.”
Amy-Rose’s hands flew to her throat. In the bright moonlight, John sat with his elbows on his knees. He stood, revealing the creases in his fresh suit and the buttons undone at his collar.