The Davenports(38)

Helen watched him struggle for several moments before she removed her hat and pushed up her sleeves. The drop to the ground was greater than she suspected. Her feet landed in mud that quickly enveloped her feet. This will be difficult to explain, she thought. She toddled to face the horse. “What’s her name?”

Mr. Lawrence scratched the back of his head. “A flower? I don’t remember.”

She rolled her eyes, but softened it with a smile. “There’s your first problem.” Helen looked up at the beautiful creature with a coat of deep brown. “Hey there, sweet girl,” she crooned. Helen placed her palm against the horse’s neck. The majestic creature bucked at first, but Helen continued talking to her in a gentle tone until she calmed down.

“She’s stuck.” She nodded to the horse’s hind legs buried in the mud. The ground made a sucking sound with every attempt to pull her free, as if it wanted to swallow her whole. Helen tried to ignore the way Mr. Lawrence watched her as she whispered to the horse, guiding the creature free. Her skin prickled with heat, and underneath the smell of the wet earth and animal, she caught snatches of cedar. Focus, she told herself.

“There we go,” she said as the horse popped up from the mud and found solid land.

Helen cheered and looked to Mr. Lawrence. He clapped at her efforts. “I do like a girl who can get her hands dirty.” He glanced at the mud covering the tops of her shoes. “Or in your case, your feet.”

Helen laughed and took a beat too long to move out of the horse’s way. When she did, she stepped out of the shoe held fast by the mud. Before she could catch herself, she stumbled back. Her other foot was trapped and she met the ground with a wet, messy slap.

Mr. Lawrence stood above her, chewing his bottom lip, mustache twitching.

Helen lifted her hands. The mud was up to her elbows. She felt a wet drip down her chin, saw it land on her blouse, heard the choking sounds coming from above.

Mr. Lawrence’s control broke. His mirth was loud and infectious. Helen, pretending to be embarrassed and horrified, grabbed a handful of mud at her hip and tossed it. Her aim was true and landed square in the middle of his chest. She pressed her lips together. She waited for his reaction, confident she hadn’t gone too far.

Slowly, Mr. Lawrence bent down. His fingers sunk into the ground, his eyes never left hers. His movements were deliberate. Helen licked her lips, and saw Mr. Lawrence do the same. In that split second, Helen let another shot fly, this one striking his shoulder. They used the horse and carriage as cover, running and shouting like children, until both were covered in mud and grass.

Helen slid against the side of the buggy, and Mr. Lawrence was there to catch her. He held her elbow, releasing her long after she’d steadied herself. He stood over her as they exchanged fast, laughing breaths. “Helen, I should get you back.” She stilled at the sound of her name. Unsure of what to say, she nodded and they got to work freeing the buggy and coaxing the horse back to work.

It seemed like they made it back to Freeport Manor faster than it took them to get out of town. They continued to swap stories, each more ridiculous. In the back of her mind, Helen knew her behavior was monstrous. She didn’t care. Talking with Jacob Lawrence was easy, easier than she would have thought with a man who wasn’t John. The realization sat heavy on Helen’s chest until the grand Victorian face of the manor house emerged from the trees. She instantly felt the stiff way her dress clung to her body. The dried mud cracked and flaked when she moved. “I think you should go around and drop me off by the garage,” she said.

“It may be too late for that.”

Helen followed his gaze to Amy-Rose fanning herself on the stairs. Her face a picture of shock. She knew Mrs. Milford must be waiting for her inside—it was past three o’clock. She only hoped her mother wasn’t waiting for her too.

Mr. Lawrence made to get down, but Helen clutched his arm. “I can manage. We don’t want to make things worse.”

“Well, if she gives you any trouble,” he whispered in her ear, “you could show her your curve ball.”

Helen laughed despite herself and the lecture looming before her. It strengthened her as she made her way from the carriage to her friend’s side. Just before disappearing inside the house, Helen glanced over her shoulder to see Jacob Lawrence still smiling at her.





CHAPTER 18


    Ruby



Ruby held her glass lightly in her hand. The jazz club had been her suggestion. The music was loud. The crowd, and its constant chatter, buzzed through her, electric. She leaned against the bar and played lazily with the beads dangling at her waist, then looked across the room, enjoying the warm feeling of her drink spreading through her.

Harrison Barton had gone to the stage to request a song. She loved dancing, and he was all too happy to oblige. She had to admit, she was having fun. Now if there were just a chance meeting between them and John, or some mutual acquaintance who might tell the young Mr. Davenport that they saw her with a new beau and if he doesn’t act soon he’ll miss his chance, the night would be perfect.

Ruby took another sip of her cocktail and laughed as Mr. Barton danced to her side, dressed in a finely made suit, cut to perfection. He watched the other couples with an amazed look on his face.

“Don’t they have dance halls like this where you come from?”