The Davenports(39)
Mr. Barton nodded, his smile still in place, but a sadness had crept into his eyes. “They do. Most dance halls where I come from, whether for Blacks or whites, don’t take kindly to mixed people, unless you’re the entertainment. They’re not all officially segregated. It might be easier for me to get into a white-owned establishment than my siblings with deeper complexions. In others . . . my face is offensive.” He shrugged, but Ruby could see the hurt there.
She looked away, knowing she was guilty of making her own snap judgments.
“Now, don’t go feeling sorry for me.”
“I’m not,” she scoffed. Ruby knew pity was the worst feeling to endure from someone else. She straightened and glanced over at him. “All I know are the rumors.”
This time he broke eye contact. He stared into his glass, rolling it between his fingers. “My father and mother grew up together. Almost.” He shifted, unsure, then seemed to make a choice. “My mother was enslaved,” he said. He looked up and met Ruby’s eyes. “They kept their friendship, and later their love, hidden until his father was dead and she was freed. Still, they’ve always kept to themselves.” A small smile chased away the darkness that had fallen over his features. “They didn’t seem to mind. Or need anyone else, except us—my siblings and me.”
The rumors were worse than reality. Ruby’s mouth puckered at the bitter tang at the back of her throat. She took a deep breath, realizing in that moment that even if Harrison Barton had been the result of a violent act and not a loving union, she wouldn’t have liked him any less. “And so you left,” she said.
Mr. Barton looked toward the dancing couples. “People don’t understand that the love between my parents is as real as the love anyone else feels. They see it as a betrayal. My parents kept me and my siblings close for as long as they could. Much like your friend Olivia. Except we didn’t have the money then to protect us from the worst of it. We did have each other.” His voice was steady. His words not revealing any of the pain he must have been feeling. Instead, he had a faintly joyful expression on his face as he watched the movements of the more talented dancers. “It’s not something I chose or can change. It’s better to focus on the things I can.”
Ruby studied him. How could he be so at peace? She knew she had a temper and a penchant for retaliation. Ruby Tremaine loved drama. That’s how you ended up here, pretending an attachment to a man so confident in who he is, he doesn’t let the outside world affect what he knows inside. She twisted the cross she now wore at her throat. His words slid under her skin where they settled alongside her own feelings.
Her family’s wealth had dwindled to a shadow of what it once was. They struggled to keep up appearances in the hope that her father’s bid for the mayoral seat would pay off, his dreams of pulling up other Black folks coming true. Ruby could only see her family through the eyes of the other influential Black families and white businessmen who traveled in and out of their circle. No matter how much she tried, their judgment raked her skin raw. No one knew the full extent of her family’s circumstances. She suspected Olivia might, but was too polite to speak of it.
Ruby said something then, despite her parents’ warnings to keep their situation within their ever-shrinking household. “We’re broke,” she said.
She’d blurted the words before she could think better of it, and waited for the regret to set in. It didn’t.
Mr. Barton turned to her, his face open and waiting. He didn’t know her family before—not like the Davenports did. Ruby knew Olivia wouldn’t care, that their friendship was seeded in love and shared experiences. But the further the might of the Tremaines seemed to slip, the more Ruby felt unsure of herself. I don’t know how to be Ruby Tremaine without the money and the jewels and the parties and the laissez-faire lifestyle. In the corner of her blurring vision, she saw him watching her, his face open and free of judgment. She blinked her vision clear.
“My father wants to be mayor—to be a part of the minority that makes decisions, not just lives by them. At first, I thought it was prestige he wanted. Another thing he could own, stamp his name on. I’ve run into enough of the connections he’s made, and overheard enough quiet conversations, to know that he wants more for every person who looks like us. Every person who has been freed from bondage.” She turned to Harrison. “I was angry with him. Now I’m concerned that no one will ever know what he’s risking. He doesn’t want us to be special. He wants us, Black people with wealth, education, and opportunities, to be common. In the best sense of the word.”
Harrison Barton didn’t speak. But the expression in his eyes sent a shiver through her body in a room thick with sweat and smoke. “You could never be common, Ruby,” he said finally. “You are anything but.”
Ruby liked the way he said her name, soft like a caress. “Of course,” she said, recovering quickly and unfurling her fingers by her face, as if presenting a magic trick. Then her smile faded. “They’re struggling with the fact that I don’t need their permission. Not for what I wear or whom I choose to spend my time with. I’m not like these other girls waiting for a man to ask her parents for her hand in marriage.” She looked at him pointedly. “Being ahead of the curve doesn’t come without its price.” Her hand strayed again to her neck. “I had this beautiful ruby necklace,” she said. “A gift from my father and mother. My initials were engraved on a tiny charm by the clasp.” Ruby replayed the ugly scene of her mother finding it the night of the fundraiser at their home, how Mrs. Tremaine had stood in Ruby’s bedroom, choking the necklace in her fist. The thought of someone else wearing her jewel . . .