The Davenports(4)

John didn’t mind her constant questions. He let her speak her mind. Helen adored her older brother. They even had the same look about them, contagious smiles, and their father’s proud nose and quiet nature. And they were dreamers.

“Did you forget what a wrench looks like?” John teased.

The men laughed at his joke. Isaac reached for the diagram she’d left on the floor. An architect by trade, he’d followed his brother to the Davenport Carriage Company after seeing an ad in the paper. “I can look these over for you, if you’d like, Helen.”

That was another thing. Here, she wasn’t Miss Davenport or Miss Helen. With the exception of Malcolm, who never addressed her directly, the men called her by her first name. She’d earned her place with them and they treated her like an equal for it.

Inside the garage, she was a true apprentice.

The garage wasn’t as fancy as the factory where the carriages were made, but it suited their needs just fine. The outside was painted the same shade of pale blue as the manor house. Two large bay doors allowed them to work on more than one automobile at a time, especially since John’s Ford was parked in the carriage house. The walls were lined with a mix of new and secondhand tools mounted above the wooden workbench that hugged the back wall as it stretched toward the small office, where she and her brother often discussed the business’s future.

But before Helen could hand over the diagram, something caught her eye and suddenly the engine’s secrets revealed themselves to her. She gathered the tools she needed, and the rest of the garage faded into the background. She leaned forward over the open engine, alert and breathless. This is what she was meant to do.

The men watched for a while, but in time they returned to their own work, and John’s shadow fell over her. John, the first-born child and only son, was groomed to take over the family’s carriage company. His easy smile and smooth manners made every lady swoon over him.

Then there was Olivia. Olivia, who always knew the right thing to say and didn’t get ink on her sleeve or grease on her chin. She’d marry well and make their parents proud and continue to shop and entertain her way through life, just as she’d spent the last year doing.

Helen closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. She missed her sister—the way she’d been. Helen intended to use her mind to do more than plan dinners and pick china.

John tugged on her ear. “Where’d you go?”

Helen shook her head. “I think you should tell Daddy about converting the business to an automobile factory. Just repairing Ford and General Motors automobiles is not the future of our company. Studebaker and Patterson are already—”

“Helen.” He sighed. “We’ve been over this. He won’t even allow us to advertise automobile repairs. He would never agree to a factory.”

She looked up at him. “He would if you present it the right way. He may be set in his ways, but Daddy likes facts. It’s a risk, I agree. But one we need to take.”

“I couldn’t argue it the way you do.” John juggled the planetary gear between his hands. “You tallied the numbers, made the plans, figured out the budgets.”

“And you predicted the trend in the market, secured a space downtown to open a larger factory, and”—she poked him in the chest—“recognized what I have to offer.”

“You’re right. We’re a team.” He massaged below his left shoulder and frowned. “I wouldn’t feel right presenting your work to Daddy as my own.”

Helen grunted. Her face hot and prickling from the indecision on John’s face. “You know very well that Daddy would laugh me out of the room.”

After making a few minor adjustments to the Model T’s undercarriage, she took the gear from her brother and fitted it into place. Her stomach clenched at the thought of voicing her secret wish—to work, officially, for the Davenport Carriage Company—to her father. John would keep her secret until she was ready, until she had the experience to prove to their father that she had as much to contribute to the family name as her siblings.

“I just think you’re not giving him a chance,” her brother said. “He could surprise you.”

Helen chewed her lip. What if John was right? Helen pictured herself walking into his study with her notes and numbers. She’d played her speech out in her mind so many times, she could recite it in her sleep. In her best, wildest dreams, Daddy was impressed—proud.

The corner of John’s mouth twitched. “You both get the same look on your face when you have an idea. You’re more alike than you realize.”

Hope swelled in Helen’s chest. Just when she thought she would float away, the garage’s side door swung open.

Amy-Rose stood in the doorway. Flour coated her sleeve and a few stray curls clung to the side of her neck. Her expressive hazel eyes were set in a medium-brown complexion spotted with freckles. Now those eyes settled on Helen.

“There you are! I swear—” Amy-Rose tripped over the threshold. “Your mother asked for you,” she said, clearly out of breath. “I told her you were in the bath.”

Helen didn’t believe her friend’s face could have flushed any brighter until Amy-Rose spotted John sitting on the floor beside her.

John stood first. “Thank you, Amy-Rose.” He stretched his arms down to his sister and hauled her up. “Get inside before Mama and Daddy find you like this.”