The Davenports(66)

“Jessie, I’m not sure what came over me.”

It was clear the cook knew Amy-Rose didn’t mean her knife-handling skills. “Honey, we can’t control everything. Sometimes, them feelings take a hold of us and won’t let go.”

Amy-Rose let her forehead fall to the cool surface of the table. It helped with the aching. Those feelings, despite her best efforts, did grab hold of her. They sank their nails in deep.

“Now, I want you to get out of this house.” Jessie began dicing onions. “Don’t look at me like that. Just for a couple hours. Walk. Get some air and exercise.” Jessie’s gaze roamed over Amy-Rose. “Yes, I think that’s what you need.” She went back to her meal prep as if Amy-Rose had already left.

Slowly, Amy-Rose removed her apron and gathered her things. Jessie was right. There were things in life you couldn’t control. Circumstances so big and devastating, they changed your life. Love. A storm. Death. They broke a heart so completely it never fully recovered. They also spurred a determination so sound, it withstood all.

“Fine,” Amy-Rose said. “I have to see a man about a shop.” Jessie didn’t answer as Amy-Rose swung her bag over her shoulder, but the glint in the cook’s eye was the only response she needed.



* * *



—

The door at Mr. Spencer’s barbershop opened without a sound. Amy-Rose looked up to see the bell above had been removed. An eerie sensation crept up her back as she stepped over the threshold. The large picture windows, which usually flooded the space with light, were dressed in brown paper. The effect created a sickly yellow glow. The station at the end where Mr. Spencer himself cut hair was empty. In fact, all the chairs and sinks were gone. This will make it easier to redesign, she thought.

“Mr. Spencer?” she called. Amy-Rose missed the chatter and laughter she always found here. Mr. Spencer’s most of all. When no sound came, she turned to leave. The door opened and closed silently behind her. The feeling of dread grew. Her pace quickened as she dodged carriages and automobiles at the intersection on her way to Binga Bank. He’s probably decided to shut down early.

By the time Amy-Rose pushed her way into the bank, her back was damp with sweat and her breaths puffed out in panicked bursts. Something was wrong. She could feel it. The receptionist, a young Black man in an over-starched suit, took her name even though he’d seen her there many times. He asked her to sit while he checked in the back for the banker handling her account.

Had he looked sad?

She paced the small space in front of his simple wooden desk. Mr. Spencer had said she had more time. He wouldn’t leave without telling her. Without saying goodbye. Amy-Rose was well on her way to wearing a trench in the hardwood floor when she heard her name.

“Miss Shepherd?” A different man appeared at the entrance of the hall. “If you’ll follow me.” He turned as she approached and led her into the first of two offices. She sat in the seat to which he gestured. Through the frosted glass, she could see the bank’s other patrons as blurred figures moving in the lobby. Her eyes returned to the banker to find the same regretful look as worn by the secretary. “Miss Shepherd, I understand that you have a savings account with us.”

“What’s wrong?” Amy-Rose’s pulse spiked and sweat broke out at her temples. She had placed all she could spare in her savings account. Nearly everything she had. There would be no way to start over. She stared at the man across the desk, knowing the news he was about to share would be terrible. A chill settled over her.

“It’s”—he paused and moved the loose papers on his desk into a neat stack—“that I know you intended to lease a property. Spencer’s barbershop, to be precise.”

“Not ‘intended.’ I haven’t changed my mind.” The cold pooled in her stomach like lead. Her voice shook. “I’ve nearly saved the amount Mr. Spencer asked for the deposit. Surely you know this. You can check right now.”

The banker steepled his fingers. The sigh before his next words sucked all the air out of the room. “We brokered the deal between Mr. Spencer and another patron this morning. I’m afraid the storefront is no longer available.”

Amy-Rose held on to the armrests of her chair as the room spun beneath her feet. The man, his desk, even the fern behind him, seemed to blend and wobble to the point of making her ill. The room was too hot and her heart pounded in sluggish thuds. He apologized for her disappointment and explained her options. She could continue to save and wait for the next opportunity. His words were as muted as her vision. The temperature rose higher.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Spencer accepted another offer.”

“No, I got that part. What I mean is, why? Did they offer him more money? He’d said he cared more about who it was leased to, not for how much.” Her voice grew more desperate with each breath. The banker watched her, his expression unchanging. She didn’t want to hear about alternatives. She needed to know why Mr. Spencer had backed out of their agreement. Then she realized. Snippets of her previous visit rose to the surface of her mind. The prying questions that almost had her second-guessing her capabilities. They saw her as a risky investment. Young. Unmarried. A woman.

“Miss Shepherd, I understand your disappointment. It’s just business, nothing personal.”