The Davenports(73)

CHAPTER 32


    Amy-Rose



Amy-Rose paced outside the stables, ignoring the dust clinging to her boots and the hem of her skirt. She replayed her conversation with Tommy a thousand times. Each time, she arrived at no good reason to stay.

Binga Bank was reluctant to support her bid to open a salon, but without a space to call her own, the dream of opening a shop seemed more out of reach than ever. Tommy was convinced that the growing need for businesses of all types out west was too good an opportunity to pass up. And it wasn’t like she had clients beyond the Davenports to entice her to stay. She would be starting from the ground up. Why not start somewhere new?

With a shake of her skirts, she entered the stable. It was a mixture of light and shadow. The sounds of many breaths and shuffling created a soothing lull that helped ease her nerves. Dried hay rustled underfoot and she placed her palm on a rough wooden beam for support. The smell of horse, hay, and sweat tickled her nose. “Tommy?”

Tommy stepped out of a stall. His shirtsleeves were pushed up and his skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. He smiled broadly when he saw her. His reaction and the way it made her feel reminded Amy-Rose of why she was here. She needed a friend.

“Amy-Rose, grab a brush,” he said.

She glanced at the table and took a brush. He led a mare out of a stall and spoke quietly to her. “Amy-Rose here is an expert in all things fashionable. She’ll get you up to snuff quick.”

“Tommy, I’m used to the two-legged variety of girls in need of hair care.” The mare looked her way with large, watery eyes, tail whipping the air.

“I’m sure Bess won’t mind. Plus, she is an excellent listener.” He patted the horse’s neck and gestured to Amy-Rose to follow his lead, with broad strokes. She turned the brush over in her hand. Bess’s ears twitched. Her feet shuffled closer to Amy-Rose as if directing her to where she needed the most attention. Soon, the quiet of the barn had worked the magic Tommy always boasted it did. The rhythmic motion of each stroke was like a deep calming breath. The heat of the horse enveloped her, relaxing the tightly coiled muscles of her neck. Even the smell of manure and hay acted on her senses in a way that made it easier to quiet the doubt and disappointment she felt.

Amy-Rose weighed her options. Without the distraction of the house and its occupants, Jessie’s loud but well-meaning interjections, and the memories of her mother tugging at her heart, she’d made her decision. She cleared her throat. “I thought about your offer.”

Tommy stepped closer, slowly, as if a sudden move might startle her.

Amy-Rose tucked her hands behind her back. “I’d like to go to California. With you.”

“Truly?” he asked, his disbelief clear.

“Yes.”

Tommy whooped, throwing his hat into the air.

Amy-Rose laughed to cover her relief. Then genuinely laughed when he raced to her and lifted her off her feet. He spun her around. She stretched her arms wide and enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness that filled her.

“I’m so glad,” he said, setting her down again.

Amy-Rose tried to hold on to his words as he spoke about the opportunities out west. There were beaches and sunsets, new homes and work. It was a place they could start fresh. She latched on to his ideas like a lifesaver. His optimism bubbled over and fed the relief rising in her. This is the right decision. She knew that she was destined to open a salon of her own, run a business dedicated to Black beauty in a way that brought her joy and used her skills. She wanted that for herself.

“Will you be ready? The train leaves tomorrow night.”

His question hung in the air, simple, yet heavy. It would be short notice. And Mrs. Davenport would be sad to see her go so suddenly, but Tommy was right: They needed a fresh start.

“Yes, but I should go pack.”

Tommy walked her to the servants’ entrance of the manor. He talked the whole way, most of it lost to the wind.

Once inside, Amy-Rose hurried up to her third-floor room, cataloguing everything in her path like it was the last time she’d see it. Perhaps it was. Before long, the dresser drawers hung empty, their contents draped across the narrow bed. Simple sensible dresses mixed with the higher quality cast-offs of the Davenport girls. Rough-spun cotton and silk. Only so many could fit in her mother’s suitcase. She wished for the full-length mirrors the girls had in their rooms. She did her best with the small round one on her nightstand.

In the end, she decided on the nicer dresses. She was going to be a hairdresser and salon owner. It was time she dressed like the successful businesswoman she wanted to become. They would be the only piece of this life she would take with her, aside from the memories.

Amy-Rose carefully wrapped her mother’s belongings in old newspaper and sat on the suitcase to latch it closed. The bed creaked under her weight. She let her head fall into her hands. She knew she couldn’t stay at Freeport forever, but a small part of her still felt like leaving with Tommy was wrong. That it was running away.

There was a knock on her door.

“Jessie, I don’t want any more scones,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“That’s good,” John said from the doorway. “I don’t have any.”

“What are you doing here?” Amy-Rose’s voice sounded small and hoarse, even to her own ears.