The Davenports(78)

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Ruby held fast to the post in the dressing room, trying not to exhale as the attendant laced up the corset. She needed every breath if she was going to survive a dress fitting with her mother. What had suddenly loosened her mother’s grasp on the family purse strings was a mystery. It left Ruby uneasy. But finding the answer was low on her current list of priorities. Ruby was hours into her second chance with Mr. Barton and didn’t plan on building this one on a lie too. At least not for long.

From the other side of the curtain, Mrs. Tremaine talked, presumably to Mrs. Davenport but mostly to herself, about Ruby’s father and the upcoming campaign event to be hosted by the Davenports themselves. They’d invited the Chicago elite as well as prominent Black politicians from Springfield to New York. Some of her words were lost in the thick fabric that divided the anteroom from the smaller dressing area where the dressmaker now pulled a rather heavy silk over Ruby’s head.

They were at Madame Chérie’s, next door to the milliner’s shop. No one knew the dressmaker’s real name, but she was the best on this side of Lake Michigan. She had an eye for pattern and color like no other. And after she was turned out of every factory job she’d tried for, she, like many recently enslaved, began working out of a small apartment, financed by odd jobs until the work could support her. Now ladies all over Illinois, northern Indiana, and southern Wisconsin sought the deft fingers of the Black dressmaker. She worked her magic over Ruby now, gathering the fabric, draping and pinning it in place. Satisfied that everything was where it should be, she threw back the curtain to reveal Mrs. Tremaine on a settee between Olivia and Mrs. Davenport.

Mrs. Tremaine gasped. She pressed a hand to each of her cheeks.

Ruby’s shoulders relaxed. She’d tried on half a dozen dresses. Her feet ached from standing in one spot for hours and her stomach roared with hunger. Perhaps a custom-made original would please her mother.

“Now, this is just the general shape I was thinking of,” Madame Chérie said, readjusting the fabric pinned at Ruby’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

“She is a vision,” Mrs. Tremaine said. She stood and leaned in close, intending only Ruby to hear. “John won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Ruby ignored this, focusing instead on the memory of Mr. Barton’s arms around her, the feel of his hands on her back. The promise of being able to do this openly was worth an uncomfortable conversation with her mother. Maybe I should tell Papa first?

Ruby glanced at Olivia. Her best friend stared at her wide-eyed, as if she knew exactly where Ruby’s thoughts had wandered.

Ruby had always wanted a big family. She’d spent much of her childhood surrounded by the Davenport siblings, but had always returned home to her parents in their large home and quiet corridors. Marrying John would have more than doubled her family and kept all the people she loved close. Ruby had dreaded confessing to Olivia that she no longer had feelings for John, and that they could never be sisters. The two friends had shared a carriage from the park to the shop and Olivia agreed—Ruby’s parents should be told as soon as possible. “They’ll be thrilled to see you so happy,” she’d said. “Just as I am. And you and I—we will always be family.”

We will always be family. Those were Olivia’s words.

The only thing holding Ruby back was the guilt of disappointing her parents. She took deep, calming breaths. She was another step closer to the life she wanted.

Olivia stood now and came to her side. “You look beautiful, Ruby.” She rubbed the silk between her fingers, a genuine smile on her lips, a speaking look in her eyes.

Ruby slitted her gaze at Olivia. Her skin prickled with a panicked sweat. There were too many people in this room. She couldn’t tell her mother here. Or maybe she should. Certainly her mother wouldn’t start a scene in Madame’s shop. Oh, she really did want to get this over with.

“There’s something missing,” Mrs. Tremaine said. Her mother’s head was tilted to the side, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mrs. Davenport said. “I agree with Olivia. Once it’s finished, it’ll be beautiful.”

The attendant gave a sigh. Madame Chérie hid her annoyance better. They’d been here all afternoon. Each dress had some minor fault—it was the wrong color or the cut was off.

“Mother, no one will be paying any attention to me,” she said. “This is a fundraiser. People will be there to hear what Papa has to say, his plans. Not to see what I’m wearing.”

Mrs. Tremaine hmphed. “There will be reporters from The Defender and the Tribune. Who may want a photo of the candidate and his family and any news we may have to share.” She gave Ruby a meaningful look. “We must look as successful and capable as we are.”

Ruby picked up her skirts and stepped off the dais. “I’m going to see if the red dress we saw on the way in is my size.”

“I hope not the one with the empire waist,” her mother said. “Those are better suited for girls with narrower hips.” Ruby’s grip on the dress’s skirt tightened. Mrs. Tremaine followed her, just as Ruby knew she would. She signaled for Olivia to stay behind. At the front of the shop, away from the others, Ruby steeled herself to tell her mother the full truth.

“Mother, I want to talk about John.” Her mother seemed to perk up at the sound of his name. Steady. “John and I have known each other for so long. We went on a few outings before he left for school—”