The Davenports(83)

Long after her sister had gone to bed, Helen had lain awake, thinking.

He’d seen her in a pair of John’s old coveralls and hadn’t batted an eye!

Now it was the bright light of morning and Mrs. Milford’s day off, and Helen used a distraction set by Olivia, plus the fact that her parents rarely checked for her, to walk right through Freeport’s main gate and take the closest streetcar into downtown. Everything about the city seemed shiny and new to her. Summer was quickly approaching. The couple beside her unfolded a map of the city, the man flipping through a small guidebook printed in another language. Along State Street, the number of horseless carriages had doubled. Many were Ford’s sturdy Model T, but she saw a few from the smaller Ohio companies like Studebaker and Patterson. All the more reason to push John and their father to modernize.

By the time the streetcar arrived at her stop, Helen had calmed her nerves. She was sure of Mr. Lawrence’s feelings for her.

Helen stood at a stone-faced building at the end of the business district. This is it, she thought, bounding up the few stairs. The lobby of the hotel was sparse. Tall plants at the door were the only pops of color in the poorly lit space, weighed down by deep, dark wood furnishings. She approached the desk. This was not at all what she’d pictured, but then Helen remembered the quip Mr. Lawrence had made about the faulty lighting in his room.

At the desk, the squat man with deep frown lines read the newspaper. She waited to be acknowledged. Coughed into her hand. Finally, she said, “Excuse me, I’d like to speak to the guest in room 309.”

The receptionist peered over the top of the page. “Sister?”

“No,” Helen said, blushing, all her feelings for Mr. Lawrence plain on her face.

The attendant refused to let her up. It was improper for a lady to go up to man’s room who wasn’t family or accompanied by a chaperone.

“But it’s important,” she pleaded.

“I’m sure it is.”

“Well, couldn’t you at least let him know I’m here?”

“If it’s so important, doesn’t he know already?” He returned to his paper, humming a tune she couldn’t place. Helen resigned herself to pacing the lobby. She wrung her fingers.

“You’ll have to look out for the postman,” said the attendant, taking pity on her, and, giving clear instructions to delay the mail carrier should he arrive, went upstairs himself to announce her. Minutes later Jacob Lawrence came down the stairs, ahead of the attendant. He was fully dressed, but his hair was mussed, missing the pomade that kept his tight waves flat and neat.

The man resumed his seat behind the desk, pretending to read his paper as he watched them almost embrace. “Let’s go outside.” Mr. Lawrence opened the door for her and they began walking with no particular destination in mind.

“To what do I owe such an unexpected surprise?”

“I wanted to see you.” She did. It was a different feeling entirely to stare at him without stealing glances from beneath her lashes or when she thought no one else was watching her. Oh! To look at him freely, knowing that the only person who could truly be hurt by her feelings for Jacob Lawrence was already in love with someone else. Helen was simply here to tell him how she felt. They walked, hands just grazing, to the community garden around the corner. The canopy of trees transported Helen to a page in a storybook. In the privacy of all that lush greenery, she took Mr. Lawrence’s hands in hers.

Now that she stood before him, Helen found her tongue tangled with all the words she wanted to say. It didn’t help that he had taken a step closer—close enough that she could smell the faint scent of his soap. She was mesmerized by the sensation of his skin on hers, and it was just his hands!

“Helen.” He lowered his voice. “I wish I had met you first. I can’t deny what I feel, but I know that you—and Olivia—”

“I love you,” Helen blurted out. Her pounding heart rammed against her chest with a force she feared would break her ribs. She had prepared a speech. She had a plan and it wasn’t confessing in three words, but she couldn’t contain herself. Olivia had given her blessing, after all. She felt giddy and light as she waited for his response.

Mr. Lawrence’s grip on her hands loosened, and the pained sadness she knew she had caused creeped into his eyes. “And I love you, Helen.” The words had scarcely left his lips before she kissed him. She inhaled deeply as he returned her pressure after a moment of surprise. She dropped his hands to grab fistfuls of his lapels, angling herself to his height. His arms encircled her and pressed her against the hard planes of his chest. Helen’s feet swept off the ground and she surprised them both with a “Whoop!” smiling against his mouth.

“Helen, we can’t. You said—Olivia—”

“Is in love with someone else,” Helen finished for him. “She told me everything. She gave me a letter relieving you of the promise.” She closed the space between them again and placed one hand over his heart, which beat just as quickly as hers. With the other, she held the letter up to him. The emotions playing over his face were worth getting up early and racing across town for. Helen gasped as he pulled her onto her toes and kissed her. They laughed and kissed again.

“We’ll have to keep this to ourselves until Olivia and I find a way to break it to our parents,” she said.