The Davenports(86)

Amy-Rose squeezed his hands in hers. “Maybe . . . instead of continuing to try to change him, you should consider going out on your own. You and Helen. The two of you can create your own legacy.”

He studied her face for a beat. “No, we can do this.” John pressed her knuckles to his lips. It was a chaste gesture that sent a jolt through her. He inhaled deeply. “Together.”





CHAPTER 39


    Olivia



Olivia’s secret collection of political pamphlets and newspapers littered her bed. Helen’s feet dangled off the end as she read them, asking Olivia “did you know” about whatever piece surprised her next.

“How did you get all these?” her sister asked.

Olivia tried to arrange the newspapers back into some semblance of order. “Hetty usually brings them to me when she’s done.” She pushed Helen’s hip to get the paper underneath her. “Remember to return that book to her when you’re finished.”

“Of course,” Helen said, rolling onto her stomach and disrupting the tea tray between them on the duvet. Olivia moved it to the vanity before it spilled. “What about the rest?” She looked at Olivia, her chin propped on a fist. Helen had grown, filled out. No longer hidden in their brother’s cast-off coveralls, her cleavage pushed against her bodice, accentuating a tapered waist that flared to rebellious hips. Their father’s proud nose suited her. Her skin was a deep rich brown. And her laugh was contagious, better suited to pull Jacob Lawrence out of his shell. They were a well-matched pair.

Helen mouthed the words as she read, hitting Olivia with a sudden wave of nostalgia. She’d missed this, time with her sister. She envied the time Helen and John spent in the garage, tinkering and talking. The thought caused a pang in chest. So much wasted time. Now Olivia and Helen had quite a few secrets between them. And I’m leaving, she thought with a heavy sigh. Helen in love. She shook her head in disbelief.

Helen widened her eyes and gave Olivia a questioning look.

“Right, I get most of them from Washington or other activists.” Olivia scanned the mess.

“I can’t wait until we can vote.” Helen moved the piece on the suffragettes to the side. Her hand lingered over the photo of women marching, signs held high. Helen looked up and seemed to study Olivia’s face. “I can’t believe this is what you’ve been up to instead shopping or volunteering.”

“Oh, I’m still shopping,” Olivia laughed. “Just not always for myself. Some of the clothing drives needed help, clothes for interviews, children. Good, sturdy shoes are popular. The larders at the soup kitchens empty a few days after the Sunday services. And it’s all still volunteering. Technically.” There was always more to do. An exhausting circle that brought about as much joy as frustration.

“Hey.” Helen pulled her close and nestled her head in the space above her shoulder. “Don’t look like that. I’m sure they appreciate it.”

“I know. I just wish things moved faster. I’m impatient for change . . . in the good sense. Most of all, I wish there was more I could do.”

“You’ll think of something.”

“I suppose,” she said, not entirely sure it was true. Staring up at the canopy, Olivia tried to imagine what it would be like to walk arm in arm with the women in the photograph or to speak out at town hall meetings as Jim Crow legislation was discussed. She knew money helped. But she also knew, no matter how many checks signed Davenport she turned over, there would always be a barrier between her and most people she’d meet. After the rally had ended in violence, the work of Mr. DeWight and his group had come to rely on newspapers and magazines.

“Olivia, what are we going to tell Mama and Daddy? About you and Jacob?”

Olivia flopped back down on the bed. “You mean, you and Jacob?”

Helen poked her side. “Now is not the time to develop a sense of humor.”

Olivia drew the pillow over her head. Her sister crawled closer when she rolled away, her finger a persistent pressure in her arm. She didn’t know if she was going to laugh or growl.

Helen uncovered her face. “Livy.”

Olivia sighed. “We should tell Mama and Daddy the truth.”

“But after you leave, right? You are obviously in love with Mr. DeWight and this whole other life the two of you share. How are you not plotting your grand escape?”

Olivia sat up too quickly, leaving her simultaneously dizzy and clear-headed. Helen was right. She was in love, the type of love she dreamed about. Washington DeWight’s face eased into her mind. His easy smile that highlighted his strong jaw, and cheekbones any girl would covet. There was his kindness, his passion, even the ways he provoked her. Thinking of him rose her temperature. How could she hesitate? She looked at her sister grinning at her. “You’re right,” she conceded, tossing the pillow at Helen. “I don’t think they’ll let me out of their sight once they find out about you and Mr. Lawrence. The scandal. Then I’d be just as trapped as you are. Daddy wants us staying clear of protests, anything that may cause us physical danger.” Olivia paused. “If they found out about Washington . . .”

“You know . . .” Helen rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Milford may be able to help us. She saw this coming way before either of us did.”