The Davenports(92)

“I tried to do things your way.”

No, that is him. She opened her eyes and peered into the darkness beyond the brightly lit courtyard. From behind the hedges, John and Mr. Davenport came into view. Mr. Davenport leaned heavily on his cane while his son walked circles around him. John’s agitation unsettled Amy-Rose. His cool and aloof demeanor had peeled away. The pair stopped at the edge of the courtyard, their backs facing Amy-Rose. She thought of announcing herself, coming out from behind the trees so that she couldn’t be accused of eavesdropping. Hetty was the one for gossip. But something in the way John’s shoulders crept up to his ears gave her pause.

“Ruby and I have known each other since we were children. It’s not like that between us,” John said, in a tone that suggested it was not the first time he’d said that. Amy-Rose felt a flutter in her chest. “She doesn’t love me. She has feelings for Barton.”

“Your mother and Mrs. Tremaine were quite sure that it was a passing infatuation.” He patted John’s face and smiled.

John stopped moving at the touch, as if the feel of his father’s hand stilled the churning inside that wound him up. Amy-Rose couldn’t see his face from where she stood, but his shoulders sagged, his head bowed.

“What did you say?” Mr. Davenport asked.

Amy-Rose slipped out of the protection of the trees and walked along the hedges. She kept her footfalls slow, careful with each step, and using the shadows to conceal her.

“I don’t love Ruby.” John’s words were clear. He straightened and looked his father in the eye. “My choice is Amy-Rose. I know she is not who you and Mother had in mind for me, but I don’t care. Ruby and I will not make each other happy.”

“And you think this girl will make you happy?” Mr. Davenport shook his head. “Do you think the wives of your friends will welcome her? Wish to socialize and dine with a woman who used to serve them? What about your children? She is the daughter of a slave owner. One look at her will have people wondering. It is hard enough to get that table in the back of the restaurant or the end of the counter in public spaces, without reducing the spaces among our own. Some may accept her, prefer her, but many more will fawn over her while they accuse her of putting on airs. It will only bring you both heartache and resentment.”

John shook his head. “I choose Amy-Rose. Damned what other people think.”

“And what about your mother and myself. Are we to be damned?”

Amy-Rose still couldn’t see John’s face, but he stiffened at his father’s question. Her stomach lurched as he remained silent. She felt sick in the back of her throat. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Mr. Davenport was right. Things would never be easy for them. He was always kind to her. Now she wondered if she was a walking reminder of the life he ran from. I live in his home. Her knees buckled as she lowered herself to the damp ground. She knew she should leave, but she found herself unable to stand.

“People like the man that got her mother in trouble, they take what they want.” Mr. Davenport’s voice shook. “She is a nice girl. No one would say otherwise. If you want to marry the daughter of a slave owner, your mother and I will not stand in your way.” He placed both of his hands over the top of his cane. He straightened to his full height. From where Amy-Rose stood, he appeared to tremble with anger. “We will also not pave the way for you. You will have to support yourself, and her, on your own. Without any help from us.”

John flinched as if he had been slapped.

“Are you sure you want to give up everything,” Mr. Davenport asked, eyes sweeping the manor house and grounds, “for a girl?”

Amy-Rose held her breath, waiting for John’s reply, for him to say she was his choice once more. Sweat began to bead above her lip. She squinted. Maybe if I could get closer? She forced herself to continue on wobbly knees to the edge of the darkness that concealed her. Amy-Rose looked at the ground, avoiding the dry leaves and twigs. When she looked up, Mr. Davenport was making his way back to the house. “John,” he called, “I thought you were serious about school. The business. I still have the final say.”

John remained where he was. He’d said nothing. The realization stopped her. Mr. Davenport dangled the one thing his son wanted more than anything. Even more than me? Amy-Rose’s feet refused to go any closer. Breathing was suddenly difficult. She no longer cared if she was discovered. Her eyes stung with fresh rejection and heartbreak. Mr. Davenport had offered John the perfect alternative. If he wanted to start out on his own, enter the automobile business from the ground up, create a new future with her . . . that was it.

But his silence was her answer. John Davenport was not ready. He may never be.

Before she knew it, she was stalking across the garden to where he stood.

“I’m never going to be enough, am I?” she asked to his back.

John started. He glanced over his shoulder like he was checking for an audience. “Amy-Rose, I—”

“Didn’t know I was here?”

“You heard?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

She felt a fire rise within her as hot as her tears. “He was right. A future with me would be difficult. But my whole life has been difficult. You think I don’t know what people call me? What they called my mother for sleeping with a white man and having his child?”