The Davenports(94)

Mrs. Davenport sighed. “By helping one, you can help many.” She tucked a stray curl behind Olivia’s ear. “I’m sorry. Our only intention was to protect you and your brother and sister from the worst of it. However we could. Do you really know what you’re signing up for?”

Doubt found a crack in Olivia’s resolve, widening the crack, and making it harder for her to focus. Her mother still held her hand, the pressure warm and reassuring. The same hands that soothed her when she was sick, wiped her tears. That tucked her hair away moments ago.

She glanced down. Her bag was packed.

“I want you to think carefully about this decision,” said Emmeline Davenport.

“I have. All I ever do is think. This is the time to act. Maybe Mr. Tremaine will win his election and can make a difference that way, but it’s not a guarantee.”

“Give it until the end of the summer.”

“Mama, I don’t need to wait until the end of the summer.”

Mrs. Davenport’s eyes glittered and her mask wrinkled in her hands. “And what if it doesn’t work out with this man? You would come home from”—she waved her mask at the door—“wherever, with your reputation ruined and unable to find a suitable husband. Mr. Lawrence is downstairs. He is a fine man and will make a wonderful husband.”

Olivia’s face heated. “Husband? Mama, I know this isn’t what you wanted—”

“It’s not!”

“But it is what I want. I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope you do.” Mrs. Davenport pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead. “Your father and I may not be unable to undo the damage when you return.”

“Who’s to say there will be any damage to undo?”

“It’s a wonderful thing to hope,” Mrs. Davenport said, before her voice turned to pleading. “At least, wait until morning. If you still want to go, your father and I will arrange for someone to go with you.”

Olivia chewed her lip. It was a similar plan she had considered, though she’d rather find someone among the group of lawyers and activists. She suspected her parents would try to delay her as well. Wouldn’t it be better to leave with the group tonight? She looked at the mess around her. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

Mrs. Davenport sighed. “Good. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Yes, Mama.” Olivia watched her leave and then gazed around the room, cataloging the possessions she would leave behind. Her heart ached as she picked up each of the framed photos from their spots on the mantel.

“Drat!” The small clock next to the picture of her father told her she was late. There was no time to change. Olivia grabbed her long traveling coat and threw it over her shoulders. She listened at the door for footsteps. When she heard none, she picked up the suitcase and stole silently out of the house.



* * *



—

Olivia arrived at the train station with moments to spare. She bade her borrowed driver and carriage goodbye as he made his way back to Freeport Manor to await his employer—one of her parents’ party guests—and she sprinted up the stairs. She paused once inside, craning her neck to examine the eighty-five-foot arch above the Van Buren Street entrance. The cavernous expanse of the concourse made her feel small. The people rushing about made her feel invisible. I could easily disappear, become a new version of me right here.

Already the weight of society’s expectations of her began to lessen. She marveled at the group of day laborers carrying large canvas bags, their toolbelts clanging at their hips. Businessmen read their papers on benches and ladies swung shopping bags after naughty children. Olivia felt like she was walking through a snow globe before inversion. Her heels clacked against the polished marble and through plastered columns until she emerged at the La Salle Station platform and the crowd. She looked for Washington DeWight’s familiar face.

The air vibrated with the intensity of the train idling at the edge of the platform. It was alive, as much as she was. Her palms were slick with sweat. She readjusted her grip on her bag, wishing she had allowed the porter to take it when she’d arrived, but it was too close to her departure time. She looked around, panic creeping in.

At last she spotted Washington DeWight standing on the step into the train, arm outstretched as he held fast to the rail. The flutter in her stomach only heightened the mix of emotions she was feeling. She’d never been to Philadelphia or Washington, DC. Never been out of the county without her family. Now she was traveling halfway across the country.

“Miss Davenport?” A young man approached, pressing a bloodied handkerchief to his brow. “Are you Miss Davenport?”

“Yes,” she said uncertainly. His face was familiar. Olivia had met so many people over the past few weeks, she couldn’t place him. Then there was something in the way his mouth moved. Hetty. The man before Olivia was her cousin. “Are you okay?”

He blinked with one eye, as the other had swollen shut. “Looks worse than it is. I’m here for Hetty. She needs your help.”

“Is she hurt?” Olivia looked around. “Where is she?”

“In jail, miss. I paid her bail, but they won’t release her to me.”

“All aboard!” the conductor yelled from two cars away.