The Davenports(95)

“They don’t believe in the relation?”

He refolded the handkerchief and placed it back on his face. “They took my money, then told me they would release her to immediate kin only. On account of her age.” His expression told just how he felt about their excuse.

The longer Olivia stood on the platform, the harder it was to convince herself to keep moving forward. When she looked back, Washington DeWight had finally found her in the crowd. His face lit up. His arm raised, waving her forward. Excitement and relief was plain on his face.

Olivia felt caught in a storm. His words came back to her. He traveled from city to city, rallying the masses before leaving them informed with the tools to carry on. The rest of the work, the kind that sparks lasting, meaningful change, is carried out by the community.

The ones who stay.

She watched disappointment change his features.

The smile went first, taking with it the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He pulled back his wave and his dark brows knit together. She was too far to see the crease that formed between them when he was deep in concentration. She used her imagination. With one final nod, he ducked into the car.

She said, “Goodbye,” tasting the tears that burned tracks down her cheeks.



* * *



—

The ball was at its peak when Olivia and Hetty returned. Thankfully, Hetty’s only injuries were from the struggle of the arrest. Jessie and Ethel hugged them both. Neither commented on the suitcase Olivia carried. Or how she knew that Hetty was in need.

“Thank you, Olivia,” Hetty said. “Will Harold take you back to the train station?”

Olivia smiled, though it felt hollow. “I think it’s too late.”

Hetty opened her mouth, then closed it. She pressed her hand to Olivia’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered. They embraced.

Long after Hetty disappeared inside, arm in arm with the other women, Olivia decided to return to the party. Guests milled about the porch and drive. The smoke from their cigarettes clawed at her raw throat. She’d made the right decision, she was sure of it. She was just so very tired. Her suitcase and coat fell to the floor in a discarded heap. With the help of the foyer mirror and a napkin, Olivia removed the smudged mascara under her eyes. Then she swiped a fresh champagne flute from a passing tray and rejoined the ladies on the divans.

“Another successful event, Mama,” she said, posture perfect and shoulders back.

Mrs. Davenport drew her daughter close. “Yes, you should be proud.”





CHAPTER 44


    Helen



Helen endured the embrace of Josiah Andrews, hoping Olivia had taken her leave and was on her way to Philadelphia. She only had to occupy their parents until it was too late for them to do anything to stop her. What we do for our sisters. From over the shoulder of the younger Mr. Andrews, Helen watched Jacob Lawrence. He stood at the fringe of a group of gentlemen. Every time she let herself look in his direction, his eyes found hers. They seemed to be trying to tell her something. All she felt was hot and angry. What she wouldn’t give to be in the garage right now.

“Green is a very lovely color on you,” Mr. Andrews said.

“How very kind of you to say,” she replied through clenched teeth as she lifted his hand higher on her back. He’d been dropping it closer to her bottom since the song began.

He turned red and stepped on her foot. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

When the music finally stopped, she twisted from his grasp. “Pleasure dancing with you,” she said, leaving him in the middle of the dance floor. She’d had enough.

“Miss Davenport?” Jacob called to her. Helen increased her speed but she was no match for his longer stride. “Please, Helen,” he said. “I’m sorry, for all of it.”

“You lied to me and to my parents. To Olivia, then for her. I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I have plans. I just need time. Please,” he said again.

The pain in his voice made Helen feel hollow and exhausted. She’d never wanted to disappear as much as she did now. But Olivia needed her to make sure their parents stayed in the ballroom, enjoyed the party, and didn’t notice her leave. She swallowed her tears. “I’d like you to leave,” she said. And remembering all the instructions Mrs. Milford had taught her, she said it with a smile. “Thank you for coming.” She averted her eyes so she would not see his face. Eventually, he retreated from her vision and faded into the crowd.

Time to go to the library. Helen skidded to a halt. Her father stood between her and freedom.

“Helen, looking to escape already?”

Her eyes darted beyond his shoulder. “Of course not, Daddy,” she said, grasping for words. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance.”

His surprised smile sent a twinge of guilt through her. Helen had not remembered when her father last looked so moved and lost for words.

Mr. Davenport held his hand out to his daughter and led her back into the fray. In his arms she felt like a little girl again. She felt his eyes on her, gleaming. He was steady on his feet, despite his limp. “Do you remember when you were small enough to stand on my toes?”

“I can hop on, if you’d like,” she teased.

He laughed. Helen couldn’t help joining him. The knot in her stomach loosened enough to make room for happiness among the guilt. Is this what she missed, locked in her room or the library or the garage? Father-daughter dances? Is this why his patience with her was so thin? Why every idea she had was so easily swept aside?