Chapter 16 Helen

Chapter 16

Helen

Mrs.Milford pulled loose the last few laces of Helen’s corset with surprisingly lighter hands than Hetty, who was off with Olivia somewhere. Helen wondered how her sister found the energy. At least most days, Helen’s escapades only took her to the garage. A few led her to the study, reviewing company records, where she was rarely disturbed. And it didn’t require the trappings of a young lady’s wardrobe. Her outing to the ladies’ club with her mother and Mrs.Milford proved to be another cumbersome expectation of her debut.

“I don’t understand the point of dressing up to go to a club and socialize with the same people you see at every event,” said Helen. “They have nothing new to tell me about their lives, and I can’t share details of my own pursuits.” She grumbled, “Nor would they care to know.”

Once the dress was loosened enough, Helen tripped out of it with far less grace than she intended.

“There is no need to rush, Miss Davenport. Your mother is having tea with—”

“Mrs.Johnson, yes, and Olivia and Hetty are at the library. I don’t know why my sister can’t scribble in her journal here,” said Helen, hoping this would not lead to another conversation about appropriate pastimes. She did not wish to imagine what her mother’s gossipy friend would think of her . Oh, did her blood boil just remembering how the woman had treated Amy-Rose. And Helen doubted Mrs.Johnson was the only person in their set who held such opinions. Helen was lost in thought, realizing almost too late that Mrs.Milford was speaking.

“And the butler said Mr.Lawrence left his card. He was not expected, and you said you were not taking any visitors, so Edward did not invite him to wait.”

Helen paused where she’d begun rummaging in her closet. She was sure Mrs.Milford’s tone indicated her judgment that Helen was being too hard on the gentleman. Helen ignored the tingling in her spine and the way her heart fluttered to know that Jacob Lawrence had been in the house, however briefly. She was glad to have missed him. And disappointed. What would I have even said if he were standing in front of me now? She knew she didn’t want to listen to him describe how he’d fallen in love with someone else, or how sorry he was about how things had ended between them, or whatever string of excuses he might have.

No, thank you.

Helen stepped into the overalls she kept hidden in the back of her closet, where no one could find them and throw them out. “It was kind of him to stop by. I hope he and his family are doing well. But as you know, I’ve been very busy.”

Mrs.Milford eyed Helen and her clothing suspiciously, but kept her well-known opinion to herself. They are unladylike and your hobby is unbecoming. Don’t you want to practice the pianoforte?

Never. The answer was that Helen never wanted to practice the pianoforte. She had scared off enough of Chicago’s music teachers that none of them could be convinced to resume their position beside her on the bench. She couldn’t hold the notes in her head. And she stumbled her way across the keys in a way that didn’t occur when she was up to her elbows in an automobile. The diagrams were easier to read than sheet music. More time for me, she thought.

“The proper thing to do is to invite him to tea. Since you missed him today.” Mrs.Milford gave her a challenging look. Helen’s protest was already on her lips but her tutor continued. “It would show there are no hard feelings, and give you the chance to say goodbye to him once and for all. Give you some closure to move past this and look forward to your future.”

Helen didn’t want to do the proper thing. She wanted a role in the company and a fleet of Davenport horseless carriages to sell. Yes, there was a time she’d thought there could be a particular young gentleman at her side, but this had changed. A polite tea or lunch wouldn’t alter the way things had turned out. It wouldn’t erase the ache in her heart at the memory of their time together. How funny he was treading mud when their carriage broke down…how her story of the birthday bicycle dismemberment had not horrified him as it would have most any other gentleman of standing. Jacob Lawrence had surprised her at every turn. And she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go through it again.

Ransom Swift raced through her mind then. He was irritating, but from what she’d learned about him, he was the best person to endorse their motorcar. She smiled at how easily he too acknowledged this otherwise frowned-upon part of her personality. Before she could get too lost in her thoughts again, there was a knock on the door.

“You may come in,” called Helen, happy for the interruption.

Amy-Rose entered wearing a mint-green ensemble. Whatever she had in mind to say appeared to flee as soon as she saw Helen. “Have you been using the honey treatment? Your hair looks dry.”

Helen stopped and looked at her friend. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs.Milford lean forward, also assessing her head. “I have not,” she admitted.

Amy-Rose greeted Mrs.Milford almost shyly, her cheeks taking on a pink hue. When she looked back at Helen, she sighed and sat on the edge of Helen’s couch, the only area not covered in sketches and manuals. “Do you have a moment?” she asked Helen. Helen’s gaze shifted to her tutor.

“I’ll go see if there are any treats in the kitchen,” Mrs.Milford announced, to no one in particular, and left the room.

Once she’d gone, Helen made space for Amy-Rose beside her on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Amy-Rose said, laughing nervously. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. “I have everything I ever wanted.”

“So why do you look so upset?” At Amy-Rose’s pointed look, Helen leaned back and said, “John.”

Amy-Rose nodded. “But it’s not just him. I miss Mrs.Davis. My mother. Sometimes I’m so happy at the salon, I can forget they’re not here for a while.”

“You haven’t forgotten them. Not in your heart. I’m sure there isn’t a day that goes by that my father doesn’t miss his brother. Our loved ones only want the best for us.” Helen sobered further, seeing her friend’s distraught expression. Clearly John had not expressed to Amy-Rose what had followed her departure. She leaned in. “John is always looking for you when he enters a room,” she said quietly. “He’s distracted because he still cares for you.” She nudged Amy-Rose’s foot with her own and gave her friend a knowing look.

Amy-Rose stared at her clasped hands. “I still care for him too, but just because your father is away, we should not disregard his wishes.”

Helen gestured to her overalls. “I do it every day.” Amy-Rose laughed and when Helen joined her, she felt enough of the tension leave her neck to be bold. “Amy-Rose, John…” But seeing Amy-Rose’s curious expression, Helen thought better of her words. John should be the one to tell her. Why hadn’t he? “More happened in the days after you left,” Helen said—the short version. “Things have been tense between John and Daddy, but John’s feelings for you have never wavered.” She watched hope and doubt flit across her friend’s features. Amy-Rose’s eyes searched hers for a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, if there is anything else…” Helen paused.

“I do worry—I worry Miss Davis will return for the salon. That she’ll find some way.” Amy-Rose’s voice hitched on the last words.

Helen seized Amy-Rose’s hand. “Mrs.Davis thought of everything. And we are here for you.”

Amy-Rose cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said again. Then she frowned. “What’s on your mind?”

Helen hesitated though she knew she needn’t. “I know ladies in salons talk. Have you heard anything about…Jacob Lawrence?”

Her friend had the grace to keep her expression neutral when she replied. “Probably not much more than you. He returned from London with a young woman. She hasn’t been in to do her hair. At least not at my place. Have you and Mr.Lawrence spoken?”

Helen shook her head. “No. He has written two letters. I didn’t really read them.” After Mr.Lawrence’s reappearance, Helen found one letter Olivia had saved. She had torn it open with cold steady hands, preparing herself to not be swayed by his words. Her eyes skipped over the page too fast to process but she wanted to get it over and done with. He had met Etta in New York and she’d convinced him to stay in the country a while longer. There was more. But she’d read enough. Helen had crumpled the letter and added it the growing pile of Olivia’s in the wastepaper basket.

A shadow passed over Amy-Rose’s face just before she pulled Helen into a hug. The youngest Davenport settled her head on her friend’s shoulder like she’d done when they were children. “Maybe you should read them,” Amy-Rose offered. “See what he says.”

Helen wondered if she should say anything about Amy-Rose’s own letter, or the package John had sent her in New York City. For weeks now, Helen had been keen to know what was in the mysterious note that had arrived at Freeport the same spring morning Amy-Rose had left. Maybe if I tell her I read mine, she’ll tell me about hers. Oh! The thought occurred to Helen: Has she read hers?

“Helen?” asked Amy-Rose, her voice muffled against Helen’s shoulder.

Helen chewed her lip, her thoughts shifting. Maybe she should give in and ask Amy-Rose about the letter from Georgia—the one John had sent on to her in New York—but just as she’d decided it, John himself opened the bedroom door.

“Let’s go—Oh—Sorry. I didn’t know. Hello, Amy-Rose.”

Helen watched their faces change, eyes light up. Faces too. Before her own heartbreak, Helen had teased her brother for this sort of thing. Now she only wished they’d find their way back to each other.

John addressed Helen. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready.” With a brief glance and a nod at Amy-Rose, he withdrew and closed the door.

“I do have one confession to make,” said Amy-Rose, pulling her gaze from where John had stood. She rubbed the inside of her wrist, then repositioned herself on the couch.

Helen sat up. “What sort of confession?”

Amy-Rose stared at her hands. When she looked up, her brows were furrowed. “I’ve decided to move out.”

“Why?” Helen heard the whine in her voice when she said, “You’ve only just got here!”

Amy-Rose chuckled. “It’s been two weeks, and I have enough saved. Mrs.Davis thought of everything. And if my appointment book is any indication, the salon will be busy over the next several months.”

Her friend had only just returned to Chicago, and Helen was happy to have things be somewhat like how they were a couple of months ago.

“Helen, this is the right thing for me. I want to stand on my own merits,” Amy-Rose said, poking Helen’s cheek.

Isn’t that what I want too? Helen could not fault Amy-Rose for wanting something so deserved. “I suppose if it’s what you want, and not because of how Mrs.Johnson behaved at dinner the other night. I can’t believe I’m the one still in etiquette class,” she said. “Maybe I should lend her my copy of The Art of Being Agreeable. ”

Amy-Rose’s laugh joined Helen’s. They giggled until their eyes stung with tears. “You’re always welcome here,” said Helen.

Amy-Rose gave her a watery smile and stood. “I know. And I’m not leaving because of that woman.”

“Good,” said Helen, standing as well. They hugged. Everything was changing, and changing again, and Helen wasn’t sure if she was ready.

Amy-Rose released her and said, “Now wish me luck. I have to break the news to Jessie.”

Helen laughed despite herself. She walked with Amy-Rose to the foyer. “Good luck,” she said as they parted ways, Amy-Rose heading for the stairs to the kitchen.

Helen was still smiling when she reached for the front door—the fastest way to the garage. The freedom in knowing that her mother was away emboldened her. She was whistling as she pulled open the heavy oak and skidded to a halt in the open doorway. At the bottom of the porch stairs, Mr.Lawrence paced, kicking up dust, the hems of his fine linen suit pants gray with the grit of crushed gravel. He didn’t notice her at first. I can turn around. I can sneak back in!

Almost as if she’d spoken it aloud, his head snapped up. “Helen,” he said. His eyes traveled over her like he couldn’t take her in fast enough.

“Hello, Mr.Lawrence,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice was. “I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged,” she said, beginning down the steps, intending to make for the garage.

“I’ve left my card with your man.” His voice was warmer than she remembered, almost warm enough to melt her icy front. Almost. She’d forgotten, too, the way his clipped English accent moved over his vowels in pronouncing her name. She didn’t know until then that you could miss the way someone said your name.

“Yes, I received a message that you had left your card.” Her words still managed to come out cooler than she felt. Was it excitement or apprehension that had her on the balls of her feet? She turned now, as if to go back up to the house, wondering what the chances were that someone would come upon them, then turned again, remembering she was meant to go to the garage—

He smoothed the mustache above his full lips, lips that had once pressed to hers, that had introduced her to feelings she had thought idiotic, frivolous.

Helen cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the automobile beyond him.

“I want a chance to explain, please,” he said, his voice firm, clear. As if he had not come here with, been spotted around town with, a young woman from England. As if that young woman was not said to be his wife. He had admitted as much in his letter. Helen didn’t need closure. She needed to be free of this hold he had on her heart.

She descended the rest of the stairs quickly. Too late she realized she had surrendered the higher ground, inviting the cedar and spiced wine scent of his cologne to drift her way. She tried to remember what the etiquette book said about kicking someone off your doorstep. Could it be possible that such an important thing was not mentioned? Helen scrambled for the words that would make him leave. She squared her shoulders. “I’d like you to leave,” she said. Her hands were fists in the large pockets of the overalls. Her nails bit into her palms as she watched her words sink in. How can a statement be so true and so false at once?

Jacob Lawrence seemed to vibrate slightly. She saw a protest on his lips, which parted, ready to argue. She also saw when he decided against it. When he pulled up his shoulders and said, “As you wish.”

Helen turned for the garage, unable to watch him walk away from her again.