Chapter 18 Olivia

Chapter 18

Olivia

“Do you see Ruby or Harrison?” asked Olivia, peering across the club’s dance floor.

John shook his head, smothering Olivia’s hope for a change in subject.

“Carter said I can choose whatever I want,” Odette was saying. “I’ll need your help, Agatha, to find the best. Yours too, Olivia.”

“Of course,” she said. Ruby and Harrison had disappeared among the throngs of dancing couples, and Olivia yearned to join them.

Agatha held her hand up. “Would he be against an antique rose china?”

“I think he’d prefer blue,” said Odette.

They turned to Olivia as if she held the tie-breaking vote. “I suppose it depends if it’s for tea or dinner service.” Her gaze slid to John in the hope that he would catch her look and make an excuse for them to mingle.

“Sounds like you’re with the expert,” he said. “Excuse me, ladies.”

Olivia ground her heel into the floor when he turned toward a group of boisterous gentlemen. I wonder what Helen is up to? She’d welcome even her sister’s sharp tongue right now. The engine prototype was nearly complete, though, and Helen spent more and more time in the study researching combustion.

“Olivia, we’re so looking forward to your sister’s party.” Agatha touched Odette’s arm lightly and said, “Their family throws fabulously themed parties.”

“Thank you. They’re my favorite to plan,” said Olivia, just as the club entrance opened, letting in a gust of cooler night air. It felt good on her neck amidst the heat inside, and after spending the day demonstrating outside City Hall in the hot summer sun with Mrs.Woodard and the suffragists.

Olivia straightened when she recognized the silhouette framed in the doorway. She could barely hold back her smile. Everett Stone took off his hat and paused at the edge of the crowd churning in front of him. He took in each face, his attention moving quickly, as if looking for something, someone. She felt herself rise up even taller, startled at her excitement to see him, a jangliness filling her. The dance floor, she noted, was a bit more relaxed than their more formal night at the Blackstone.

“Now there is another eligible bachelor,” said Odette.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” muttered Agatha.

Olivia’s stomach flipped. She ignored Agatha’s comment, clearly meant to reference the rumors of her and Mr.Stone’s approved courtship. Remembering her manners, Olivia said to Odette, by way of parting, “It was very kind of you to make the introductions to Mr.Price. I can tell Ruby is excited.” Though I fear that there was some thinly veiled judgment in it. She glanced back to where Mr.Stone had stood, but he was gone.

“Any friend of Harrison’s is a friend of mine,” said Odette. She cupped the ends of her hair, careful not to disturb the Marcel Waves above.

“Yes,” said Olivia, and paused, surprised by this choice of words. “But they are more than friends. They’re to be wed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people so smitten.” She looked at the young woman curiously. “And you, Odette?” she asked, lingering a moment longer. “What are your plans now that you and your brother have decided to stay here in Chicago?”

“Carter is getting settled, making connections.” Odette dropped her voice and sidled closer to Olivia. “I must tell you, I was at my wits’ end. Young Black men lynched for walking home at night after festivals and evening services.” Olivia flinched, having read similar reports. Douglas Lemon and Rankin Moore—just two of the many whose deaths had made the papers in recent weeks. Olivia thought about her brother, and how quickly he could be swept away in the wave of hatred that seemed to be rolling across the country. “Makes you think twice about leaving your house, especially after dark,” Odette went on. “That’s no way to live.” For a moment, Odette’s shoulders curled inward. She worried her lip and glanced at her brother. “When Carter heard there were management positions in steel for Black folks, I decided we’d relocate. New York was fun, but here, we know someone who won’t lead us astray.” Odette stared at Harrison. “And everyone’s said Chicago is the place to be.”

There was a nagging feeling in Olivia’s stomach. The riot downstate in Springfield was close enough in time and distance to cast a dark cloud over the city of Chicago. But Odette’s words and what Olivia had read in the newspapers, Washington’s warnings about Jim Crow legislation in the South and how violence toward Black people was intensifying—it was frankly terrifying. Olivia wondered now if Washington would soon make his way back, though she had still received no new letters. “And you?” she asked Odette again, wary of the young woman’s answer.

“Black women don’t fare too much better when unrest turns violent. What happens to us, our concerns or wishes, rarely make the papers,” Odette added, her voice absent of its normal buoyancy. There was a fierceness in her tone that gave Olivia pause. Isn’t this what I hope to do with my writing—give us a voice? “But enough of that kind of talk.” Odette breathed deep and pulled back her shoulders. “I’ve got my eyes on a few things,” she said with a smile, watching Ruby and Harrison. The seriousness of the previous moment vanished. Odette was bright and vivacious again. “And Carter enjoys being united with his old friend.”

Olivia felt her brows pinch together. She couldn’t tell if Odette was being deliberately cryptic or if she’d drunk one cocktail too many. Olivia’s next question—whether or not the Carters had relations left behind—was on the tip of her tongue when she noticed Mr.Stone walking toward them. Her confession to Ruby about the young lawyer on the ride over rang in her mind. Unlike some of the other gentlemen who had removed their coats and rolled up their sleeves, Mr.Stone entered buttoned up. His glasses were tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket again and he held his hat in his hand. He was making his way straight to her.

“Hello, Miss Davenport,” he said. His eyes found hers, and he smiled with them as if he had some secret he was keeping. The fluttery feeling in her stomach intensified.

“Hello, Mr.Stone. What a pleasant surprise.” She meant it too. This night was a distraction, not only for her, but for John, both of them too caught up in their work to enjoy the long days of midsummer. “Have you met Odette Carter?”

Mr.Stone turned. “I’m not sure that I have.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Odette. She extended her hand, palm down as if she expected him to kiss the back of it.

“How do you do, Miss Carter.” Mr.Stone took it and shifted it gently before releasing it. Olivia bit the inside of her cheek to keep her giggle at bay. She then turned to Agatha and Bertha, making less awkward introductions.

John returned from the nearby box that was filled with Andersons and Greenfields. He and Mr.Stone shook hands. “Between meetings downtown and work on the proposal, I’d think you and I have spent enough time together. Aren’t you tired of my face yet?” joked John.

“Not yet,” said Mr.Stone. His gaze slid to Olivia’s. He placed his hat on a nearby table and slid on his glasses.

John smiled. “Of course, my face isn’t the one you came to see,” he said with feigned indignation.

Olivia’s cheeks warmed. “If Helen were here, she’d remind you that not everything is about you.” She poked her brother in the chest to drive home her point.

“Don’t you just love seeing sibling dynamics,” said Odette to Agatha.

Agatha seemed to be staring at John, at the dimple that revealed itself whenever he smiled. “Mr.Davenport,” she said suddenly, “would you like to dance?”

John froze. Olivia managed to conceal her amusement at the help me expression on his face. But to his credit, John quickly regained his composure. He dipped his head and led Agatha Leary to the center of the dance floor. Olivia watched her brother walk with polite deference and wondered if he’d taken her and Helen’s teasing to heart.

Olivia remembered the dance she and Mr.Stone had shared at the engagement party and their time at the Blackstone. Even now, he seemed to sway subtly to the music, his movements drawing her in so thoroughly, she could already imagine his hand on her back, sending a wave of heat through her.

“Care to join me?” she heard herself say. Odette stood slightly to her left, watching Mr.Stone, and Olivia felt a pang of jealousy that surprised her. There was a restlessness in her limbs. A feeling of dread and excitement that flowed through her ever since he’d opened the door. Mr.Stone had barely reached out his hand to her when she took it. The erratic energy she felt settled into a low thrum. Her muscles eased. Mr.Stone fell into step easily beside her and the taut expression he’d worn when he’d entered morphed into something like quiet anticipation. His palm spread across Olivia’s spine and he drew her closer.

“Were you lured by the promise of the St. Louis band here tonight?” asked Olivia.

Mr.Stone shook his head. “Ruby invited me. She and her maid were in the garment district where I was meeting a few clients who are on strike.”

“Ruby, in the garment district? Surely Margaret could have handled the purchases….” Ruby’s questions about the reconstructed dress came to Olivia’s mind. Ah. Perhaps she was looking for a seamstress. Olivia thought then of Lucille Jennings, the Marshall Field’s seamstress and garment worker who frequented the union meetings at Samson House. A dressmaker—she might be a good fit for Ruby’s newfound hobby if she were interested in the work….

Olivia tilted her face up to Mr.Stone’s now. She silently thanked Ruby for inviting him despite her friend’s known preference for Washington DeWight. Her mind turned to Hetty, to Mr.Stone’s clients beyond the Davenports—something she’d wanted to ask him. “Do you represent many people who’ve been unfairly treated by the law?”

Mr.Stone shook his head. “Not all the people I help have been arrested or accused of a crime. Some just need legal guidance. Not so many have formal schooling. For some, English is not their first language…. It’s a difficult world to navigate.”

“And how does your uncle feel about this extra work you take on?” she asked.

“He encourages it as long as it doesn’t interfere with the day-to-day of the firm’s business.”

“That’s wonderful. My mother approves my interest too—” she started. “Though she’s tried to convince me to lend my support using our family money and influence, investing my time in charitable events and fundraisers rather than in rallies. My father, he’s so…protective, I can’t share how deeply I’m involved.”

“Yes, I’ve met your father.” Mr.Stone’s tone was mild but his eyes held that secret smile. “And have you found your balance, Miss Davenport? Between what your mother would have you do and speaking before a packed room?” he asked. A gentle grin tugged at his lips.

“I think I have.” Beyond public speaking, she also lacked the skills of a mediator, often deferring to Mrs.Woodard to settle disputes between union workers and suffragists.

They’d drifted to the opposite end of the dance floor now. It was quieter here. Mr.Stone bent his head to speak. She inhaled his scent and tried to ignore the warmth that had her tingling. On the carriage ride over, she had confided in Ruby how much fun she had spending time with Mr.Stone, even if it was just sitting on the porch swing.

“Could it be that Mama and Daddy Davenport have finally picked a contender?” Ruby had bounced in her seat. “Can you imagine Mr.Stone and Mr.DeWight in a ring, fighting over your heart? This is so exciting!”

“Ruby,” Olivia had said, with perhaps more firmness than was needed.

“Mr.DeWight does look like he’s been in a fight or two.” Ruby settled back in her seat, smiling dreamily. “Have you heard from him yet?”

Olivia shifted in her seat. “No, not recently. I don’t think he’s received my last letters. I’d be worried if I didn’t know that George writes Hetty and mentions Washington in them.”

“George…?”

“Washington’s friend. He helped us escape that march.” Olivia shuddered at the memory of the spring rally that had turned deadly. They’d found out in the papers the next day that a Black gentleman was “trampled,” though eyewitness accounts stated he was beaten.

Her friend frowned. “Then maybe he hasn’t found the right words. Or is writing something long, like his earlier notes,” Ruby reassured her. She mimed scribbling and turning the page. Smiled. “A novel in verse?”

Olivia wanted to believe Ruby. She did. The first few letters Washington had written were long and musical. As the protests against segregation grew more frequent, though, their correspondence had waned. His last letter briefly recounted his arrival at the capital where he and other activists immediately joined the effort. Olivia, caught up in planning Helen’s party, attending meetings with the other activists, and her social calendar, had found herself not missing the time that passed between letters. When did that happen? she wondered.

“We can sit for a while if you’d prefer?” said Mr.Stone now, cutting into her thoughts.

Olivia blinked her vision clear. For a moment, she’d forgotten where she was. Now she smiled at Everett Stone. “I think I’d like some fresh air.” She began to weave her way through the crowd until they made it to the back door that opened onto a small patio. The stars were bright in the inky sky above. She was highly aware of Mr.Stone standing beside her, his presence calming and unsettling at the same time.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, his face turned skyward. Olivia watched the knot in his throat bob as he spoke. “I became somewhat of an amateur astronomer last spring.” He stood close to her, and the fluttering in Olivia’s chest grew. “All the panic around Halley’s Comet…I wanted to understand.” He laughed, and the planes of his face reorganized into something wonderful. “Don’t worry, I didn’t rush out for magic sugar pills.” He turned to Olivia, his expression comically intense. “I’m glad Flammarion’s prediction of human extinction was wrong.”

Olivia’s laugh joined his. She felt a little light-headed. “I’m glad too. Jessie, our family’s cook, began canning everything, and tried to convince the gardener to transplant the roses to build a bunker.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” he said, eyes smiling.

She turned toward the club as the music from inside changed. “I like this song.”

He took a step closer, a hand halfway to where she stood. Olivia looked at the space between them and stepped into his arms. He drew her close. They swayed together to the brassy soulful notes. Olivia felt as though she were floating. She recalled how, after their night dining and dancing at the Blackstone, they’d returned to Freeport and sat on the porch together again, gazing at the stars on the clear night. Their upper arms alone had touched as they’d swayed, his smooth, calm voice pointing out the constellations. Olivia’s higher one describing what she could remember from her lessons. And when they had run out of stars, the companionable silence had been enough.

The song ended, and Olivia believed she could be content with a lifetime of evenings like that one and dances like this. She wondered what it would feel like to reach up, to kiss him, to slowly remove his glasses and trace the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his jaw, as he angled his face toward hers. Would he taste of the mint leaves he chewed? Would he leave her breath cool and lips tingling? The thought surprised her, as did the smile spreading across her face.

In that moment, she realized they were the only two people in the small outdoor space. Tucked away from the door, she could…Before she lost her nerve, she rocked onto the balls of her feet and lifted her lips gently to his. There was a moment where Mr.Stone’s arms stiffened around her. Then relaxed. His arms slid around her waist. When his lips parted on hers, a rush of cool air entered her lungs. The smell of him—fresh and leather and something all his own—engulfed her. They pulled apart slightly, and her eyelids fluttered open to see him, his lids heavy, eyes meeting hers, full of a desire he only now let her see. He raised his fingertips to her face. Then bent and kissed her again, his lips soft, his hands drifting to her back, hers on his, pulling together as they deepened their kiss. They parted at last, flushed and breathless. A little shy. He offered his arm. Olivia took it, lips and fingers tingling, ears buzzing. She was parched but did not want to move from the porch, from under the protective blanket of stars.

She stared up at them, then at Mr.Stone’s profile against the night sky, the elegant geometry of his face. He turned and smiled at her. Kissed her forehead. She admired this young man’s goals. She liked how he seemed to see into her—to see a potential she had been running away from instead of toward. With him, she wouldn’t have to choose between her home and her future.

Could it be so easy? So easy to let one dream go and let another take shape?