Chapter 22 Olivia

Chapter 22

Olivia

Olivia rolled her sleeves down with trembling fingers. The last of the dishes were soaking in the large farmhouse sink for another volunteer to wash and a third to dry. With the record high temperatures all summer, there were more than the usual amount of people reporting to the community center, if only for a cooler place to eat and without baking in their own kitchens. Her face was damp and she knew she’d need to press her hair again for the week. She dried her hands on the apron that protected her favorite pink summer frock.

Mrs.Woodard held her hand out for Olivia’s apron. “I do admire the help, but you ought to slow down.”

She was tired, down in her bones, but Olivia said, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ve taken a more observant role at Samson House, so this at least feels like I’m making an impact.”

Mrs.Woodard paused to face her. “My dear, when do you sleep? You have an impact. Greater than you know, and I’ve seen you in the papers.”

Olivia froze. For a moment, her articles in the Defender crossed her mind.

Mrs.Woodard continued, “You’re out and about with your mama and sister.” She shook her head. “You’ll do no one a lick of good if you’re sick.”

Relief spread through her. And the older woman was right. At least Olivia’s mother was fully orchestrating Helen’s party now. Otherwise in addition to everything else, Olivia would be staring at swatches, wondering which went where. But she had to admit, it felt good to be busy. She could see the appeal it had for Mr.DeWight to continually have something to look forward to, no idle time in between, not even enough to write her a note. Olivia didn’t have time to dwell on it. Or on the kiss she’d shared with Mr.Stone. If she thought too long on it, she could almost taste the tingle of mint leaves on her lips.

For the thousandth time, she glanced at the clock.

“What time is he coming?” asked Mrs.Woodard, her smile warm.

“This afternoon,” said Olivia, thankfully, not missing a beat. “It feels like Daddy’s been gone far longer than a couple of months.” Olivia thought about how much had changed in that short space of time. Her brother and sister had created something special in their new automobile. Sure, they were holding off showing her the final product until their father returned, but it was exciting just the same. And she…she had found a new passion, and possibly someone who would love her as she pursued it.

Olivia’s growing affection for Mr.Stone surprised her more than anything. His subtle reactions as Helen and John disagreed on the details of their stock car or how to handle the board, the tidbits of gossip he lobbed gently into conversation at parties, how, in the midst of a crowded dance floor, his hand would spread across her back, warmth flaring, drawing her into his calm, mint-scented orbit, and their conversations on the front porch, how each small, delicious departure from his serious bearing now filled her with delight—

“Miss Davenport, are you listening?” asked Mrs.Woodard.

Olivia startled. “Yes, of course…” she said, her words trailing off as someone all too familiar walked into the room. Someone she had once loved, desperately and all-consumingly. Someone she had resigned herself to believing she might never see again. Someone she had only just begun to move on from.

Just inside the doorway stood Washington DeWight.

He wore a tan linen suit. His hat was tilted to the side and he held a rolled-up newspaper in his strong, broad hands. The Chicago Record-Herald. He turned as if sensing her and their eyes locked. Words escaped her as he walked with his familiar long, confident stride to where she stood. That confidence—it had first exasperated her, then thrilled her, their once contentious relationship shifting into a romance that had fed something hungry in her and brought her closer to becoming the woman she wanted to be.

A pang of guilt twisted in her now as she realized how infrequently he’d entered her thoughts lately, today being the first in a while. As one week had turned into two and then three without a letter from him, Olivia had the vague notion Washington was working up the courage to let her down gently. Perhaps trying to keep a relationship alive over such a long distance was a na?ve hope. The truth was, her ardor had waned along with his letters. The quiet thrill of Mr.Stone and the new exhilaration of writing had swept her off her feet.

“Mrs.Woodard, good afternoon,” he said.

“Why, Mr.DeWight!” replied the older woman. “What a surprise! Lovely to see you again.”

“And you,” he said.

Mrs.Woodard grasped both his hands. “I’m so glad you are safe. We’ve been following the news closely. The riots…” She shook her head. “Every day more people come here for assistance, straight from the train station. Some with nary a change of clothes.”

Washington nodded. “We saw it in Philadelphia. How is the reverend?”

“Oh, well. I’ll let him know you asked after him.”

“I have plans to see him later. Mr.Tremaine’s campaign loss was a blow to our plans.”

Olivia’s mouth dried up as she took in this exchange. His eyes darted to her periodically. They had a heat in them that didn’t convey any loss of interest on his part. In fact, the opposite. She felt slightly panicked at the realization.

“Quite a blow to us all,” Mrs.Woodard said. She patted his cheek then, her expression a mixture of relief and motherly pride. “You must excuse me. I see we have some new arrivals.”

Olivia and Mr.DeWight watched as Mrs.Woodard welcomed a lost-looking group of people being ushered in by another volunteer.

“Hello, Miss Davenport,” said Washington, turning to her. His voice was quiet but his face bright and open, the light, honeyed color of his eyes and his high cheekbones made more striking by his smile. The scent of pine that clung to him…Oh, it flooded her senses, confusing her with joy.

“Hello, Mr.DeWight,” she managed, her own voice raspy with the intensity of feelings resurfacing.

“Let’s head outside?” he suggested.

Mrs.Woodard made a shooing motion with her arms as they walked past her. “Go on. Thank you for coming today.” Olivia nodded and picked up her hat and purse from the chair behind the serving stations. She made her way slowly to where Washington stood, and then quickly, the fast tap tap tap of her heels an echo of her heartbeat.

Washington offered an arm. His other hand seemed to find hers almost the instant she settled it in the crook of his elbow. His touch was electric. The gentle pressure he applied lit a familiar spark deep down in her. The sun shone bright in the sky as they made their way to the small green space beside the community center. Harold stood from his perch atop the carriage. With a dip of her head, the older gentleman resumed his seat and pulled out a paper. She and Washington DeWight found a bench under a tree near the playground where the joyful shrieks of children filled the air. They sat, turned toward each other. Olivia didn’t know what to say. “I hadn’t expected—” she began.

“What have—” he said at the same time. He laughed and Olivia felt it tumble through her. “My apologies,” he said. “What were you going to say.”

“Only that I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t expecting to see you. So soon. How are you?”

His face broke into a grin. “Well enough.” He pulled his jacket away by the lapel and feigned an inspection of his body before turning back to her, eyes intent. “And you?”

Olivia averted her gaze, her cheeks burning. “Well, thank you.” She felt stiff and formal. This is Washington! She should be able to have a conversation with him. But the lack of communication followed by his sudden reappearance…Part of her was happy to see him. It pushed against the part that was hurt and disappointed, the part that had opened up to other possibilities. She pulled herself together. There was one thing she needed to know: “Did you receive my letters?”

He exhaled deeply. “I did, and I meant to write.”

“Why didn’t you? Was it the riots?” Olivia searched his face, looking for signs of injuries. Each paper she’d read had headlines more alarming than the last. She’d spent so many hours earlier that summer checking the post, asking Edward if anything had arrived for her. “At first, I would get a letter sometimes every other day. Then, here and there. And then none at all.” She waited. Her heart raced and she worried she had pushed too far, but these questions burned in her chest. “I was so worried. I assumed the worst until Hetty received a letter from George several weeks back.”

A shadow passed over his face. “I’m sorry. I know that must have made these months apart more difficult. Toward the end of my trip, the DC group was in upheaval. There were demonstrations and violent arrests.” His voice dropped. “Every week there’s a picture of a lynching in the papers. Men are afraid to be out on the streets at night. I was caught up in all of it. Leaders from the NAACP were in and out, rallying and pushing for change. I wanted to be a part of it. I thought you’d understand that.”

Olivia was silent a moment. “I would have if I’d have known your part in it. That you were safe.” She blinked away tears, feeling remorseful he hadn’t been more on her mind these last weeks. After George’s letter, she’d known Washington was safe. She’d assumed his silence meant something else. “I do understand,” she said. She meant it. His passion was part of what she’d loved about him. His encouragement had given her the confidence to act. How could she fault him for being true to that?

“I imagine my correspondence was lost between Philadelphia and the capital, but that’s no excuse. Then when I was planning to travel back, so much time had passed, I thought it better to surprise you. I should have come to see you straightaway. When I ran into your mother on State Street yesterday, she said you spend most of your days here. I should have come sooner, I know.”

“ My mother?”

“Yes.” His brows furrowed as he glanced at his watch. “I’m so sorry to do this, Olivia. I have a late lunch with the reverend about the next meeting at Samson House,” he said. “Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?”

Olivia hesitated. Had I given up on us too soon? She thought about how the distance, the silence, had changed what she thought the future held for her and Washington DeWight. But here he was, eyes intent on hers, his full lips parted and verging on that smile that always drew her in. It made her feel as if no time had passed at all. On the bench, his hand inched closer to hers, their fingertips just touching, an electric jolt. “I would, yes.” If only to see if this is real.

Washington’s face broke into a full grin, and the sight of it was like sunshine. He stood and kissed the back of her hand, sparking a flurry of butterflies in her chest, then deeper. “I’ll send a carriage.”

Washington placed his hat on his head. She watched him go and waved when he glanced over his shoulder. She sat in the shade, contemplating her joy at his return and her fondness for Mr.Stone. How could she contain all these feelings at once? And what Washington had said about her mother—she had known he was in the city. Had seen him and had not told her? There was little time to dwell on it or the state of her courtships now. Her father was due to return this afternoon. And by the way Harold was pacing, it was past time to leave.

They made the trip back to Freeport Manor in record time—Olivia wondered if everyone in the household suddenly had racing fever. Her mother was in the kitchen when she arrived. “Did you return with Harold?” Mrs.Davenport said by way of greeting.

“Yes, Mama. He’s at the stable switching out the team.” Olivia’s anger had begun to burn on the ride over, but it cooled some when she saw her mother so flustered with excitement. “Mama?”

Mrs.Davenport followed Jessie around the kitchen table, poking her nose into the steaming pots, a dangerous endeavor.

“Ma’am, we have everything under control. You go on and get Mr.Davenport at the train station. We’re fine right here,” said Jessie.

“Yes,” said Mrs.Davenport. She reached for the cook’s forearm and squeezed it. “Thank you, Jessie.” Olivia followed her out of the kitchen.

“Mama, why didn’t you tell me you spoke to Washington DeWight yesterday? Downtown?”

Her mother paused before turning to face her. Her expression was unsurprised. “My only intention, Olivia, was to protect you. And to keep this family intact. Selfish, it may be, but your father and I have already lost so much. Mr.Stone is kind, dependable, and wants to settle down here in Chicago. What does Mr.DeWight want?” Her mother’s eyebrows rose. She said no more before leaving Olivia in a cloud of her powder-scented perfume.

Olivia followed. “But you told me it was my decision.”

At the carriage, Mrs.Davenport stopped and turned to her daughter. Olivia was startled to see her mother’s eyes were watery as the woman pulled her in for a hug. Olivia returned the embrace stiffly. “One of the most important decisions we make in life is who we choose to spend it with. I know your father and I have been very vocal in who that should be.” She licked her lips while Olivia waited. “I thought Mr.DeWight had left for good. I watched you handle that belief too, with poise, and find new happiness and purpose. You deserve both.” Her mother kissed Olivia’s cheek gently and stepped up, allowing Harold to help her in.

Olivia had vowed to make her own choice. Now the endeavor had never felt so difficult.

···

Olivia watched her sister pace in front of her. She sat on the front porch swing, waving a fan like a wing of a hummingbird. The simple linen blouse and skirt were cooler than the cotton dress she’d had on earlier, but they still did little against the heat. “Helen,” she said, “could you sit still for a moment?”

“I can’t,” her sister said. “I’m happy to have Daddy back, I am. I’m just wondering if I’m the only one who’s thought about what it means.” She began listing her worries on her fingers. “Will he undo the progress John’s made with the board on the automobile? And my party has to happen now—”

“Helen, it was always going to happen,” said Olivia.

“And I’ll be expected to find a husband, ” Helen continued. To John, standing at the porch rail, she said, “I doubt he’d let me continue to work in the family business.”

Olivia stood. “At least wait for him to get here before you start panicking. You’re clever. I have no doubt you’ll squirm your way out of all those obligations and into the one you want.”

“I hope you’re right.” Helen huffed.

“Can you imagine the surprise on his face when he finally sees our automobile?” John laughed. His pacing picked up where Helen’s ended. “I’m nervous, in a good way. It’ll be a relief to have him see it.”

Helen grinned, no sign now of all the listed fears. Olivia was glad. Her sister’s run-in with Mr.Lawrence at the Greenfields’ had affected her, though Helen would never admit it. And while Helen’s gaze did linger over Mr.Swift more than John liked, her sister remained focused on the completion of their stock car.

“What about you?” asked Helen. “What’s got you looking so…pinched?”

Olivia’s hand flew to her face. “I don’t look pinched.” Her siblings gave her a matching pair of unconvinced expressions. Olivia cleared her throat before saying, “Washington DeWight is back.”

“No!” said Helen. She and John closed in, coming to stand beside her.

“He is. He came by the community center today. I just about fainted. I thought I was over him. But seeing him again…” Olivia shook her head.

John propped his hip against the railing. “What about Mr.Stone?”

Olivia’s shoulders fell. “That’s the problem. I care for him too.” The expectant eyes of her siblings were too much. She wanted time, maybe more privacy, to decide her next steps. She snapped her fan closed. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Plus, I have my next essay to think about.”

She sat again, her mind turning to the essay drafted in her room. It was her fourth piece. She wanted to highlight the relationship between the garment workers’ strikes and the suffragists. She wanted to write something that would unite them all. She wished she could use a pen as well as Ida B. Wells, whose work exposed the worst of what the papers reported.

“What essay?” asked John.

Olivia looked at her siblings. “I’ve been anonymously publishing pieces for the Defender, ” she blurted.

Helen gasped. John froze. She waited. John and Helen had always been so sure of where they saw themselves in their futures. Working for the carriage company, designing an automobile—it was natural to them. This—her writing for a newspaper, putting into words her opinions on matters other than fashion, or the weather, or dinner service—it was beyond what she’d been brought up to believe could be in her future. It elated as much as it frightened her.

“How many have you written? What were they about?” Helen sat down beside her, her excitement buoying Olivia’s own spirits. “Is that where you’ve been disappearing to? And why you’re always late?”

“I am not always late!”

Helen pulled a face.

“I—I am sometimes delayed delivering letters to the post office.”

“But why anonymously?”

“To be taken seriously, Helen. To not have our wealth and privilege detract from what I say. I researched first—many papers restrict what women can write about if their work is to be published.” Her voice was steady. “I want the right to vote.”

“I have no doubt we’ll get it,” said Helen, determination settled into her features.

“Yes, right now, the garment workers have the momentum, and that’s a good thing. But I won’t stop fighting for this cause too.” She squeezed Helen’s hand for good measure.

“I’m proud of you,” said John, settling a hand on her shoulder. It felt freeing to tell them what she’d been working on, to have their support, their regard.

She turned to her brother. “And you? Are you well, John?” Up close, he seemed wound tight.

“I kissed Amy-Rose the other night,” he said.

Olivia and Helen whipped around to face him. “What?” exclaimed Olivia. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

John shrugged. “She hadn’t read my letter—or any of the others—and we haven’t spoken since that night.” He looked at his sisters, distressed. “Why wouldn’t she have read them?”

“Don’t ask Helen. She never read her letters from Jacob Lawrence.”

“Livy! It is not the same thing.” Helen chewed her lip. “And I did read one. Well, most of it.” Helen paused.

“Well?” asked John.

“Okay, part of it,” her sister confessed. “But I’m afraid I’ve been a neglectful friend. I’ve been so caught up with the build that I haven’t made more time to spend with Amy-Rose, and she’s only just down the hall. It’ll be that much harder when she moves out.”

Olivia threw Helen a look. This outburst certainly wouldn’t alleviate John’s stress. “She’ll be at dinner tonight, John. For Daddy’s return,” she said. “Speak with her then.”

“And say what?”

“Give her time,” said Helen, looking at her feet. “If she didn’t read what you wrote, your declaration of love would have completely upended your dynamic. Her heart needs recalibration.” Her eyes met Olivia’s.

“Always surprising us with your wisdom.”

“It’s not too hard. I just learn from your mistakes,” Helen quipped, giggling.

Olivia tapped her sister’s knee with her fan.

John spoke. “Amy-Rose and I…I know where she stands now. What’s holding us back. There’s someone else I need to speak to.”

“They’re here!” said Helen as the dust at the end of the drive began to swirl. A moment later, the carriage came into view. “John, I expect a full account of events later.” She grabbed Olivia’s hand and squeezed tightly, then tugged Olivia with her to the porch stairs. John’s expression was a mix of pride, relief, and anticipation. Their father’s return meant tough decisions would need to be made. Olivia thought again about Washington DeWight and Mr.Stone, but before she could dwell on her feelings, the carriage pulled around the drive and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Helen rushed down to meet it. She stepped into their father’s arms the moment his feet touched the ground.

“We’ve missed you!” Olivia nestled her head under her father’s chin. No sooner had he released her than Helen was wedging herself back under his arm, asking him questions too quickly for him to answer. His limp was more pronounced but he was in bright spirits. The staff stood shoulder to shoulder to welcome Mr.Davenport home. Olivia noticed he relied heavily on his cane as he climbed up the stairs. He greeted each person of the household in turn, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, he inhaled deeply.

“Jessie, I can already tell you have outdone yourself.”

The family cook laughed. “Only your favorites are on the menu tonight.”

“Then the dining room is where we shall go.”

“Sweetheart,” said Mrs.Davenport, “perhaps, you should rest first.”

“I have spent enough time without the company of my wife and children. There is time later for rest.” He held his arm out for her to take. Not for the first time, Olivia studied her mother’s face when she looked at her father. The tenderness was obvious. Olivia’s resolve hardened.

She knew she’d settle for nothing less.

The pair led the way to the dining room, set for the multicourse meal Jessie had prepared.

At the rear of their small party, Amy-Rose appeared, Edward closing the front door behind her.

“You’re just in time,” Olivia said. “No need to look nervous.” She took her friend’s hand.

“I have been so stubborn, Olivia.” Amy-Rose chewed her lip. “All this time. And now”—she looked at her friend, eyes despairing—“I feel back where I began.”

Olivia frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“John—he loves me—”

“Of course.” Olivia smiled, squeezing her friend’s hand. “He never stopped.”

“But he’s confident all will be well, that we can make it work, but nothing has changed, really. I read his letter, but I can’t—” Amy-Rose halted as they approached the dining room.

“You read it?” Olivia felt a rush of relief for her brother.

“I did, at last. And the ones he forwarded.” Amy-Rose smiled through teary eyes. Her words came out in a whispered rush. “I have a half sister, my father’s daughter from an earlier union that ended in tragedy. But he loved again—my mother. Me.” A small laugh escaped her lips. “Elizabeth, my sister, sent me my mother’s notes to my father.”

Olivia pulled her friend into a tight hug. “Amy-Rose, that’s wonderful.” When they broke free, Amy-Rose’s face was wet.

“Don’t worry—they’re happy tears. I have a sister .” She smiled. “It’s just that, with John and—and your father, what he said the night before I left—Olivia, I just can’t go through it all again.” Amy-Rose’s voice broke. Olivia followed her friend’s gaze to see John settling into his seat between Helen and their father, who took his place at the head of the table.

“Oh, Amy-Rose. Be honest with him. With John and yourself,” she said.

“I don’t want to be the reason John can’t run the business,” Amy-Rose said. “I would never—”

“You leave that to John,” said Olivia, remembering her brother’s determined expression, his words on the porch just moments ago. Amy-Rose nodded, though looking unconvinced, and allowed Olivia to guide her to the seat beside her. Olivia watched her friend collect herself and smile.

“Good evening, Mr.Davenport. Mrs.Davenport.”

“Amy-Rose,” Olivia’s father said, “I’m so sorry about Mrs.Davis.”

“Thank you, Mr.Davenport. And I do appreciate the hospitality during my time of need. My new accommodations at the boardinghouse are more than suitable, and I’m glad for the time I was able to spend here at Freeport.” Olivia saw Amy-Rose’s eyes flick to Mrs.Davenport and then John. “And I’m glad for your safe return.”

John followed Amy-Rose’s movements as she placed her napkin on her lap. My, he is smitten, Olivia thought. And so is she, if that blush is any indication. Oh, Amy-Rose. Olivia ached for her friend. But she resisted the urge to rush in and fix things. There was repairing needed, and it would take time. But that was work John and—she hoped—her father would be able to do. Willing to do.

“Daddy, I want to hear everything, ” said Helen.

Mr.Davenport laughed. He laughed until his eyes watered. Once he cleared his throat, he turned in his seat and locked eyes with her sister. “I arrived in Southampton,” he began. “The dock was busier than State Street during a parade.”

Helen’s elbows found their way onto the table. “Were there automobiles everywhere?” Her eyes were bright, ready to be transported to a city across the sea.

···

Olivia sat in the back of a carriage as it bumped over the cobbled streets, a streetcar clanging nearby.

“You are as bad as your sister.”

Olivia’s head whipped away from the open window to face Mrs.Milford. How the older woman managed to look cool and calm in a black linen blouse and skirt when it was ninety degrees was beyond Olivia’s understanding.

With their father’s return, they all had to be more careful, which meant Olivia now had a new chaperone. Harold pulled the carriage to a halt outside a small café.

“Thank you for agreeing to accompany me, Mrs.Milford,” is all Olivia said in reply.

“My pleasure. Your friend Amy-Rose will be at your sister’s side as she works with that new mechanic friend of hers .” Mrs.Milford’s tone expressed her skepticism. She exited the carriage first and stared at the cakes in the café window. “And I could use something sweet.”

Olivia was glad to have worn her ivory linen dress and the matching hat, broad enough to shade her shoulders. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves and the hope fluttering in her chest. Once Mrs.Milford had her pastry, they walked the short distance to Jackson Park.

Washington DeWight stood from his bench as if sensing her apprehension, and walked to meet her halfway. He took one of her hands and pulled off the glove to place a gentle kiss on the back of it. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. Smiling, she introduced him to Mrs.Milford, who declined to have the back of her hand kissed as well.

“I feel as though I have been running around, people pulling me every which way, since I stepped off the train.” He looked out to where the sun had begun its descent. “This is much better. Chicago is a special place.” They strolled down the walking path. Mrs.Milford followed at a discreet distance.

When Olivia glanced over at him, he was staring at her. Could he be thinking of staying? The thought delighted her. Until she thought of Mr.Stone.

Washington continued, “A lot has happened over the past two months. I suppose the silver lining is that there are far more people sharing their experiences, writing into newspapers, reporting injustice.”

Excitement bloomed in Olivia’s chest. “You’ve read my letters!”

“No,” he answered, confused. “Not yet.” He smiled. “But they’ll arrive soon. No, I had to pick up all my papers from the newsstand so I wouldn’t miss a copy of any.”

Olivia deflated. Washington read every line of print in every paper he bought. If he’d recognized her voice in the Defender, he would have said so. But why should he, if even her own siblings had not? She felt such pride to see her words in print, though. To hold her essay in her hands had been better than anything else.

And she wanted to remain anonymous. Washington thrived on the energy of the crowd, of being the center of attention. That was not Olivia. Which is good, no? I would not have to live in his shadow, and we’d both be able to pursue our passions. Unless their passions took them away from each other. Olivia wasn’t quite ready for that. He’d only just returned.

“I fear I’ve missed some big news. What did you write to me?”

“Oh, the goings-on here. This and that. Mostly that I missed you.”

“I heard you’re a regular at the women’s union meetings and hold joint luncheons with Mrs.Woodard for the suffragists.”

“You’ve kept track?”

Washington blushed—a rare thing. “I asked about you when I arrived.”

Olivia laughed. “Yes, even with Helen’s party and Ruby’s wedding, I’ve managed to maintain a presence at Samson House. The women’s clubs are working toward equality on several fronts. Did you know—there was a rally as well, that I helped organize?” She knew she sounded proud. But she was proud to be proud.

“I don’t know how you find the time. They’re lucky to have you.”

Olivia dipped her chin.

“And how are the Tremaines doing?” he asked.

“As well as could be expected,” she answered, declining to get into the toll it had taken on Ruby and her relationship with her parents. “Perhaps Chicago wasn’t ready for a Black mayor. Garnering insufficient support from white voters could have been his downfall.” Certainly it was not the rumors circling around Ruby, who sacrificed so much to see Mr.Tremaine succeed.

Washington slowed. “Mr.Tremaine’s success would have done wonders for the city, for its Black and white citizens. Surely there was more that could have been done to secure his win.”

Olivia thought about the sold paintings and jewelry, the recycled dresses, and decreased staff. “What more could they have sacrificed?”

“Sacrifice? He didn’t need to sacrifice anything. Sure, Mr.Tremaine made the rare visit to Samson House, a gathering of activists here and there, but he did not visit the poorest of the community. He did not bear witness to the struggles of those who he would represent, who would vote for him.”

“I thought he ran a brilliant campaign,” said Olivia.

Washington DeWight nodded but said, “He did not offer a plan to lift them up. If those in the poorest areas had felt he put just as much effort into their future as he did into those in his own social circle or into high-ranking politicians and activists, men who already had power, things might have ended differently.”

Olivia thought back to her time at the community center, Samson House, protests outside city hall. She had never seen much of Mr.Tremaine in those spaces. Even now, she knew from Ruby that he remained mostly locked in his study.

“I’m sorry,” said Washington. “This must be hard to hear. I know he’s like family.”

“No,” said Olivia quickly. “Well, yes, it is hard to hear. He is. Ruby is my best friend. His journey, like my father’s, is an inspiration. I know he had hoped to pave the way.”

Washington stopped and faced her. His hand came close to her chin before falling. “He still can.” His gaze held hers. The force of his passion, his conviction—it always pulled her in.

“How was the capital?” she asked, walking again, ready to change the subject but wary of what he might share.

He fell into step beside her. “DC was chaos—dangerous, but that’s how you know change is coming. You’ll see when you visit.”

“I’d love to see it for myself.” She looked out at the park around them and pictured the capital as he had described it in his letters. “Tell me more,” she said. She missed the way he wove his words together like a song, the way his Alabama drawl colored his syllables. She was content to imagine this was what it would be like every time he returned from a trip. They rounded a corner and lost sight of Mrs.Milford—and anyone else for that matter. Washington DeWight’s arm brushed hers. His cologne, pine, out of season for the trees and brush around, was delicious in its contrast. In the distance, the soulful notes of a band rang out.

His hand hovered over her back, waiting for the subtle nod she gave him. Olivia felt her stomach flutter as he pulled her to him, guiding them awkwardly to the song drifting on the breeze. He misstepped and she stumbled into him laughing.

“Now look who has two left feet,” he said.

“Still you!”

Washington’s shoulders relaxed, and the swaggering confidence he often displayed fell away. He held her close enough to kiss her but didn’t. Instead, he matched his breathing to hers, leading her in a slow waltz that felt like a caress.

She wasn’t sure how they found the alcove or who leaned in first, but the spark created from the touch of their lips traveled all the way down to her toes. She felt the corded muscles of his upper arm beneath her hand. Soon, both his arms were around her waist, hers clung to his neck. His mouth explored her own with a tenderness she’d forgotten and relished now with a shiver.

The music faded out and the reality of where they were came into focus. She pulled away. “Excuse me,” she said at the same time he said, “Apologies.” They stared at each other, then searched their surroundings. Smiled. They were still alone.

He offered his arm again, and they walked back the way they had come. “I’d hate to fall out of Mrs.Milford’s good graces so soon.”

This time, when Olivia laughed, it was breathy and soft. Her chaperone was in conversation with Mrs.Johnson and appeared to be inching away, only to have the gossip advance.

“You did leave an important development out of your account,” Washington said. He paused. “Everett Stone?”

Olivia took a moment to remember what that name meant to her. Washington’s heady scent and the adrenaline of their kiss had left her mind fuzzy. “Mr.Stone—he works with my father.”

“I won’t ask if the gossip is true. That there is something between you two, hints of a possible engagement.”

Olivia coughed. “Who’s speaking of an engagement?”

“Everyone.” He smiled. “You and your friends are quite popular, unfortunately.”

“It’s far more complicated than that.” The complication being that she did have feelings for Everett Stone, despite her parents’ interference. His face now rose to her mind—and the quiet confidence he had about him, his smiling eyes and serious bearing, his elegance and humility, the space he gave her to be herself, and the courage to do more than she’d thought possible. With Mr.Stone, she didn’t feel like she was running to catch up. The fact that he was her parents’ pick still rankled—she wished they’d had nothing to do with it at all. But now a further complication: Washington DeWight was back. And there was no denying her feelings for him too.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m not being fair.” He cupped his hands gently around her shoulders. “I should give him a chance to prove I’m right for you.” Washington DeWight straightened and his eyes sparkled. “Challenge accepted.”