Chapter 28 Helen

Chapter 28

Helen

Helen met Mrs.Milford’s sharp gaze from where the older woman perched at the top of the bleachers. Her tutor had found the single patch of shade, and now fanned herself furiously with one hand while propping her book open with the other. “Are you sure,” Mrs.Milford began, “that you would not have been more comfortable meeting this Swift character at your brother’s garage as usual? Or at the offices downtown, since your father is now condoning this behavior?”

“It’s a beautiful day, Mrs.Milford.” Helen stood a few bleachers down from her chaperone. “You did say it’s important for a young lady to get fresh air and exercise.”

“Yes, however, the racetrack was not what I had in mind.”

“It’s full of potential,” said Helen. The venue was mostly empty. The custodian moved up and down the bleachers, retrieving waste from the receptacles. “I do appreciate you coming with me.”

Her companion nodded and arranged herself. Her movements were regal, out of place on a dusty track. Though her skirt was still black as ink, Mrs.Milford’s blouse was a stiff and luxurious blue-gray beneath a black linen jacket. It was the first time Helen had seen her in something other than the somber shade. She imagined she would never achieve Mrs.Milford’s level of grace. And she was more than content with that fact. She straightened her skirts now and made her way to the track.

Helen ducked inside the garage, savoring the break from the blazing sun. She walked to the black prototype of the Davenport horseless carriage and marveled at the work she’d done. They’d done, she corrected herself. She would never hear the end of it if John and Swift heard that slip. And without them and the twins, her dreams might never have been realized.

She slowed as she approached the vehicle. Ransom Swift was reaching over the closed door. The hem of his shirt had ridden up to reveal a thin strip of skin above the waistband of his pants. Helen felt an odd flip in her chest. It was not him she thought of, though, but Mr.Lawrence. The memory of their first encounter in the Tremaines’ backyard came to her—these thoughts of him made her temperature rise and a place deep and low ache. She believed him when he said he loved her.

“Oh, don’t say you’ve fallen for it too?”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“My irresistible charm.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “I assure you. I can resist.”

“You wound me,” Mr.Swift cried, and clutched his chest. He was dreamy. His angular face, full lips, his sense of humor—the perfect recipe for a heartbreaker.

“I think you’ll survive.”

“I hope you’re not implying I’ve lost my touch.”

“Of course not. Do you want me to fetch a few of your adoring fans?” Helen gestured to a smattering of female spectators beyond the fencing. She wondered what it must feel like to move through the world as he did, working where and when you want. The advice Miss Davis had given her rang in her ears. Her birthday was tomorrow. So was her party. And as another year older, maybe she would have more autonomy. Livy did. I could be openly courted by Mr.Lawrence . It would be messy, but it could be done.

Ransom Swift’s smile changed, a new look in his eye, something like acceptance. “I think I will bask in their admiration once our work here is done.” He propped his hip on the door and wiped his hands with the cloth that had been tucked into his back pocket. “I take it your brother won’t be joining us.”

Helen shook her head. “No, he and Mr.Stone are putting the final touches on the proposal for Daddy.”

“And you think this will work?”

“Yes. All he’s ever seen are the motorcars on the street, or the broken ones John brought home. When he sees this?” Helen walked around the Davenports’ first horseless carriage. It was lacquered in black and had the golden Davenport crest on the doors. It was polished to a high shine and the red leather and wood trim interior bore the same attention to detail as the most expensive carriages in the company. “What my father holds dear is the luxury and status our carriages convey. If we can show him that we can make more than a stock car, that an automobile produced by the Davenport Carriage Company could have just as much luxury—”

“He won’t be able to say no.”

Helen laughed. “Exactly. If this is successful, it will be a very short proposal.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the engine before grinning back at her. “All you have to worry about is that party of yours.”

Helen groaned. “It’s tomorrow night.”

“I’m aware. So, you’ve settled on a dress then. What?” he asked when she threw him a look. “You and your siblings talk a lot. I’m looking forward to seeing you all dolled up.”

“I’m not. How will they take me seriously as a part of the company dressed like a princess instead of a partner?”

A crease appeared between his brows. “These men been on the board long?”

Helen laughed. “Yes, for as long as I can remember.”

“Then some of them might remember you as a little girl, your gap-tooth smile, an awkward adolescent. My guess is that this may be the most grown they’ve ever seen you.”

Helen’s stomach flipped. She had not thought of it that way, and now she was reviewing every embarrassing moment she’d had at the gatherings her parents hosted over the years. There were too many to count. “That eight-year-old with the bike I took apart…” she said, referring to the story about herself she’d told Ransom. “His father is on the board.”

“See?” said Ransom Swift. “You’ve got nothing to worry about with him. You can only improve his perception. People keep saying there’s a force to be reckoned with underneath all that grease. Show them.”

Helen cracked a smile. “So what if there is?”

“Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” He followed her gaze to the motorcar. “Wanna ride?”

Helen looked at him, a mop of curly hair and lean forearms and a smile. Oh, that smile… He’ll break a lot of hearts before he settles down . “Definitely.”

Without waiting for him to help her, she rounded the back of the vehicle and slid into the seat. The upholstery was supple leather, the smell of it amazing. Far better than any of the horse-drawn hacks or motorized cabs all over the city. She clasped her hands on her lap, resisting the urge to pick at her nails. Swift took his sweet time. He wiped down each tool and lovingly placed each one back in its place. Helen’s toes bounced in the foot well while she muttered under her breath.

“You asked me if I wanted to ride. Are you deliberately trying to drive me mad?”

“Not at all, Miss Helen.”

Helen let the familiar comfort of the Davenport carriage leather cradle her. She marveled over the difference. In front of her, an engine replaced the driver and horse she was used to. The vantage point was lower to the ground, the space, more intimate. The seat shifted at her side as Swift climbed in. He turned to her and waggled his eyebrows.

“Ready?” He grinned and shifted the automobile into gear. At first, nothing happened. Helen began to panic. What have we done? She couldn’t imagine a world where this didn’t work. Just before she had a complete panic attack, the automobile lurched forward out of the garage.

The sun was blinding. The wind whipped her hair around her face. She slapped a hand on top her head to save her hat and gripped the side of the vehicle. Dust kicked up in their wake as Ransom Swift continued to accelerate. He pushed hard on the gas pedal. Helen could hear the stress on the engine increase and the way it adjusted to accommodate the load. It was everything she’d dreamed of.

“This is incredible!” she yelled.

Swift grinned wider. In no time, they completed a loop. Then another. And another. Too soon, Ransom began pointing the motorcar toward the garage. Helen felt a surge of dismay. She nudged him and gestured to pull over.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Helen’s ears were ringing and her mouth was dry. She felt as though her veins sparked with electricity. It made her bold. “My turn,” she said.

A smile split Ransom’s face. He had barely popped open the door before Helen slid behind the driver’s wheel. She removed her hat and tucked it under her skirt. A few wrinkles won’t hurt it. She looked into the mirror as Ransom walked around the vehicle. Then she curled her fingers over the steering wheel. She felt the purring of the engine in her whole body. Helen inhaled the pungent scents of fuel and grease, the newly stitched leather, the freshly cut grass. At last seated beside her, Ransom Swift placed a hand on hers, a signal to go, but the gearshift was already moving in her grip—as was her foot on the gas.

“Whoa!” he yelled. The motorcar lurched forward. “Gentle.” Swift’s hands now clung to the seat and side of his door.

“No need to overreact,” she said, relishing the anticipation in her voice. She licked her lips and applied a fraction of the pressure to the pedal she had previously. The car’s response was slower but steady.

“Better,” said Swift, but his words drowned in the growing roar of the engine as the wind parted around them and Helen pushed the pedal harder, shifting into a higher gear. She was driving! It was more fantastic than she’d dreamed. I did this! Her eyes stung. Her chest was tight. A laugh burst free, carried off by the wind. Helen didn’t see the surprised looks of the few others on the track, only the track itself as she completed her first stilted lap, followed by a smoother second and an utterly rapturous third.

After they finally pulled into the garage, Helen sprinted up the stands to where Mrs.Milford sat, her mentor’s lips pressed into a firm line, and Helen whooped at the blue sky above. This was going to work.