Chapter 36 Helen

Chapter 36

Helen

It was race day!

Overhead, the sun peeked through the clouds, shining on the roadway like hallelujah sunbeams in a painting. Helen attempted to cool herself with a white lace fan that matched the lace-trimmed dress she wore. The collar was as low as propriety would allow, and the skirt as high, but it did little to stave off the heat. But her discomfort was secondary. All Helen could think about today was the race. She didn’t get a wink of sleep the night before. All the things that could go wrong had run laps in her mind. As had all the things that could go right. She’d been out of bed before dawn today, soaking in the tub and taking care not to ruin her hair.

The turnout now was spectacular. The stands were filled thanks to the not-so-small network of friends and family who talked up the big day to anyone who would listen. Their parents and Olivia sat with them, as did Amy-Rose, Mr.Stone, and Mrs.Milford. And the staff from Freeport had all come! In another section, she spotted the Tremaines and Bartons. John had put ads in all the papers, shouting about Ransom Swift’s local Chicago race. Her brother, at her side, waved to his friends.

“See, I told you!” he said. “All automobile enthusiasts and socialites are in attendance. And I fully acknowledge your genius in recruiting Swift to our cause. Look at the crowd he’s drawn.” John laughed. “All the papers are out, photographers—photographing our car!”

Helen stared at the sea of young women crowded at the fence where Ransom Swift and several other drivers gathered. Swift’s luxurious curls ruffled in the wind, and although she couldn’t quite make out his face from where they stood, she could tell from his body language that he was flirting with the onlookers.

Behind him was the Davenport horseless carriage, with a new addition: a bold number three was printed on the engine cover. It was by far the prettiest stock car on the line, but Helen hoped it was also the fastest. “Why’d you pick the number three?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” said John.

“I did.” It was her father who spoke. As Mr.Davenport took in the scene below them, Helen watched a series of emotions play over his face. The nervous excitement she felt doubled. Mr.Davenport descended one step closer to where she and John stood and said, “Three seemed like a good number. John, Helen”—he looked at Olivia—“Livy. The company is your inheritance. It seemed fitting. Plus, I heard three is a lucky number.”

John smiled at her, then reached a hand out to their mother. “Mama, would you like a closer look? We can head down to the track. Amy-Rose, want to come?”

Helen and Mr.Davenport let the three of them pass. “Good luck!” Amy-Rose said to her.

“Oh—I see Ruby,” said Olivia. She kissed their father on his cheek and followed her mother, brother, and friend. As she passed, she pressed her hand into Helen’s. “Well done,” she whispered.

The words calmed Helen. She licked her lips and put her fan away. Over the crackling loudspeaker, the announcer asked everyone to take their seats.

The race was about to start.

Helen’s breath came in shallow puffs, and she couldn’t tell if she felt hot or cold.

Mr.Davenport motioned her to take a seat and she followed his lead. “I admire your determination,” he said. “The foresight to see this avenue and the fortitude to see it through…” He trailed off and chuckled under his breath.

“Before you say anything else, Daddy, I want you to know that working for the carriage company you built has been the only thing I’ve ever wanted for my future. I know the business inside and out, and I know motorcars, and if Amy-Rose can manage a successful business with all the obstacles in her way and earn your respect, then I deserve a chance to do so as well.”

Her father looked at her as if contemplating her words, her worth. “You engineered a new vehicle, your brother wined and dined his way to garner the support of the board, and used my lawyer to reallocate labor and materials,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Yes, and, I want to prove that I am more than”—she paused and steadied herself—“this.” She flared one side of her skirt and gestured to her coifed hair, the rouge on her lips. “I’d like you and the board to consider it my application for hire.”

Her father frowned. “The show hasn’t started yet.”

“Exactly. I would be remiss if I asked after a loss. Better to lock you into a deal now.”

William Davenport stared at his daughter. He studied her so long, Helen feared she had gone too far. The laugh that burst from him was loud enough to turn heads. Helen startled. Mr.Davenport’s eyes were misting, deep laugh lines appearing at their corners.

“Daddy, are you well?” she asked. Hope had begun to grow.

“Yes. Now let’s watch your hard work.”

Helen tore her eyes away from her father and back to the track where the vehicles were lined up. She spotted her sister and mother with the Tremaines and Amy-Rose, and John, who had made his way over to where the mechanics stood. Jacob Lawrence and his cousin sat with Ruby. His wink in her direction made her stomach flip.

Her father bumped her knee with his. It was time to see what weeks of their hard work could produce. She watched Swift climb into the number three car, her leg bouncing. Oh how she wished she could be driving it. She glanced quickly at her father. Maybe next time.

The gun went off and the vehicles pulled away from the line. Helen shot to her feet, unable to contain her excitement. The Davenport sped ahead but was soon overtaken by the Ford and Stoddard-Dayton. The Studebaker and another Ford were close behind. The crowd was electric, roaring as loud as the engines. The stands shook with the jumping and stomping. Helen’s voice caught in her throat when the group took a turn around a bend and disappeared. She could hear the cheers from the other groups of spectators as the cars made their way to other sections of the track. Helen waited with bated breath for them to return. Each moment seemed to stretch on forever. It was all she could do not to run to where the finish line was. As the other spectators calmed, Helen’s anxiety only grew.

“Let’s get a better view, shall we?” said Mr.Davenport, standing.

Helen threw her arms around her father, and the pair walked to where the barriers opened onto the track. John shook their father’s hand. He threw an arm over Helen’s shoulder.

This was it.

The vehicles reappeared.

The Davenport was in the lead!

Shouts among the company’s mechanics rang out. A piercing whistle from her father made her laugh. Then, to his surprise, she released one of her own.

The automobiles raced by, kicking up a cloud of dust, and the crowds ran to follow. Above the fray, the flag fluttered, signaling the end of the race. Standing on the edge of the door, Ransom Swift punched the air.

“Did he win?” Helen asked.

“I think so,” said John. “Look at the other drivers.” The other racers exited their vehicles, exhausted and dejected.

“The winner, Ransom Swift, in the number three car for the Davenport Carriage Company!” The announcer shouted.

Helen’s cheers joined her brother’s. Relief and elation flooded her. They’d won! Her plan worked! John crushed her into a hug that rocked her on her heels. “Well done!” he said, and then embraced their father. He left the two of them to celebrate with the others. Helen looked back to the track, her face already hurting from her grin. Passersby congratulated them. When she turned to her father, Mr.Davenport pulled Helen close, tucking her head under his chin so that she only caught a quick glimpse of his shinning smile and watery eyes. Under her ear she felt a rumble quite like laughter.

Mr.Davenport cleared his throat and said. “I’ll discuss your application with the others on Monday.”

Helen looked up at her father, the pride she felt mirrored in his eyes. At the slight tilt of his head, she returned her attention to the stock car, emblazoned with their family crest. Her inheritance.