Chapter 4 Helen

Chapter 4

Helen

A family meeting.

The last time one of these was called at Freeport, their parents had announced the plans for Olivia’s big party, her official introduction into society last year.

Her own day was one Helen Marie Davenport had been dreading all year.

All her life .

Helen had thought that, what with Olivia’s failed attempt to find a husband this or last spring, her older sister would still be the focus of her parents’ attention, and Helen’s own debut would be postponed. She remembered Olivia’s debut year. There were endless parties and luncheons and picnics. Smiling and dancing. Corsets and boots that pinched toes. Is that what’s in store for me?

But with her eighteenth birthday rapidly approaching, it was only a matter of time. And now Olivia, who was rarely late, was holding up the proceedings in the morning room.

Helen sat on the pale brocade couch beside John, who stared at the toe of his polished shoe. When she had first come downstairs, she hadn’t expected to see him and her father—most days, John and Mr.Davenport left early for the company offices downtown.

Opposite Helen and her brother, her parents sat in twin wingback chairs and were caught up in quiet conversation. Helen had prepared the tea and arranged the service just so. It was her end of the bargain in exchange for getting to spend her afternoon reading up on the stock cars used in automobile racing.

Mrs.Milford, her etiquette tutor, sat in a chair set back from the rest, where she could observe. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was secured tightly at the nape of her neck, which made her face appear long. Her black dress was a drop of ink in the Davenports’ bright morning room. Helen was about to yell for her sister—Mrs.Milford or her parents would just have to understand—when the door swung open and Olivia, quite uncharacteristically, burst through.

“Finally,” said John, taking the words from Helen’s own mouth. Sophie, their mother’s terrier, barked from her bed in the corner.

Olivia apologized and sat quickly. She swallowed hard and brushed the hair that had escaped from her hat away from her face while pulling loose the ribbon that secured it. Helen noticed how, even when rushed and flustered, her sister’s movements were graceful. Olivia removed the hat in one fluid motion.

Helen closed the book she held on the gauzy green pillow she’d made of her skirts and eyed her sister. “What were you up to?”

“A union meeting,” she whispered. “The garment workers are on strike. And I’m only a few minutes late.” Olivia looked from Helen to their brother, as if for confirmation of this fact. John and Olivia took after their mother in looks, with their dark, almond-shaped eyes, but John had a dimple to die for, according to the many young ladies who nearly fainted in his wake. Now he raised his eyebrows at Olivia. She shrugged, her expression pinched.

The sudden arrival of Mr.Stone gave Helen pause. He, John, and her father had spent hours in the study recently and in the offices downtown, discussing the future of the business. To hear John tell it, all Mr.Stone did was stand silently as John tried to convince their father of the merits of a horseless carriage option to bring the company into the new century.

So, this was not about a party.

Helen broke the silence. “She’s here now. Tell us.”

Mr.Davenport cleared his throat, sparing Mr.Stone a quick glance. The look he gave John was longer, heavier.

“I will be traveling abroad,” he said finally. He adjusted his cane in front of him. The weight of his slouch pushed his shoulders up to his ears.

Helen wasn’t sure she heard correctly. Her father never traveled. He said he’d done enough as a young man, though they knew he used the word travel to shelter them from the details of his harrowing journey to safety. William Davenport had escaped enslavement as a teen, using his skills as a blacksmith to make a name for himself. His brother, still lost to him, had caused the distraction that ensured his safety. Mr.Davenport had waited as long as he dared before traveling north, as far as he could. With a young woman from Boston, born free but poor, he had built a business that changed their lives and provided for their family, presumably for generations to come.

The Davenport children stared at their parents, who rarely left the county, much less the state. Were they all taking a trip?

“Where?” John leaned forward in his seat.

“London.”

Helen placed the book on the armrest and stood. “ London? As in England? ” she and Olivia said together.

“Yes.” Her father looked amused. “I have been invited to attend a conference for Negro businessmen and entrepreneurs abroad.” He cleared his throat. Helen watched Olivia’s eyes slide to their mother, who looked at William Davenport with such pride and tenderness and something she couldn’t quite describe. Her father lifted a hand from his cane and patted his wife’s hands where they held his elbow.

“That’s terrific news,” said Olivia.

Yes, the best news. They won’t be able to throw me a party if we’re abroad! And I’ll be able to see foreign automobiles. Helen couldn’t believe her luck.

“Marvelous!” She hopped up and threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Daddy, that’s great!”

She took her seat again and looked at John, now sitting straight-backed. His face had a guarded expression. Some of her excitement abated.

John stood and offered his hand. “Congratulations, sir,” he said. His smile was restrained. With Amy-Rose’s sudden departure, John had become withdrawn and serious, overly formal with their parents, and especially with their father. John’s affections for Amy-Rose had been… not well-received by their father, and her absence seemed to strengthen John’s resolve to excel in business. Helen knew Amy-Rose was never far from his mind, though. His actions, his letters to her, his diligence in forwarding her post—especially the mysterious letter for Amy-Rose from her family in Georgia—all were proof. But he hadn’t said a word about any of it to Helen or their sister in weeks, and he’d clammed up when she’d asked. Lately, he seemed more moody than ever.

Perhaps London, and some distance from Chicago, would do him good.

Jacob Lawrence was in London. The thought was sudden. It filled Helen, and left a sour taste in her mouth. Surely, it’s a large enough city . Helen thought about the Jacob Lawrence who had made her laugh, who’d seemed to not only accept her eccentric interests but to love her all the more for them. She had begun to hope for the future he symbolized. Until, that is, he had tossed pebbles at the window, drew her outside, and confessed to lying to her and her entire family. He wasn’t who he had seemed to be. Now she questioned every exchange they’d ever had. How much did her family’s wealth play into his feelings for her? Olivia knew everything. And John. But not their parents. The elation she felt for her father’s news dimmed even more.

But when Helen looked back at her father, she saw the mist in his eyes. She saw the pride in himself and the hard work he and their mother had done. It was being acknowledged with this invitation abroad, and that should be celebrated. Pride had been encouraged in the Davenport household. As had empathy. The Davenport children were not meant to feel small or less than, and they should always lend a hand where needed. Progress was not achieved alone.

Mrs.Davenport leaned into her husband now as Helen and her siblings gathered around, peppering them with questions. Helen pushed her apprehension about Jacob Lawrence away. She hadn’t ever been interested in love before he came around. She could be like that again.

Everett Stone remained standing silently by the door, shifting his weight occasionally from one foot to the other. He exchanged a look with John she could not decipher. John noticed her watching, a crease between his brows.

Mr.Davenport patted his wife’s hand again, a small smile on his face. “I’ll be leaving in a week’s time.”

Helen whipped her head to him. Olivia too.

“Do you mean to go without us?” Olivia turned to their mother, who nodded. “Even without you?”

Helen felt her heart plunge.

“It’s only for a few weeks,” said Mr.Davenport.

“You can’t be serious,” Helen said, gathering her voice, unsure if this plummeting feeling was due to being far from her father, as far as ever from Jacob Lawrence, missing out on London, or not getting to see foreign cars. “We don’t get to go anywhere fun!” she cried, deciding to keep it simple. “Oh, why can’t you take us with you?”

“Helen,” their mother said. “It will be a great honor and opportunity for your father.”

Emmeline Davenport turned to her husband and squeezed his arm, smiling. “He will be representing Davenport Carriage Company. All your father’s—”

“Emmie.”

Mrs.Davenport’s dimple deepened.. “All our hard work will be recognized,” she said. “There is plenty for you both to do here.” Their mother turned her attention to Helen and her siblings.

“Sounds like an excuse to ditch us,” Helen grumbled.

Olivia cut her a look.

Helen shrank into her seat, a mutinous twist to her mouth. But oh… A new thought began taking shape.

Mrs.Davenport looked again at Olivia, who was now rolling up the edges of her hat. “Your father’s attendance at this conference will benefit many people and influence many more.” There seemed something pointed in this comment, Helen thought.

“And who will manage the business while you’re away?” John said now, looking at their father intently. Her brother’s passion for the business could melt the paint off a carriage—or off a car, more like, if John had his way. It rivaled only Helen’s own. And he had asked the most important question—one that locked in with Helen’s new idea like a wrench to a bolt. She looked to her father.

“You will lead in my absence,” he said to John. “Mr.Stone,” he said, gesturing to the young man, “as you know, handles our contracts at his uncle’s firm. He’ll be able to assist you in whatever you might need concerning our finances and legal obligations. Our carriages set the standard of luxury—”

“Daddy, it’s not like John will undo that in a week or two,” Helen said.

John narrowed his eyes at his sister.

Mr.Davenport started again. “Our carriages set the standard of luxury, and the board and I will resume talks about automobiles on my return.”

John and Helen exchanged a quick look. She’d seen the paperwork that showed Davenport buggy sales were declining. Fast. John had shown them to her himself. Her wheels were spinning now, churning out the possibilities of what this trip—her father’s absence—could mean.

“I would only be continuing in my role as adviser.” Mr.Stone held his hands up, his eyes looking at each of the young Davenports before settling on Olivia.

John sat back in his seat, a dazed look on his face.

“And, Helen,” Emmeline Davenport said, interrupting her daughter’s thoughts, “you have your lessons with Mrs.Milford. And there is a grand ball to plan.”

“What?!” Helen stood. John gripped her wrist and shook his head once. Not now, his eyes said. She pulled her hand free and closed her mouth, sitting. “Sorry.” She crossed her legs at her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. She and Mrs.Milford had found a way to balance her interests with her parents’ expectations, she reminded herself. There was no reason to overreact.

Yet.

Demure was not a word used to describe Helen Davenport, but she was going to do a great imitation of it just now. “What about Olivia?” she asked.

“What about me?” Her sister stared at her.

“Couldn’t we spend a little more time trying to find someone for her to marry first?”

Olivia gasped. Helen ignored her—and the twinge of guilt she felt at her own remark.

“There’s no need to wait for Olivia,” said Mrs.Davenport. “You can at least enjoy meeting the young men of your set, Helen.”

“I’ve already met them,” Helen said. They had come through their door and sat at their table hoping to capture Olivia’s heart.

But it was no use. Her mother had that look in her eye. Helen was trapped. The thought of having to smile and dance for anyone and everyone felt unbearable. The one person with whom she could have imagined it, enjoyed it even—well, look how that had ended. It took everything Helen had now to remain calm. To not let her secret heartbreak show.

The rest of the family meeting passed in a fog. Helen barely registered the plans that were being made around her. Instead, she tried to focus on the fact that her father would be gone and John would be in charge. And with her brother making decisions, people like Malcolm, the mechanic always trying to edge Helen out of the garage, would have no way to prevent her from taking her rightful place.

All she and John had to do was come up with a plan to prove to their father, once and for all, that she was just as capable of supporting the family business as her brother.

And so, after the meeting, Helen stopped in the kitchen just long enough to grab a crêpe from the counter and a word with her brother. She was hot under her collar.

“No need to get worked up.” John had already taken off his jacket and vest. His tie was a discarded lump on the table.

“I don’t understand how you aren’t ,” she said around a mouthful of pastry.

“Helen—”

“No, you’re getting your chance to run the business, only weeks after Daddy gave you that ultimatum.” She swallowed her bite. “Maybe he’s giving you an opening—” Helen paused when she saw her brother’s expression. It was her father’s words that had pushed her friend away. That, and Amy-Rose’s belief that a relationship between her and John would hinder them both from achieving their dreams. “Maybe this is your chance to prove yourself,” she finished.

John looked away. Helen wondered if she pushed too far. When he spoke, his voice was firm. “I can’t think about that right now.”

Helen pressed her lips together. “Then what can you think about?”

“This is a perfect opportunity to develop our own engine,” said John.

Helen’s eyes snapped wide. “This is the perfect opportunity to roll out our own automobile,” she said, grabbing another crêpe from the plate. She eyed him. “I think we should contact Ransom Swift.”

John paused, his own pastry inches from his mouth. “Swift? To do what?”

“Race.” Helen took a bite and reached for the periodicals brought in from their father’s study once he was done. She shuffled through the magazines and pulled out the Chicago Record-Herald . Baseball box scores. Negro League updates. Then there it was—the photograph of a young Black man standing on the hood of a stock car. She handed the newspaper to John. “We need someone to be the face of the company. It’s not going to be Daddy and it can’t be me.”

“I didn’t know Swift was back on the tracks.” John lifted the paper and opened it with a snap. “Now, that is a man who knows his way around a car.” He began to read the article she had all but memorized already. “Wait, can’t I be the face of the company?” He grinned, and Helen gave him a pointed look.

“You,” she said, “have a hard time making it through a party. Swift is used to the spotlight, getting his picture taken, and won’t dodge the mamas and their marriageable daughters. Also, he’s a famous race car driver.” She tapped the image of Ransom Swift. “That’s who we need.”

“Helen,” said John a moment later, exasperated. Helen grunted and took a step back, having migrated close enough to read alongside him. He finished and set down the paper, placing his hand over it. “Hiring a race car driver for an automobile that doesn’t exist yet would be a waste of time and resources.”

“But—”

“This is our moment to prove we’re capable, responsible.” He looked at her. “We can’t yank on the reins as soon as they’re handed to us.”

“Oh, can’t you be reasonable! I’m thinking about how we keep us in the driver’s seat.”

“And the surest way to do that is to get Daddy and the board to agree that our idea is the best one.” John frowned at the text on the page. “Convincing Daddy will be a unique challenge.”

He picked up the paper again. Helen let him read as long as she could. “Ransom Swift can’t be his real name, can it?” she said.

John shrugged. “If it isn’t, it’s quite the stage name.” He cleared his throat and read aloud, “?‘A quickly rising star, Ransom Swift has reemerged on the racing scene after a disgraceful exit from the Indianapolis Motor Speedway last May, where the Chevrolet brothers won. Swift’s next race date has not been announced, but the prize money offered for the American Grand Prize Race in Savannah, Georgia, would be the one to watch.’?”

The article went on to describe the young man’s rise to fame and success, his enormous flameout due to being excluded from the Vanderbilt Cup Race, and his reemergence now, primed for a comeback. Despite the grainy newsprint, Swift’s smile jumped from the page. A self-made man with a defeat in his past, a resurgence in the works, and a passion for fine vehicles and hard work.

If she and John were to take the Davenport Carriage Company into the age of the automobile, Ransom Swift could be the key.