“You can do it,” Olive urged, her voice close to breaking. “Please try.”
Anna sucked in a ragged breath and released it in a shuddering exhale, then another. Olive wrapped her free arm around Robbie, and they held their mother, minutes passing, until her breathing steadied and she regained control.
“I think we could all use some fresh air, wouldn’t you say?” Olive asked once she found her voice. Robbie nodded against her ribcage, but Anna let go and staggered to her chair. “Mama, will you go to the park with us?”
“You two go without me.”
“Just this once. Only for a few minutes.”
“I…can’t.”
“It’s all right, Mama.” Olive swallowed her disappointment. “Where’s your glove, Robbie?”
Her brother hurried to a basket in the corner of the room and removed a worn child’s baseball mitt and their father’s well-oiled, leather glove. A rag ball was tucked inside. Olive slid the glove over her hand and ushered him to the door.
“We’ll be back in an hour.”
Anna nodded, her eyes closed as she massaged the space above her heart.
Olive wished, for the dozenth time that day, that she knew what to do. That she had the courage to find the answers. To make decisions that would help them out of their situation. But for now, all she could do was take Robbie to the park and hope her mother was improved upon their return.
And never, ever tell a soul about her anthem.
Chapter 3
Emil loved a good party.
Especially tonight, when the music soared, liquor flowed freely, and the city’s finest were ready to bid 1908 farewell in style. He plucked a tumbler from a passing tray, enjoying the smooth, smoky warmth of Kentucky’s finest as it hit his palate. He scanned the hotel ballroom for his next prospect, his gaze lingering on a sashaying blonde.
“I see the evening’s offerings meet your approval.”
Emil’s smile broadened as the host, Mack Donnelly, appeared at his side.
“This might be the Post’s finest New Year’s Eve celebration yet. I should know—I’ve been to half a dozen over the years.”
Mack gazed around the thunderous ballroom with a pleased grin. “Uncle Horace would be spitting mad if he saw what I’ve done to his stolid affair.”
Emil laughed. “Still out for revenge, are we?”
“I know I should be satisfied he’s behind bars, but I won’t be until I’ve dismantled every outdated notion he held.”
Mack had chafed under his uncle’s leadership at the Puget Sound Post, and it was only a couple of months past that Horace had relinquished the position of editor-in-chief to his nephew. The move was far from charitable; it was the last-ditched effort to salvage the paper’s reputation once the authorities had Horace on the hook for bribery and graft. But Mack didn’t care about the motive. He was thriving in his new role, much to Emil’s satisfaction. His undercover role in the case had almost cost him Mack’s long-standing friendship, but they’d made great strides since then.
“The expanded guest list would enrage him,” Emil said with a chuckle. “I just witnessed an actress giving fashion advice to a Temperance leader and overheard a longshoreman debating market trends with a state senator. That’s your doing.”
“What can I say? It’s good business to know people in every circle in Seattle.”
Emil raised his glass. “Here’s to you and all your successes in 1909.”
“The same to you, my friend.” Glass clinked as Mack did the same. They both sipped.
“Say, is Winnie here tonight?”
“Of course.” A strange expression transformed Mack’s face, and Emil examined him curiously. Was that what a man looked like when he was hopelessly in love? Emil didn’t understand it, but he was happy for Mack and his sweetheart, Winnie West. He respected the hell out of the fiery stenographer-turned-journalist who’d run circles around Mack until she got her way. “She’s with some of her friends.”
He followed Mack’s gaze across the room, easily spotting the redhead in a vibrant cobalt blue gown near the refreshment table. She was surrounded by a group of women in dazzling gowns.
“Are those the suffragists?”
