“What does she want?” Olive whispered. “She said we have until next week to pay the back rent.”
Anna’s knuckles whitened around her spoon. “When has that woman ever needed an excuse to find fault with us?”
The knocking intensified. “I know you’re in there. I heard the little boy leaping about like a beastly menace. Won’t you come to the door?”
Robbie bowed his head, eyes watering. Anna bristled at the sight. “How dare she talk about my son that way? The woman has no shame. I should tell her so.”
“Not if I do it first.”
They stared at each other for another breath, then Anna’s shoulders slumped. They both knew the truth—neither of them had the gumption.
“I’m here to address your farcical complaints of mold,” the voice continued. “Open the door, or I shall have to use my key!”
Olive and Anna flew into motion.
“Hide the china, or that vile dragon will accuse us of withholding our wealth from her,” Olive hissed. “I’ll stall her from entering.”
Mrs. Euphemia Drake crowded the threshold the moment the door opened. She was a large woman, both in stature and presence, who had the sparse tenants tiptoeing lest they found themselves on the receiving end of her withering scorn. The boardinghouse-turned-apartment building was no prize, but Mrs. Drake was drunk on the power of holding a roof over someone’s head. Olive shrank under her cold glare, unable to raise her gaze above the woman’s sharp nose.
“Good day, Mrs. Drake. If you could?—”
“Speak up, girl. You’re not a mouse.”
“If you could please give us one moment to?—”
“I haven’t got all day, have I?” She ploughed past Olive, then drew short with a hiss. “Will you look at the state of this place? You’ve lived under our roof for two years, yet the wallpaper has aged at least five.”
Olive followed her gaze, her blood boiling with each second. The peeling wallpaper sagged at the seams, discolored by damp patches spreading like ink stains. How was it their fault the building wasn’t properly ventilated? Olive glanced at her mother, who stood wringing her hands before the closed cabinet, then at Robbie, frozen in his seat, watching everyone with wide eyes.
“We reported the issue several?—”
“And what have you done to my floor? Why, that plant will surely stain the floorboards.” Mrs. Drake’s accusing finger landed on the toppled fern behind the small side table. “This flooring is original pine, yet you allow water to warp it beyond repair!”
Olive’s fists clenched. The floorboards, so clearly the cheapest pine money could buy, had already been uneven and riddled with splinters when they moved in. “That happened only a moment ago. I was about to?—”
“An embarrassing state, Mrs. Becket.” Mrs. Drake bent down and lifted a piece of sheet music to glower at the floorboards, the paper falling from her fingers once the inspection was complete, only to move to another. “And to think my dear husband allows you to live in our building at a reduced rate. Mr. Becket might have helped our son when no other doctor could, but it’s evident our excessive kindness has bred sloth.”
Anna inhaled sharply, drawing Olive’s worry. But it wasn’t the dragon’s indictment that had caused the reaction. Her attention was riveted on the sheet music in Mrs. Drake’s hand, her pallor ghastly white. Olive sidled closer, and her own heart stopped.
Clutched in Mrs. Drake’s talon was She’s a Suffragette.
The suffrage anthem that had taken Seattle by storm. The anthem everyone recognized, regardless of whether they were for or against woman suffrage. The one sung by schoolchildren as they skipped rope, the one shopkeepers hummed as they organized their inventory.
The one Olive had written anonymously.
She swayed, her limbs threatening to buckle. If Mrs. Drake realized she held the original score in her hands, the one marked with Olive’s handwritten notes and drafted verses, there was no doubt she would use it against them.
“Isn’t this pretty?”
Mrs. Drake reared backward with a splutter as Robbie, who had risen without their notice, thrust a bit of Anna’s lacework under her nose. Olive seized the opportunity, stepping forward with a bright smile that belied the turmoil within.
“Yes, isn’t it? Here, let me take those papers so you can have a closer look at Mother’s work.” She gently, but unrelentingly, tugged the papers from the older woman’s hands as though easing her burden. Mrs. Drake allowed it, her greedy eyes already fastened on the intricate lace. “Mrs. Hampton commissioned the piece for a New Year’s Eve party, so she’ll collect it tomorrow. The sale should provide the rent we owe.”
“And I’d be delighted to make you a similar collar. As a gift,” Anna added.
A glimmer of eagerness replaced the sharpness in Mrs. Drake’s expression. “A gift, you say? I could use a new collar. A respectable one, mind you, for attending church services.”
May the dragon burst into flames the second she sets foot in the holy space.
