“Of course,” Anna murmured, guiding Mrs. Drake to her basket of supplies. “Why don’t I show you some patterns?”
Olive used the distraction to pile the remaining sheet music on the table and sweep the spilled soil back into its pot. Robbie stacked books at her side, his eyes downcast. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
“She just wants to make trouble,” she whispered back. “But we should probably keep things quieter to avoid drawing attention, don’t you think?”
He nodded, then returned to his seat at the table while Mrs. Drake finished making her choice. Her inspection seemingly forgotten, she moved to the doorway. She paused, her dour gaze landing on Robbie.
“You know, Mrs. Becket, your son could help offset the cost of rent if he were to work at my husband’s masonry?—”
“Robbie will not leave school,” Olive interjected, and for once, her voice didn’t waver. “And I’ll have your rent in two days’ time.”
“See that you do, Miss Becket,” Mrs. Drake sniffed. “Good day.”
The moment she was gone, Anna locked the door behind her and leaned her forehead against the wood panel.
“I can work—” Robbie began.
“No,” Olive and Anna said in unison.
He fell silent.
Olive let out a brittle laugh. “She never once looked at the mold on the ceiling.”
Robbie smiled, but when her mother turned around, she was anything but amused.
“Did Mrs. Drake see your music? Did she?”
“I don’t believe so. She was busy glowering at Colonel Fern.” But her joke fell on deaf ears, as her mother had begun to pace.
“She could be biding her time, waiting for the right moment to act. Olive, you know Mrs. Drake is as close-minded as can be. We’ve been so careful hiding your involvement in the suffrage movement. What possessed you to write an anthem, of all things?”
Sheer lunacy, apparently.
The lack of prudence had shocked Olive as well. She had always been cautious, but after her father’s passing, she had refined the quality into an art. Every choice she made, every action, was guided by necessity. She understood better than most the stakes of carelessness. But something in her had changed when she joined the suffrage society. Being surrounded by talented, inspiring women made her want to try. To see if she could do something half as interesting.
She’d penned the simple rhymes on a whim, one ordinary day when her brother refused to open his reader. To her surprise, it had worked. So well, in fact, that the three of them started making up new verses every day. It had been a source of laughter, of fun, something sorely missing in the Becket household. She had thought, naively, that others might see her little anthem the same way. And so, against every caution she’d ever adhered to, Olive spoke to an old acquaintance and had it published.
But the anthem, once released into the wild, took on a life of its own. Suddenly, everyone was clamoring for more, for the mysterious composer to reveal herself. The target on Olive’s back had appeared out of nowhere, and she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
And now, under this roof—this roof, where Mrs. Drake would pounce if she found out—Olive realized the full extent of her recklessness. She had thrown caution to the wind, and there was no taking it back.
“I wanted to pull my weight at the Society.”
“You play the piano at meetings!”
“Which doesn’t hold a candle to Winnie’s writing, or Clem’s leadership skills, or even Rhoda’s stunning signs that people stop to admire.”
“But my sweet child, we aren’t like those women.”
Olive’s throat thickened. There it was—the truth she’d avoided admitting even to herself. She wasn’t like them. She was never meant to be bold.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“If Mrs. Drake finds out, it will be the last straw. She’ll evict us.” Anna’s breath grew shallow, each inhale faster than the last. “We won’t be able to afford a respectable place anymore. You’re already working yourself to the bone, and I can only do a few hours of lacework a day. My eyes—I can’t—we’ll be—” Her words cut off in a strangled squeak, and her hand flew to her chest.
Olive’s own worries dissolved, overshadowed by her mother’s anguish. She placed a trembling hand on her back and rubbed soothing circles. “Take a deep breath.”
“Mama,” Robbie whimpered, clutching her skirts from the other side.
