One week later, on Sunday morning, Arthur and Jesse were cuddled together in bed, basking in their time together before Arthur had to take Emma to church. Sweeping his hand through Jesse’s hair, Arthur relished the softness of the brown locks as they slipped between his fingers. Even though he and Jesse could probably continue like this—spending a few nights a week at each other’s places—for the foreseeable future, Arthur wanted more.
Foolish though it might have been, Arthur wanted to wake up next to Jesse each and every morning. And to fall asleep next to him each and every evening, too. Most of all, though, Arthur wanted to figure out a way for the two of them to skirt potential suspicion over the true nature of their relationship. So far, they had been lucky. And God willing, they wouldcontinueto be lucky. But their luck could run out. Arthur knew from experience that it only took a mere spark to light a fire, one that could then leave a whole life in ruins. He and Jesse needed to find somewhere else to live. Away from the prying eyes of the members of Chicago’s social elite who knew him.
Furthermore, Arthur wasn’t only worried for his and Jesse’s future, but for Emma’s and Giuseppe’s and Charlotte’s, too. Allof these people were important to him. He wanted them to be happy and to feel fulfilled. Surely he could make that happen somehow with the money he had. Even without the money he’d once been promised from his parents (which he now knew he’d never receive), Arthur felt confident that he had enough to take care of the people in his life and to come up with a way to keep people like them safe.
Arthur was still lost in thought, considering the best way to bring up his idea to move to one of Chicago’s other neighborhoods, when a loud crash coming from the first floor yanked him out of his thoughts and into the present. Startled, Arthur and Jesse sat up in tandem.
“What was that?” Jesse asked.
Arthur climbed out of bed and snatched his robe from the floor. “Let’s find out.”
Arthur and Jesse exited their room at the same time that Charlotte came out of hers. Dressed for her time with Claire, Charlotte was wearing a beautiful lavender tea dress with a low neckline and sleek, elegant sleeves. Both Arthur and Jesse were still fiddling with their robes, securing them closed as they hurried to the stairs. Arthur had barely even remembered to fetch his glasses from the nightstand before they’d left the room.
Halfway to the first floor, Arthur stopped abruptly, and Jesse nearly slammed into him. There, waiting in the reception room, were Arthur’s parents. Arthur’s eyes flew wide, and his heart barreled into his rib cage.
They must have received the article.
Arthur’s father’s mouth fell agape, and at the same time, his mother’s hand flew to her chest, overlaying her heart. Arthur looked over his shoulder at Jesse, whose face was beet red, and then back at his parents.
After another stunned second of silence, Arthur’s father said, “Isn’t that your friend from the print shop?”
Arthur swallowed thickly. He couldn’t even begin to think of what to say. Before he could blurt out even a half-formed explanation, his father waved his hand back and forth vigorously.
“Actually, never mind. I have a feeling I won’t be able to stomach the answer to that.” Arthur’s ears turned hot. His father took a step forward and pulled an envelope out of his front pocket. “Your mother and I came here to ask what it is that you think you’re doing. Do you know how ridiculous it was for you to have sent this... thisnonsensearound?”
Arthur could barely even hear him over the sound of bloodwhooshingpast his eardrums. Inhaling a deep breath, he stood up straighter, lifting his chin.
“It isn’t nonsense,” he replied, taking care to keep his voice steady. “It’s poignant and well-crafted and filled with interesting and important information. Why shouldn’t I have sent it around?”
“Because it makes us look foolish. If you wanted Emma to wax poetic about the fair, why not ask her to write our friends a simple letter? Showcase her beautiful penmanship. Provide her with a chance to practice her letter writing. Not send thisshamof a newspaper to them.” He scowled at the envelope. “At first, I thought that maybe you had only sent it to the two of us. But then the McCormicks showed metheircopy yesterday when they came to our house for cards.”
Arthur shrugged, hoping that he looked much calmer than he felt.
“Emma wants to become a journalist someday. I see no harm in letting her practice like this. Actually, I thought this might be a fun way to let our friends know her plans for her future. I sent the, ehm, the other families a little letter with it, explaining that to them.”
“Her plans for her future?” Arthur’s father repeated, his lip curling. “Arthur, this is ridiculous. Emma can’t spend her life—”
“Emma can spend her life however she pleases.”
“No. She can’t. And I sincerely hope that you aren’t entertaining such flights of fancy.”
Arthur clenched his teeth, fury flaring to life in his chest.
“I’m not only entertaining them, I’m supporting them. Because I support her. Fully.”
“Jesus God,” Warren Hughes muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Arthur could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. Arthur tensed, waiting for the inevitable ire that would follow. Removing his hand, Arthur’s father lifted his gaze to meet his son’s eyes. “Arthur, no man worthy of Emma’s hand will tolerate her working for a newspaper. Surely youmustknow that.”
Adjusting his frames, Arthur rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and said, “Yes, well, Emma isn’t eager to marry.”
“Not yet, but eventually—”
“Perhaps I wasn’t specific enough. Emma wants to become a journalist.Regardlessof how or whether it may affect her marriage prospects.”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Hughes spat sternly. “Emma is a Hughes. She will follow in the footsteps of—”
“No,” Arthur said back equally as forcefully. “Emma will walk her own path. AndIwill help clear the way.”
“You will do no such thing.”
