Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jesse
Arthur and Jesse were sitting next to each other on the sofa in the library, reading a book together.
Emma was seated in a nearby chair scribbling something in a notebook, perhaps her newest article.
Jesse looked up at her after a couple of pages.
She was sticking out her tongue ever so slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration while her pen moved across the page.
After a few more seconds, Arthur looked up as well, probably when he realized that Jesse had stopped reading.
“I think she’s working on her latest article,” Jesse whispered.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Arthur whispered back.
Emma let out a huff. “I can hear you.”
Arthur chuckled. “Sorry. Are we correct, though?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, will we be able to read this one?”
“Why would you want to? Won’t it bother you?”
“No,” Arthur said, crooking an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re still upset that I want to become a journalist,” she said. “You’re upset because Grandmother and Grandfather are upset. They’re upset about me writing these articles. I heard you and Grandfather talking about it one night.”
Arthur sighed.
“Yes, well—”
“He said that you should make sure I focus on things that will better serve my future. But this”—she held up her notebook—“is my future. And you didn’t even correct him.”
“I know, but I will. Emma, I promise that I will support you on this.”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Jesse flinched. Arthur snapped the book shut.
“Listen, I know that I haven’t given you a reason to trust me, but I still wish that you would trust me.
Or at least try to,” he said. “And the only reason that I haven’t told them yet is because .
. . well, because I’m a coward. Or, have been a coward, rather, but I’m trying not to be one anymore.
And so, I promise you that I will tell them about your plans for the future as well as my plans to support you. ”
“We’ll see,” she said with a sigh, pushing herself to stand.
Emma started toward the hall. Arthur caught her arm when she tried to pass them.
“Can I read what you’ve written so far?” he asked.
“No,” Emma said simply, ripping away.
Groaning wearily, Arthur fell back against the cushion. Jesse snuggled closer to him and took one of his hands.
“Well, that was painful to watch,” he said, trying for a bit of levity as he massaged Arthur’s hand with his thumb.
“It was painful to be part of,” Arthur confirmed. “Do you think she’ll always hate me?”
“She doesn’t hate you. You’re her father.”
“Yes, one whom she clearly still sees as an adversary. I’m not even sure whether or not she’ll trust it when I finally do tell my parents about her future plans.
She’ll probably think that I’ll let them talk me out of supporting her before she leaves for school.
And that means I’ll have to contend with that”—Arthur pointed out into the hall—“for the next year. Until I can prove her wrong.”
Charlotte’s voice floated in from the hallway. “You’ll survive,” she teased, coming into the room.
“No one in this house values privacy,” Arthur lamented.
“I’m simply picking up the eavesdropping habit from your offspring,” she retorted, sitting on the chair where Emma had been sitting before.
She smoothed out her skirts. “And I mean what I said. You’ll survive.
Once it’s time for her to find a suitable school, she’ll realize that you were serious about supporting her. ”
“I’d rather my daughter not hate me over the next year and change, thank you. Besides, what if she’s right? What if I tell my parents about her plans only to let them poison my mind? What if I let them shame me into reconsidering?”
“Do you really think that will happen?” Charlotte asked, throwing Arthur a look of what looked like playful exasperation.
“It might.”
Her eyes flickered to the ceiling, and she shook her head. “It won’t. Because I won’t let it.”
Arthur sighed again. “Thank you. Still, I wish there was a way for me to convince her—and me—that I am committed to letting her pursue her dreams.”
Just then, Giuseppe came into the room balancing a tray of overly browned buttermilk biscuits, with Claire following closely behind, pushing a serving cart holding a pot of tea.
“I know it took me longer than expected, but I burned the first batch,” he said. “Which isn’t even my fault because your oven runs hot.”
“That’s not possible,” Jesse said.
“Keep your mouth shut, college man,” Giuseppe said, holding out the tray.
Arthur and Jesse plucked two biscuits from it. Arthur bit into his right away, immediately causing a bunch of crumbs to fall onto both his lap and the cushion. Jesse shook his head.
Chewing, Arthur said, through a mouthful of food, “What? I’m simply keeping my word to Mr. Caputo here. I told him I’d make him earn his money. Now he’ll have crumbs to clean.”
Jesse continued to shake his head some more in mock chastisement while Charlotte laughed. Claire handed Charlotte a cup of tea, and then the two women shared a brief kiss.
“Thank you for helping Gertrude,” Charlotte said softly.
“Anytime. I’m simply happy to be able to spend some time here while Lizzie and her parents visit the fair.”
Claire and Charlotte smiled fondly at one another before Claire walked over to take a biscuit from Giuseppe.
“Have you given my offer any consideration, Miss Hawthorne?” Arthur asked.
“I’d love for Gertrude to have some more time to relax in the coming years.
With how much her knees have been bothering her lately, she’ll likely need the help.
” He looked over at Giuseppe. “And Mr. Caputo here has no intention of being a permanent part of my household. He still hopes to find work somewhere else eventually, probably at another mill.” He smiled wryly.
“Although, perhaps he’ll be a permanent part of the household through Patrick soon enough. ”
Giuseppe’s face reddened.
“Patrick and I are only friends,” he said.
Arthur hummed, pursing his lips to temper his simpering smile.
“Forever friends,” Jesse mumbled, intentionally loud enough for Giuseppe to hear.
Giuseppe kicked his shin in retaliation.
“Ow! Jesus!” Jesse spluttered.
Arthur chuckled beside him, and Jesse shot him a look. Claire laughed too and then took a bite of the biscuit, shielding the crumbs from falling to the floor by catching them in her hand. She walked over to Charlotte and sat on the arm of the chair as she continued to munch on the food.
“I am thinking about your offer, Mr. Hughes,” she said, still chewing. “But I haven’t told my parents about it yet.”
“Oh, I know what that’s like,” Arthur said. He took another bite, sending more crumbs tumbling onto the couch. “Jesse, Charlotte, and I were just talking about my intention to tell my parents about Emma’s future job as a journalist.”
“It’s incredibly sweet of you to want to support her,” Claire said. “I haven’t even heard of a woman journalist, personally. But some of my old friends have started working in somewhat unconventional professions over the last few years. I even know one who recently became a stenographer!”
“Really?” Charlotte asked, looking up at her lady, her eyes wide.
“Mm-hmm,” Claire said. “Everything is changing. And I really commend Emma for wanting to be at the forefront of it all.”
Arthur sat up straighter, a smile splitting his face.
Joy practically radiated off of him, causing Jesse’s chest to swell with secondhand pride, too.
Emma really was something special. Jesse couldn’t help but be impressed by her.
Over the last few months, he had really become fond of her, and he hoped that once she started school, he could help her with her studies if she ever needed it.
Not that she would. Smart and tenacious, Emma was sure to excel in college.
Giuseppe set the tray of biscuits next to the tea. He took one and then sat on the floor, crossing his legs. He broke his biscuit in half, sending bits of it falling onto the hardwood. Jesse crooked an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, Arthur’s made a mess of the place already,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
Jesse held back a laugh. It was just like Giuseppe to make things harder for himself later.
Over the next fifteen minutes, everyone chatted while having biscuits and tea.
Jesse kept fairly quiet, instead ruminating on the conversation that he’d had with Arthur and Charlotte before.
More specifically, he kept thinking about poor Arthur and how badly the man wished he could prove to Emma that he believed in her and would stand behind her as she worked toward her dream.
Just as it was very like Giuseppe to make more crumbs that he’d have to clean up himself only hours later, it was very like Arthur to think that simply making the promise to Emma itself wouldn’t be enough.
After taking another bite of his biscuit, the hint of bitterness mixing with sweetness over his tongue, Jesse thought back on how Arthur had managed to earn his forgiveness.
Arthur had thrown that ridiculous (and ridiculously sweet) party.
He had changed the theme to be something that might show Jesse how much he himself had changed.
He had printed the invitations himself as well.
Arthur hadn’t sent Jesse a simple letter or shown up at Putnam Press to say that he was sorry.
He had been bold. Bold and ridiculous. And, consequently, Jesse had been able to see how truly sorry Arthur was.
Maybe, then, what Arthur needed was another ridiculously showy plan. One that would make Arthur feel as though he was proving to Emma and to himself that he’d keep his promise to her.
Jesse’s thoughts were interrupted when Arthur placed a hand on his knee.
“Do you remember where I left my copy of Emma’s article on the World’s Fair?” he asked. “Miss Hawthorne would like to read it.”
“Uhm . . .” Jesse paused to think. “In your study.”