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Chapter Fourteen

Two days later, at three in the afternoon, they got off the train in Baltimore. Both Harrison and Brax were well familiar with the city, so they hired a hack to take them to a boardinghouse they used whenever they visited. The owner, a tall statuesque, bronze-skinned woman named Freddie England, smiled upon seeing them enter her establishment. “Well, well. If it isn’t the handsomest father and son on the East Coast. How are you, Harry and Brax? Where’s your beard? And what in the world are you doing with two nuns? Their souls can’t be saved, Sisters. It’s too late.”

They all laughed, and introductions followed. She was told that Raven and Hazel weren’t really nuns, but no one elaborated further.

Freddie said, “I have two rooms open. Here are the keys. You all can decide who sleeps where. Dinner is served starting at five.”

They climbed the stairs to the second floorand found their rooms. Harrison and Hazel claimed one and left Brax and Raven the one next door.

Upon entering, Raven was pleased with theirs. In addition to the comfortable-looking bed with its sea blue quilt that matched the curtains, there was a small sitting area with two cream-colored upholstered chairs flanking the fireplace. “This is nice.”

“Freddie runs a fine place. Da and I stay here whenever we’re in the city. She has an outstanding kitchen staff, too.”

“Good, because I’m tired of the trackside train fare we’ve been eating since what seems like forever.”

She set her bags on the floor and dropped down tiredly into one of the chairs. “This is so much better than the train. I’m not going to know how to handle being able to stretch out in an actual bed.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it out.”

She chuckled and thought about the last time they’d been alone together. “I’ve missed us being us.”

“I have as well.” He walked over and sat on the arm of her chair. She scanned his features. Although they’d known each other for only a short time, their ties to each other felt deep enough to have been forged over years. “Your shave makes you look very regal.”

“Regal enough for a kiss?”

She raised herself to get closer and the kiss that followed was deep and welcomed. Hearing a rhythmic squeaking sound, Raven eased back and glanced around curiously. “What is that noise?”

“Our parents.”

Realizing his meaning, her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. The noise increased. “Good Lord. They’ve been in the room, what, five minutes?”

“Probably playing the Nun and the Handyman.”

“Stop!” she ordered in a voice filled with hilarity. “You are so scandalous.”

“Apparently, they are, too.”

Laughter put tears in her eyes. “Where’s the washroom? I want to change clothes and go for a walk or something. Being next door to them is going to scar me for the rest of my days.”

“Washroom’s down the hall.”

Thanking him with a quick kiss, she left the room.

After she traded her nun’s habit for regular attire, the two set off. It was a warm July day. Not as warm as home or in Charleston, Raven noted, but the sunshine felt good. There was also a water-scented breeze. She assumed it was from the harbor. The smell of it seemed airier and lighter than the deeper tones of the Mississippi. As they walked, she noted the trolleys and the wagon traffic that was far less congestedthan that of New Orleans, and although the men wore the traditional brown suits all men seemed to wear no matter the location, the women wore fitted, two-piece suits with snug-fitting jackets unlike the loosely constructed ones she was accustomed to seeing at home. All the ladies sported hats. Some fancy. Others plain. There wasn’t a tignon in sight.

“I have a friend who owns a dress shop not too far from here,” Brax said. “Let’s stop by so you can meet her.”

The sign above the door read:rosetta’sattire for ladies. In the front window a dress form showcased an olive green two-piece ladies’ suit. The fitted jacket was piped in black, and the cuffs were flute-edged. Raven found it very attractive.

“That’s a fine-looking ensemble,” he said, standing beside her.

“It’s lovely.”

“Looks to be your size, too.”

“Not my purse’s size, I’m sure though.”

He smiled and let her precede him through the door and inside.


Tags: Beverly Jenkins Women Who Dare Historical