Page 4 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Anna patted her cheek, and Olive leaned into her mother’s comforting touch.

Then the water in the bathroom turned off, and Robbie hurtled through the room like a cannonball.

Mid somersault, his right foot caught the edge of the side table and sent it tumbling to the floor.

A potted plant fell behind the table with a thud, and Olive’s music books and sheet music shot across the floor.

Robbie landed in a crouch and scanned the chaos with bemusement.

Olive wasn’t sure whose sigh was louder, hers or her mother’s. “I’ll—”

“Leave it,” Anna interrupted. “It’s better to eat while the soup’s still warm. Take your place, Robbie.”

Robbie slunk to the table, and Anna led them in a short prayer. Olive spooned the thin soup gratefully, savoring each morsel. Robbie, however, stirred the broth with a wrinkled nose.

“Why must we have soup again?”

Olive kicked him under the table. “Mama worked hard on our supper.”

“Mrs. Bankhead’s soup was thicker—”

“Mrs. Bankhead doesn’t work for us any longer.”

Anna’s face fell at the reminder, and a sharp pain stabbed above Olive’s eye.

If she wasn’t careful, her mother would fall into another depressive state, one where she could hardly rise from bed.

Of course things had been easier when Mrs. Bankhead, the cook who had been with them since Olive was a baby, had prepared their meals.

But after Mr. Becket died and the income dried to a trickle, they’d had to make the difficult decision to let Mrs. Bankhead—and their young maid—find employment with another family.

“We all miss her, but we can do this together. Isn’t that right, Mama?”

Anna opened her mouth, but a sharp staccato on the door prevented her from speaking.

“Yoo-hoo,” warbled an all-too-familiar voice.

“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.

“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.

“You can do it,” Olive urged, her voice close to breaking. “Please try.”

Anna sucked in a ragged breath and released it in a shuddering exhale, then another. Olive wrapped her free arm around Robbie, and they held their mother, minutes passing, until her breathing steadied and she regained control.

“I think we could all use some fresh air, wouldn’t you say?” Olive asked once she found her voice. Robbie nodded against her ribcage, but Anna let go and staggered to her chair. “Mama, will you go to the park with us?”

“You two go without me.”

“Just this once. Only for a few minutes.”

“I…can’t.”

“It’s all right, Mama.” Olive swallowed her disappointment. “Where’s your glove, Robbie?”

Her brother hurried to a basket in the corner of the room and removed a worn child’s baseball mitt and their father’s well-oiled, leather glove. A rag ball was tucked inside. Olive slid the glove over her hand and ushered him to the door.

“We’ll be back in an hour.”

Anna nodded, her eyes closed as she massaged the space above her heart.

Olive wished, for the dozenth time that day, that she knew what to do. That she had the courage to find the answers. To make decisions that would help them out of their situation. But for now, all she could do was take Robbie to the park and hope her mother was improved upon their return.

And never, ever tell a soul about her anthem.