Page 46 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Emil rowed hard across Lake Washington, fighting the need to vomit up a breakfast of beer and cigarettes.

He needed this. Needed to sweat out the poison clouding his mind, to claw his way out of the mire he’d been wallowing in.

Harvey Gunn’s summons had arrived at dawn.

Finally, a job. He wasn’t about to show up still drunk.

He’d already lost Olive; he couldn’t afford to mess this up as well.

The scull skimmed across the steel-grey water.

He sucked in great gulps of frigid air that burned his throat—good.

Let it burn. Sweat soaked the small of his back, and the wind chapped his cheeks, but still he drove the oars through the lake.

Harder, faster. He ignored his running nose, the raw blisters forming beneath his gloves.

The pain was welcome, a thin distraction from the gaping hole in his chest.

He finally slowed a few houses shy of home. Letting the oars drag, he leaned back in the scull, his breath ragged, his legs trembling. The current could carry him the rest of the way. Or drag him under. Either would be fine.

“Jesus, lad.”

Emil cracked open one eye. Seán Meany sat at the edge of his deck, his pale, thin legs dangling free of his dressing robe.

“You trying to kill yourself? Haven’t seen anyone row that hard since we were chased by pirates in the South Pacific.”

Emil snorted and sat up, his muscles already screaming. “Some self-flagellation is involved, yes.”

“Thought so.” Seán patted the metal cleat beside him. “Toss me your line and stay a while. I could use some conversation.”

Emil hesitated, then nodded. Meany was a good sort, if too chatty.

They were the only winter residents in the floating houses, yet Meany had never overstepped his bounds.

He’d never judged Emil’s capers. Hell, he’d never even asked for a favor.

From what Emil had seen, he was content living his own life.

Enjoying a freedom many—including Emil—longed for.

Perhaps a chat was just what he needed to throw off the remaining cobwebs.

“Will do,” he said, unwinding the docking line and tossing it to Meany, who looped it neatly around the cleat.

“Weather’s been fierce the last week.”

Emil welcomed the small talk, banal as it was. “Sure has.”

“Wonder if it’ll snow.”

“That would be a sight.”

“It would indeed,” Meany murmured, his voice trailing into a thoughtful hum. He glanced out at the gray sky. “Probably why that sweet lady and her young brother haven’t been around.”

Emil’s jaw tensed. He glanced at the tie line, now pinned beneath Meany’s hand like a leash. So much for a guilt-free conversation.

“Aha,” Meany said lightly. “So that’s the reason for the flagellation.”

Emil gave him a look, but didn’t answer. Instead, he let his gaze drift pointedly to the pale calves suspended over the water. “Aren’t you freezing?”

Meany grinned, but let him change the topic. “Course I am. But I found it helps me prepare for the plunge.”

Emil eyed the gently lapping water and shivered. “How the hell do you swim in weather like this?”

“Simple. If I don’t swim every day, I’ll never swim again.”

“I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Meany shrugged. “Plenty of us thought that way back in Ireland. The sea is cold, even in summer. You either get in, or you don’t.”

“Do you miss Ireland?”

“Sometimes. Did I ever tell you why I left?”

“Come to think of it, no, you haven’t.”

Meany blew out a breath and stared into the distance. “Times were tough back home. Very tough. My da worked land he’d never own, no matter how many seasons he broke his back over it. And the landlord—greedy bastard—kept raising the rent, like we were made of coin.”

Emil grimaced in sympathy. He’d seen firsthand how much Olive struggled—no, no. He mustn’t think about Olive. This was about Seán. He dragged his attention back to the story.

“I went to Dublin to try and earn a few extra pounds. Thought I could help from there. But no matter how much I sent home, it was never enough. Every other day, there’d be a letter—cows sick, da’s cough was getting worse, mammy feeling worn down.

Truth be told, I started dreading the sight of the post.

“Then there was my girl, Moira. Lord, she was beautiful. Eyes like Miss Becket’s, now that I think on it.

She lived on the farm east of ours. All she wanted was to marry me and together raise a load of children.

But how could I bring children into the world if I couldn’t feed them?

If there was nothing in the cupboard but worry?

I loved her, I did, but the weight of it all…

the farm, the family, the future…it was too much.

I started dreaming of ways I could live the way I wished.

So I left. Got on a boat to America and didn’t look back. ”

Emil’s breath was trapped in his chest. He didn’t like the story.

Not because it was tragic—but because it felt too familiar.

Too easy. What had happened to Moira? To Meany’s parents?

Did they suffer? Survive? Was one person’s freedom worth the pain it caused others?

How could Meany live with himself knowing he’d taken the easy way out?

How could he live with himself, knowing he’d done the same to Olive?

The silence stretched between them. Emil stared out at the gray chop of the lake, his stomach churning. Finally, he glanced at Meany. He had to know.

“You really left them all? No regrets?”

“No, you damned fool.” Meany rolled his eyes. “I packed them all up and put them on the ship with me. The captain himself married me and Moira. We never managed to have the children she wanted, but we were together seventeen years before she passed. Best decision I ever made.”

“You ass,” Emil muttered once he was able to speak.

Meany guffawed. “Go fix your life, my young friend. Me? I’m going for a swim.” He clambered to his feet, turned his back, and loosened his belt.

“Now Meany, wait a minute—”

He was shocked into silence as the smallest, most wrinkly behind he’d ever seen disappeared into the lake. A moment later, Meany resurfaced with a loud whoopee!

“You could have had the decency to untie me first.”

“The sea waits for no man.” Meany ducked his head under, as graceful as a sea otter. “Join me. The water’s perfect.”

“Not on your life.” Shaking his head with a low chuckle, Emil grabbed hold of the deck and pulled himself up to the cleave. “You’ve inflicted enough damage for one morning.”

“Suit yourself.” With a salute, Meany doggy paddled his way around the deck.

“See you around, Seán.”

Emil untied his line, picked up the oars, and paddled the short distance to his own deck.

Balancing the scull, he climbed onto the deck.

A few droplets of cold water seeped into his pants.

It was jarring, but not unbearable. Maybe he should go for a swim.

Maybe it would achieve what he’d hoped the exercise would do.

He stripped his clothing before he could change his mind, the boards of the deck icy beneath his bare feet. Bouncing on his heels, he rubbed his hands together in preparation. He shut off his brain. His doubts. And he leapt.

The water punched like a fist. It stole the breath from his lungs and replaced it with cold fire. His limbs convulsed as the shock sank deep, right down to the marrow. For one panicked moment, he couldn’t tell up from down. Then instinct took over, and he kicked hard toward the surface.

He broke through with a gasping, ragged breath, arms and legs thrashing.

The burn lingered for a heartbeat, then faded into numbness.

He blinked water from his eyes, aware only of the rhythm of his breath.

The sound of water lapping against his ears.

Time ceased to exist. He could’ve been out there ten seconds or ten years.

He floated, hollowed out and blank, until a slow tingling in his fingers and toes brought him back. He turned and swam to the ladder.

Climbing out, he trembled violently. His skin was red and pimpled, water sheeting off him in rivers.

He stumbled inside, his body aching but his mind strangely clear.

Maybe Meany wasn’t mad after all. There was something almost holy in the plunge.

A form of reckoning he hadn’t expected, but had desperately needed.

He hurried to the bathroom, his mind full of purpose.

Letting Olive go was the worst mistake of his life.

And he knew what he had to do.

Harvey Gunn’s voice was a low snarl, his brogue thickened with fury. “What in hell do you mean you want a different favor? Can you believe this scunner?”

The latter was said to the silent man sitting in the chair before the fireplace.

Hire Kobayashi, at last. He was dressed in a finely cut navy suit, his black hair slicked into place.

His groomed, calm appearance was the complete opposite of Gunn, who had perhaps become even more disheveled since Emil had last seen him.

The chance to understand how he fit into Gunn’s operations was almost enough to make Emil regret backing out of the job.

“I understand it’s unorthodox—”

“It’s insulting,” Gunn interrupted, “to think I hand out favors like penny candy.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for the girl,” he said quickly, then corrected himself. “The woman, Olive Becket.”

Gunn rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, you got her pregnant, didn’t you?”

“It’s not like that,” Emil snapped. “If I had, I wouldn’t need your help. I’d take care of her myself. But this isn’t just about her. It’s her family. They all need help.”

“This about the anthem? I sent out the word, like I said I would.”

“I believe you,” Emil said quickly. “But I’m afraid the current threat is the landlord.

She’s leaning on them hard. Making a stink about raising the rent, threatening to kick them out if they step out of line.

But that’s not just it—the place is a rat hole.

It’s got cracked pipes, mold, you name it.

At least six housing code violations in their flat alone, and that’s just what I saw on a single visit. ”

“And why hasnae Mrs. Becket filed a complaint? Or moved her family out?”

Emil flicked a glance toward Kobayashi, who gazed back at him calmly.

Looked like he’d have to reveal a bit more than he’d hoped about Olive.

He hoped she’d forgive him. “Mrs. Becket is ill. She worries the door will be bolted behind her if she sets foot outside. So she hasn’t, not in a long time. It’s a strain on the family.”

“I see.” Gunn rose to his feet to pace back and forth with agitated movements. Emil took it as a sign to keep going.

“Miss Becket is worried the landlord’s wife will push for eviction if she discovers her role in the suffrage anthem. It would help enormously to remove, or at least hobble, the threat.”

“So what are you asking?”

“I figured with the property you’ve acquired lately, you’ve got contacts on the Public Housing Commission. I need someone to pay a visit. Look around. Lean a little on the landlord if they find what I think they will.”

Gunn eyed him for a long, cold moment. “You’re giving up your chance to work for me to run charity errands for a woman?”

“She’s more than that,” he replied roughly. “But yes. I am.”

“And what’s so special about her?”

Emil looked away, jaw clenched. He didn’t have the words, not really. Just the way she made him feel—like there was still some part of him worth saving.

“She’s the best person I’ve ever known. That’s reason enough.”

Gunn didn’t reply right away. He tapped his hand on his leg once, twice. Then, “I maybe know someone who could take a look.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Pushy, aren’t we?”

“It matters.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

Emil had anticipated the question. “The building’s right next to one of yours. You’ve got a vested interest in keeping your neighbors in line. Might be worth knowing who’s running a racket next door.”

They locked eyes. Nothing more needed to be said. Both men knew exactly how Gunn handled uncooperative neighbors—they didn’t stay neighbors for long.

Another pause. Then a shrug. “Fine. I’ll make a call. But no guarantees when they’ll arrive.”

Relief flooded through Emil’s chest. He rose, hand extended. “Thank you.”

Gunn didn’t take it. “Don’t you come knocking if this all goes sideways. You’ve used your favor.”

Emil let the hand drop. “I know.”

As he stepped out into the chill morning air, he had no job, no promise of forgiveness, and no idea what kind of welcome he’d find at Olive’s door.

But if nothing else, she wouldn’t be evicted. She’d have time. Space. Safety.

At least he could do that for her.