That next morning I quickly donned the lime green walking outfit Gertrude had recently given me. With her usual lightning speed, Nanny had made the necessary alterations, along with adding creamy taffeta embroidered with green and pink flowers to the collar and cuffs, breathing new life into Gertrude’s castoff. I counted it among my most fashionable ensembles.
Why did I find it necessary to wear my best that day? Even as I stood before my mirror adjusting the matching flowered hat with its dyed-green feathers, I all but choked on the hypocrisy of wanting to look pretty for Derrick.
Downstairs, I practically inhaled a cup of strong coffee and the scrambled eggs Nanny insisted I eat. Then it was off to town. Rather than drive my rig, I hitched a ride with cousins Gertrude and Gladys, on their way to watch a tennis match at the Casino. They both approved Nanny’s alterations on my outfit.
Derrick was waiting outside the Newport Observer when I arrived. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked in lieu of a proper greeting as he helped me down from my cousins’ carriage.
“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He looked at me doubtfully. “I’d hoped a good night’s rest might help you see reason.”
“Derrick, if anything, the hours between our talk yesterday and today only strengthened my resolve. Those men on Rose Island tried to kill us. Don’t you want to know who is ultimately responsible for that?”
“Emma, those men might have wanted to kill us, but I’m fairly certain they didn’t get a good look at us. That means they don’t know who we are any more than we know who they are. If you ask me, the safest course is to leave it be.”
“And I say there is greater safety in knowledge.” I raised my eyebrows in a silent dare to contest my assertion.
He only moved to open the door for me. “By the way, you look very pretty today,” he murmured as I preceded him inside.
“Thank you.” I broke into a grin, one I was glad he couldn’t see.
After bidding Donald Larimer good morning we strode past his desk and continued down the corridor leading to the Observer ’s workrooms. We went into the office I shared with Ed Billings, one I rarely used as I preferred to write at home. Ed must have been out scouting news, for I saw no coat over the back of his chair, nor papers strewn across his desk, nor any other sign that he might be in the building. The typical drone of a workday filtered in from the newsroom and, farther back still, the presses. Derrick waited while I uncovered the typewriter. This was my reason for coming here: the use of the machine that would help conceal my identity. We conferred on wording, and then I tapped away at the keys. Some twenty minutes later we were back on the street, looking up and down the sidewalk for the opportunity we sought. Derrick spotted it, or should I say him, and let out a shrill whistle.
“Boy! Over here. Would you like a job?”
Instantly, the passing bicycle stopped, then turned about. Its rider wore navy blue trousers, a matching coat emblazoned with bright brass buttons that caught the sun, and the stiff, flat-topped cap of a Western union messenger boy. “You got something you need delivered, sir?”
Officially, boys like this one delivered packages for Western union for paltry weekly wages, and it wasn’t unusual for them to earn extra cash by fitting a few private deliveries into their daily schedules. Derrick held out the two envelopes we’d addressed inside. “Can you deliver these for us by this afternoon?”
“Sooner than that, sir.” The boy peered at the addresses. “Cost you a nickel each.”
Derrick fished a coin out of his trouser pocket. We might have hired one of the Observer’s young newsies or office boys for the errand, but we had reasons for wanting to remain anonymous. “Here’s fifty cents if you don’t tell either addressee anything about who hired you.”
The young man, a bit of dirt on his chin, grinned and made a gesture against his lips as if locking them. He pushed away from the sidewalk and rode off down busy Thames Street.
I found myself glad I’d worn Gertrude’s lovely outfit later that evening when Derrick took me to dine at the White Horse Tavern, a quaint yet elegant eatery established long before the Revolution. While I’ll admit nothing quite exceeds Nanny’s plain but savory fare, I enjoyed my roast duck, rosemary potatoes, and glazed carrots immensely. Yet once again, the simple act of sharing a meal with Derrick brought to mind all the other things he’d invited me to share in his life, and if I laughed a bit too shrilly or talked rather too quickly, it was my feeble attempt to appear confident in the decision I’d made not to accept his offer of marriage.