Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (12 page)

He gripped the paper so hard he tore it down the middle, ruining any possibility of anyone else reading it. “Colin, what can you be thinking?” Da called out. “You know I was to be the next to read that.”

“Sorry, Da,” Colin said with a quick glance toward me with a raised eyebrow.

I shrugged my shoulders in resignation.

“I was simply shocked to hear who called on Clarissa today.”

“Who would that be now?” Da said, rising to move toward us. I saw Mrs. Smythe try to hold onto his hand, but he gently disengaged himself from her as he approached us.

“Cameron,” I said in a strong voice.

Da stopped moving, looking from Colin to me then back again. Finally he turned toward Mrs. Smythe. “And you allowed such a man into my house?”

“Now, Sean—”

“Don’t you ‘now, Sean’ me, Mrs. Sullivan,” Da ground out. “I know good and well I told you that man was never to be welcomed into my house. How could you have misunderstood?”

“Your house? Your house? Isn’t this my house too? Shouldn’t I be able to invite those I want, welcome those I want, into my house?”

“Now, Rebecca—”

“How dare you try to dictate who can call here during my afternoon teas? If you only knew how hard I have had to work to have any decent sort of people even want to call after that disastrous daughter of yours wreaked such scandal this summer. And now, now that a young man of good family and breeding wants to grace our home, yes,
our
home, you won’t even allow me that. It’s too much to be borne.”

“Now, Rebecca—”

“Why marry me if you do not want my guidance, my expertise in the gentler aspects of life? Why not allow me to help your daughter make a respectable match?” She held onto her pregnant belly, her breaths heaving.

“Mrs. Sullivan,” Colin said. “If you for one moment believe that Cameron is a decent match for Clarissa, then—”

“Of course he is a decent match. He’s attractive, attentive—”

At this I sputtered in disbelief.

“—intelligent. I don’t know what more a woman could ask for.”

“Except for constancy and an ability to keep a promise,” I muttered.

“Well, I shouldn’t think you’d continue to hold his minor lapse of judgment against him when you clearly show continuous poor judgment in your choice of men. It’s not as though Mr. McLeod is beating down the door to drag you to the altar, is it?”

“How dare you?” I exclaimed.

“How dare I try to find you a man who is actually present? How dare I try to find you a man who wants to live in Boston and not in some godforsaken mining town? Yes, how terrible of me to treat you so poorly, Clarissa.”

“Enough!” Da roared. “I’ve told you enough times, Rebecca. Cameron will never be welcomed into my home. He shamed Clarissa, disgraced our family and is not welcome here. I expect you to heed me on this. And you,” he said toward me, “will begin to show Rebecca, Mrs. Sullivan, the respect she is due as your stepmother. If she has guests, you will not leave the room until you have been excused. Do you understand, Clarissa?”

“Is this not also my home, Da? Do I no longer have the freedom to come and go as I would like?”

He sat heavily next to me on the settee. He heaved a lusty sigh and then shook his head. “No, you don’t. Not anymore.”

I sat, as still as a stone pillar, barely able to breathe from the shock of Da’s words.

“You have had entirely too many freedoms. I see that now.”

“What do you mean, Da?” Colin asked. He reached out to grip my hand, giving me a gentle squeeze in support.

“I mean that Clarissa needs to spend her time at home. Helping Mrs. Sullivan to run the house. To begin to take things over as Mrs. Sullivan’s time nears so that the home will continue to run smoothly after the baby is born. As you said, Clarissa, this is your home too. Now start acting like it.”

“Da!”

“You need to learn how to run a house. You need to learn how to be a woman of society. I have taught you neither of these things. Mrs. Sullivan can. These are things that you cannot learn teaching at a school,” he said, watching me. “Or taking tea with suffragettes.”

“No!”

“Yes, Clarissa,” he said. “No more school. No more suffragist meetings. Your place is here, at home, learning to run it. If young, upstanding men, as your stepmother calls them, are reluctant to court you, you must learn what is needed. I want to see you settled. It’s what your mum would have wanted.”

“Da, no. I need to work. I need to have a purpose to my day. To my life.” A hot tear escaped, coursing unheeded down my cheek.

“No, Clarissa. I have come to see the error in my ways in granting you so much freedom. You suffered near total disgrace this summer. Your stepmother has shown me it was due to your headstrong, liberal ways, and my indulgence of them. Your mother would want more for you than to risk ruination and a life lived as a spinster. Be thankful you will have your stepmother to guide you.”

“Da, that’s not fair.”

“If your Gabriel doesn’t return to you, you need to prepare yourself for a life here,” Da said.

***

A WEEK LATER I sat in the parlor, ignoring Mrs. Smythe as she prattled on about the redecoration of the parlor. At the knock on the front door, I tilted my head to listen for who had called.

“Now stop your timidity, girl. You know Clarissa would want to see you.” I heard Sophronia’s commanding voice in the hallway speaking to her hesitant companion. I stifled a
whoop
of joy and rose, walking to greet them with a lightness of step.

Sophronia, attired in a burgundy wool dress with black cotton soutache trim along the bodice, hem and wrists, marched forward with determined steps whereas Florence hung back a pace. Sophronia wielded a walking stick, although I suspected it was more to badger people out of her way than for any true need.

“Sophie! Florence!” I shrieked. “How wonderful to see you. Tea will be bearable because you are here,” I whispered to them as we walked toward the parlor.

“Clarissa, my girl, it is about time we saw you,” Sophronia said.

“Clarissa, how good it is to see you. School is dreadful without you,” Florence said. “The children miss you terribly and even mean old Mr. Carney has said he wishes you back.”

I gripped her hand at the thought of my students and the principal, and teaching again, and led them into the parlor to a frowning Mrs. Smythe.

“Mrs. Sullivan, a pleasure to see you again,” Sophronia said.

“I am glad one of us finds pleasure in it,” Mrs. Smythe snapped. She stared at Florence, taking in her disheveled appearance, riotous mass of curly black hair and stained, faded forest-green wool dress. “Who might you be?”

“Florence Butler, ma’am,” Florence said. “I teach school with Clarissa.”

“I see. As I suspected, they have a penchant for hiring undesirable women in the hopes of giving them some sort of future.”

“Mrs. Smythe!” I gasped.

“It is why I wish for Clarissa to remain at home. She has many attributes that will be valued by upstanding young men who would not think of frequenting such a school. Surely you agree with me, Mrs. Chickering. Clarissa’s future must be of our utmost concern.”

“Her future happiness is never far from my thoughts,” Sophronia murmured as she sat on a chair near Mrs. Smythe. “I doubt, however, you give much thought to her emotional state when you ponder her life.”

“You have no right! To come into my home and make such assertions. I care for that girl as though she were my own.”

“Well, then let us hope you have a son,” Sophronia said with a small smile in my direction.

“I refuse to sit here and be insulted in my own sitting room. If you will excuse me?” Mrs. Smythe rose to storm out of the room in all of her pregnant glory.

“Nicely done, Sophie. Though I am sure I will have to hear a lecture tonight from Da about respecting her.” I rose to shut the door for privacy.

“At last! We can have some peace without her around,” Sophie said. “And as for you, Florence, don’t give credence to one word she said. She doesn’t know about Richard, does she?”

“Florence! Tell me more. What has happened?”

Florence bit her lip for a few moments as she gathered her thoughts. “I have seen Richard a few times and…”

“Do you think there is a future between you?”

“I hope so, Rissa. I dream of one every night, though I tell myself not to.”

“Why, Florence? Dreams are what help us to continue when the drudgery of life seems unbearable.”

“It was easier not to dream because then I never had to worry about the inevitable disappointment. The fear that he will change his mind again.”

“Oh, Flo,” I said. “I can only imagine the heartbreak you have gone through. And yet I know it is better to be able to envision a happy future.”

“We are meeting almost every day for tea or supper. And it seems so much like old times. I had forgotten how nice he is and interesting.”

“Has he written Gabriel?”

Florence’s shoulders hunched together before she straightened. “Yes. Gabriel thinks him a fool. Gabriel believes that once a liar or a deceiver, always a liar.”

“That doesn’t sound like Gabriel.”

“It does with regard to me,” Florence murmured. “And yet Richard doesn’t seem to care. He is incredibly angry with Gabriel for knowing where I was all last spring and not telling him. Richard feels deceived by him.”

I sat back in my chair, sighing. “They certainly know how to complicate something that should be simple.”

“My thoughts exactly, my girl,” Sophronia said. “I should think two orphan boys should have the sense to know good fortune when they see it.”

I gripped my friend’s hand. “Florence, this simply means you must learn to trust him again. That takes time. And he must learn to trust you.”

“Will you trust Gabriel again when you see him?”

“He’s given me no reason not to trust him.”

“Except leave you here.”

“Well, yes, but I know he wants me in his life.”

“Won’t you have to learn to trust that he won’t leave you again?”

“Flo, please,” I said as I closed my eyes for a moment. “I can’t doubt what I have with Gabriel. If I do that, I’ll go mad. It is the only thing that gives purpose to my life, now that I can’t teach or take part in the suffragist movement.”

“Well, my girl,” Sophronia said. “It’s good to have a purpose in your life. Although I worry when it is based on a man. You need to continue your activities with us, even though they will need to be clandestine out of necessity with that stepmother of yours.”

“What do you suggest, Sophie?”

“You should continue to read the newspaper and correspond with us as much as possible. We will call for tea once a week to keep you abreast of developments and to provide needed distraction from your stepmother and her ilk.”

“She would destroy the paper if it were delivered here, Sophie,” I protested.

“I will ask Richard to deliver it to you with Gabriel’s letters,” Florence said. “He will enjoy irritating her as much as possible.”

“Whatever you do, Clarissa, I want you at that convention in May,” Sophie said.

“Convention? What convention?”

“The National American Woman Suffrage Association’s annual convention will be held in Minneapolis at the end of May. I want you to attend with me. Florence will be unable to join us due to her school duties. However, you will be free.”

“I highly doubt Da will allow me to attend a meeting in Minneapolis when I am not allowed to sip tea with you in Boston.”

“Then you know what your task is. Find a way,” Sophie said, piercing me with her aquamarine eyes.

I nodded in agreement before jumping with a start at the soft knock at the sitting room door.

“Miss Sullivan, there is someone calling for tea,” Mary said.

“Send her in,” I said. I turned to Sophie and Florence. “At least you will be here to help me.”

“I had hoped by now you would know how to pour a cup of tea, Clarissa,” Cameron said from the doorway. He posed for a moment, one leg bent at the knee with a hand in his pocket, the gray linen of his suit tailored and ironed to show off his tall, lean frame. A crisp white shirt and collar, navy blue waistcoat and ruby cuff links completed his ensemble.

I gaped at him for a moment, surprised at his gall. “Mr. Wright, how … interesting you have decided to call again. May I introduce you to Mrs. Chickering and Miss Butler?”

“Enchanted,” Cameron said with a quick bow. “No Mrs. Sullivan today? I had hoped to speak with her about something I read recently in the paper.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to know to what you are referring,” I said, watching him take the seat nearest me. “She rarely reads.”

Sophie snickered, muttering, “It’s not rarely, but barely.”

“How cruel you are, Clarissa,” Cameron chided. “I am sure your stepmother is very knowledgeable.” He glanced from Sophie’s imposing figure in burgundy wool to Florence’s faded green wool, then back to me. “I hadn’t realized I was interrupting a hen party.”

“I can’t imagine you would expect anything different, young man,” Sophie barked. “This is tea time after all. A time when women call on each other.”

“I…”

“I would think you would have something worthwhile to fill your time rather than listening to our mindless chatter,” Sophie said with a fierce glower.

“If there is one thing I have learned, ma’am, it is that women rarely partake in mindless chatter. I find myself fascinated by whatever they find interesting.”

“Meaningless prattle,” Sophie said. “I had hoped you would be a young man of some intellect who endeavored to do something worthwhile with his days.”

“As my family is wealthy, I have no need of work.”

I watched as Sophie flushed red. “Have you no need of purpose? No need to help those less fortunate?”

“I should think you, out of all of those present, Mrs. Chickering, would understand my responsibilities start and end with my family. And those I hope to make part of my family.”

I shared a quick, horrified glance with Florence.

“You have no sense of noblesse oblige then?” Sophie demanded, as she fanned herself furiously.

“I have no obligation to anyone but myself, no,” Cameron said.