Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (19 page)

“Now, Clarissa, don’t do anything out of haste,” Da said as he stroked my back.

“No, Da. I can’t. Not anymore. Not after today.” My voice broke and tears coursed down my cheeks. “No more.” I fled the parlor, racing upstairs to my room, the stairs and hallway a blur through my tears. I entered my room, collapsed on the seat in front of my mama’s vanity and realized I might never see it again. One of my connections to her would be severed with my flight from home.

Colin entered my room without knocking. “Rissa, what’s going on?”

“I must leave, Col.”

“Yes, and about time. But why now?” he asked.

I shook my head in refusal as I turned to face him.

He nodded. “Where will you go?”

“To the Russells,” I said. “I know Uncle Martin will take me in.”

“Yes, he will. I’ll walk there with you tonight once you are packed,” Colin said. “I found this on the floor. Care to tell me how it got there?” He held out my necklace, its chain snapped.

“My necklace,” I whispered.

“Let me put it on you,” Colin said.

“You can’t. The chain’s broken,” I protested but Colin was already pushing aside my collar as though to place the necklace around my neck. He hissed as he saw the red gouges and bruising along the side of my neck.

“The bastard,” Colin growled. “I’ll kill him if I see him again.”

“No, you can’t,” I protested as tears coursed down my cheeks again. “I need you to help me.”

“In any way I can,” he whispered as he knelt beside me, pulling me into a long hug.

“Help me go to the Russells. Convince Uncle Martin and Aunt Matilda that I should be welcomed.”

“Of course.” He studied me for a moment, his gentle hands rubbing up and down my arms. “Are you going to write to Gabe? Tell him what’s happened?”

“No, I couldn’t,” I whispered.

“He’d want to know you’re leaving your father’s home. He’d want you to come to him.”

“He should already want that!” I leaned forward unable to fight my tears as my shoulders heaved with sobs. Colin pulled me into his arms, and I soaked his shirtfront. “Why didn’t he ask me to go to him months ago? He had to have known I’d travel to him.”

“He wants you in his life. Look at how many letters he writes you.”

“But never the right one,” I whispered.

Colin pushed me back from his shoulder and cupped my face. “Rissa, did Cameron do more than rip a necklace off your neck?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Rissa?” Colin asked with deep concern in his voice.

I finally looked up and allowed him to see the devastation in my eyes. I nodded once before I burrowed back into his arms. Colin groaned. “I will kill him and then Mrs. Smythe.”

“No, Col. I couldn’t bear it if you went to prison. He’s not worth it.”

“You are, Rissa.” All humor and teasing absent from his face, I had never seen Colin so serious. “We have to hope you do not find yourself bound to Cameron.” He raised one eyebrow, the intensity of his gaze unnerving me.

“I’ll never be bound to him.”

“You might already be,” he said as gently as possible.

“No, never. I’ll find a way,” I declared. “I’ll find a way so that I’ll be able to travel to Gabriel…”

“When he writes.”

I stared at Colin, a horrible bleakness in my gaze. “Yes, when he writes.”

***

I TURNED THE DOORKNOB at Russell’s linen store, only to find it locked. I looked toward Colin in frustration, and he winked. He pounded on the door so hard it rattled in its hinges.

“Coming!” Lucas called out. He unbolted the door, his glower turning to concern as his quick glance took in my bedraggled appearance. A faint light shone behind him, casting the store in shadows. He wore a fine white long-sleeved shirt and well-tailored black pants. His brown hair was ruffled, a sign he’d been playing the piano. “Rissa! What happened?”

He reached out to grip my arms as I stumbled forward toward him, causing him to nearly lose his balance. He grunted in protest before chuckling as he regained his equilibrium. I burst into tears as he pulled me into his arms.

“Shh … Shh … It’s all right. Whatever happened, it’s all right,” Lucas said. His strong arms enveloped me, giving me the sensation of safety. He crooned a gentle song as he held me, rocking me and caressing my back.

I calmed, the sobs turning into hiccupping gasps.

“Come in, Clarissa, Colin,” Lucas said, leaning away from me, my hand clasped in his as he led us into the store, down the darkened hallway and up the stairs to the family parlor. Colin followed us, carrying my heavy bag.

“Lucas, who was it?” Uncle Martin asked.

“Hello, Uncle Martin,” I said. The area near the piano was brightly lit with pieces of paper scattered around the base of the piano. A pencil lay on the floor next to the overturned piano bench. Gaslights on side tables enhanced the shadows in the far corners of the room and highlighted the fading upholstery. Aunt Matilda sat near the door, as far as possible from the piano while Uncle Martin had pulled his gentleman’s chair next to the piano. As I entered the parlor, Colin stood behind me, nodding his hello to Uncle Martin and Aunt Matilda.

“Clarissa, dear, what are you doing here so late at night?” he exclaimed as he strode toward me to grip my shoulders, his eyes turning to a deep, inscrutable brown. He wore no waistcoat, jacket or tie, his crisp cotton shirt unbuttoned at his wrists. He studied my face a few moments, attempting to discern the cause of my distress. He looked toward Colin for answers, but Colin shrugged his shoulders.

“Absolutely not. I forbid it!” Aunt Matilda called out from her stiff lady’s chair. She vibrated with displeasure, a red flush rising up her neck and cheeks.

“What exactly are you forbidding, Mother?”

“She’s seeking refuge. Look at her—hair askew, eyes red from crying over her inappropriate behavior and Colin lugging her traveling bag.”

Uncle Martin raised an eyebrow, silently seeking my response.

I let out a sigh. “Aunt Matilda is partially correct. I would like to stay here for as long as necessary. I plan to travel to Minneapolis for the suffragette convention in May, and I do not plan to return to my da’s house before then. I can assure you, I have not left my da’s house due to any impropriety.”

“Then from what?” she demanded.

“From a desire to live my life as I wish to live it,” I said on a stuttering exhalation. “I can no longer live under Mrs. Smythe’s dictates.”

“You will not stay here. I will not allow it. What would the grandparents say?”

“I would think they would approve of your charity toward family, dear,” Uncle Martin said. “Clarissa is always welcome here. For however long she needs to stay.”

“Martin…”

“No, Matilda, that’s final. Clarissa will be made to feel welcomed, and she will have the freedoms she has been denied for so long.”

“You wish to bring scorn and ridicule down upon this house? Upon your business?”

“No, Matilda, I choose to support my niece rather than sacrifice her for the sake of propriety. Something I failed to do for my own daughter.”

“Martin, you know we were in agreement with the grandparents…” Aunt Matilda began but cut herself short as she saw Uncle Martin’s glower.

“No, Matilda, I never agreed. I had hoped you were correct. I see now I was wrong. And I refuse to allow the same misfortune to befall Clarissa. I am only surprised you lasted so long,” Uncle Martin murmured as he turned toward me.

“Thank you, Uncle.” I attempted to smile but tears escaped instead.

“There, now. Let’s have none of that,” he said with a tender smile, wiping away a few tears. “We’ll have you settled in no time.”

“Uncle, if I may,” Colin said. “Cameron should not be allowed to visit Clarissa. She has no desire of his company. He should not be welcomed here. Not even for tea.” He shared a long look with Uncle Martin.

“It is unusual for a woman’s beau to be banned,” Aunt Matilda protested. “What will people say?”

“Let them think what they will,” Colin said in a hard voice. “Never alone.”

I nodded my agreement.

“Of course, Colin,” Uncle Martin murmured. He embraced me and whispered into my ear, “Courage, Clarissa darling, courage.”

CHAPTER 16

I AWOKE THE FOLLOWING MORNING disoriented and confused. The paisley wallpaper and dark wood furniture were unfamiliar to me. I remained cocooned under the blankets as I tried to remember why I was not in my own bed in my da’s house. I stretched and groaned in pain as every muscle in my body seemed to protest movement. My thigh and shoulder muscles were the sorest.

I rolled over and covered my head with my pillows in an attempt to bury the memories that flashed through my mind. Cameron looming over me. The sound of ripping material as I fought him. The pain as my arms were lashed behind my back. The horrible pain as … I forced my eyes shut and took deep breaths, chanting “No, no, no.” As I turned onto my side with tears pouring from my eyes, I knew that no amount of wishing could undo what had been done.

I pressed my hand against my lower belly and the insistent chant of “No, no, no,” would not stop playing through my head. I had been in too much shock, as well as defiant, to fully heed Colin’s words last night. Now a cold dread pierced me at the thought of the potential repercussions. I had no one to turn to for advice, and I had never felt more alone. What could I do?

***

A FEW DAYS AFTER ARRIVING at my aunt and uncle’s house, I slipped out the servant’s entrance. Another tea with Aunt Matilda loomed, and I could not face her probing questions and insinuations as to my presence in her house. A trolley approached, and I hastened my steps to board it as it was about to leave.

With no clear destination in mind, I considered riding the streetcar for the better part of the day before returning to my aunt and uncle’s for dinner. However, as the route wound through Boston and approached Haymarket Square, I rose to disembark.

The bustle of Haymarket had not changed since my previous visit last summer. I scurried across the square to the side, escaping an approaching delivery cart weighted down with kegs of liquor. I began a slow walk down Canal Street, noting that bananas were the fresh fruit offered in today’s cart. I paused, glanced at Gabriel’s old building, took a deep breath and pushed through the doorway to begin the climb to his workshop.

“Mr. McLeod,” I gasped on a huff as I paused at the workshop doorway. “Do you mind a visitor?” I entered before giving him the option of barring me entrance.

As I stepped into the workshop, the memories of my visits with Gabriel assailed me, with Jeremy looking similar enough to Gabriel to cause my breath to catch. I closed my eyes as I remembered Gabriel’s smile, his cajoling voice, his gentle embrace.

I looked around the workshop, cataloguing changes. The workbench remained but few tools were scattered on its surface. Scrap pieces of wood lay in the corner where Gabriel had stored oak, mahogany and rosewood. The small stove continued to radiate heat, and the table was still covered in a fine sheen of wood dust. My throat constricted as I saw my rocking chair.

“Miss Sullivan,” Jeremy said with a wisp of a smile. “Please, do come in.”

I wandered toward my rocking chair, patting the arms before easing into it with a sigh. I glanced up to see Jeremy watching me.

“Now I know why that chair was not sold,” he murmured. “It seems it was made for you.”

“It was.”

“Hmm…” he said as he wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Please make yourself comfortable,” he said motioning for me to remove my jacket, scarf and hat. “It has become rather warm in here today with the stove.”

After unpinning my hat and setting it on the table, I peeled off my gloves, shrugged out of my jacket and loosened my scarf but left it hanging around my neck. I rocked, the soothing motion of the chair a balm to my bruised spirit.

“Are you well, Miss Sullivan?”

“I believe I will be well soon,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at my response.

“Have you had any recent word from Gabriel?” I asked.

“No, but he seems to enjoy life in that wild mining city. He’s got good friends there, and for that I am grateful. One of the men’s wives just had a baby, and he’s enjoying watching her grow.”

“You worry for him the way he worried about you.”

“I hope Butte isn’t as dangerous as a war zone, though, with the stories Gabe tells, you never know.”

“What were the Philippines like?” I asked.

“Hot, humid, wet,” he said as he closed his eyes. “Terrible.”

“What happened there, Mr. McLeod?”

“You would never understand what it was like. What war does to a person. Turns you into someone you never thought you could be.”

I rose, moved toward the small stove and began to prepare a pot of tea. I worked in silence, waiting for him to speak with me.

“I’ve read in the newspapers how we needed to go there, calm the natives and bring them Christianity. That they would be unable to rule themselves,” Jeremy said, walking with less of a limp as he moved and forgoing his cane to sit at the table across from me.

“Are they wrong?”

“Yes, on all counts. They’re already Christian. They have a group that would be willing and able to lead them. But we have turned them into rebels, calling them insurgents as an excuse to kill those who refuse to be subjugated to our rule.”

“Was the fighting terrible?” I asked and then winced.

“Worse than you could imagine,” Jeremy murmured as his eyes took on a distant look. He spoke as though in a trance. “Waiting for battle to begin, often waist high in brackish water, is the hardest time. You don’t know what to expect, how the enemy will respond. Once you’re fighting, instinct takes over. I found I was quite good at killing.

“You look at me, see my height and strength, and think of my gentle, caring brother, Gabriel. I’m nothing like him,” he said, as he looked at his hands in abject misery. “I held men down, pried their mouths open, helped as others forcibly bloated their bellies with water to the point they thought they’d explode. All in the hopes of garnering a little bit of information. My commanding officer was always quite pleased with my group because our informants took the least amount of time to break.” He closed his eyes in agony. “Where is the honor in that?”