Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (33 page)

“You can’t mean…”

“Yes, I do. I’ve seen it a few times, and it’s a difficult thing to behold.”

“Amelia, you’re speaking nonsense,” Gabriel argued.

“Maybe I am. But whatever happened to your Clarissa is enough to make her as prickly as a porcupine. You need to determine why. And show her you love her no matter what,” she said.

“Ronan said something similar the other day,” Gabriel mused.

“Then he is a wise man. I wouldn’t have expected it of him after all of his wild antics with Matthew.”

“I think their deaths and his accident have really changed him, Amelia.”

“It changed us all,” she whispered as she rose to clear the table.

“Amelia,” Gabriel said.

“Gabriel, there is nothing you can do for me. I value your friendship. I would be lost without your help with Nicholas. But I don’t know as it is right of me to expect your continued presence in my life.”

“Amelia, no matter what, I’ll continue to support you and the children.”

“Is that fair to Clarissa? You saw how she reacted when she saw us together tonight.”

“That is between Clarissa and me. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I think you’re wrong, Gabriel. Women don’t like other women around their men.”

“And men don’t like other men around their women. But I put up with reading about Cameron’s visits for months. She can damned well understand my friendship with you,” Gabriel hissed.

“You are much angrier with her than you’ve demonstrated, Gabriel,” Amelia said with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course I’m angry. How could I not be?” he asked as he stood and paced. “I wrote. I waited. I behaved myself when there were a multitude of distractions in Butte.”

“Don’t even think of mentioning that wretched street,” Amelia said.

“I worried myself sick that she had been in some train accident. And now that she’s finally here, she doesn’t want me anywhere near her. As though she thinks I would hurt her. How could she think I’d hurt her?” he roared, nearly waking baby Anne. He walked to her cradle, gently rocking it with his foot to settle her.

“All that you say is true, Gabriel,” Amelia said in a soothing voice, pushing Gabriel aside and picking up Anne to rock her in her arms. “And you have the right to your anger. But you have to decide if you are going to allow your anger to separate you. Or are you willing to set it aside and be the man she needs you to be?”

“I must go, Amelia. I need to…” He did not finish.

“Yes, Gabriel. Go to Clarissa,” she murmured, watching his hasty departure.

CHAPTER 33

I HEARD A GENTLE TAPPING at my door and nearly threw a pillow at it. Colin knew I needed time alone. “Go away, Col!” I gasped between my sobs.

“Rissa?” Colin asked with another gentle knock. I refused to budge from my protective cocoon of blankets and pillows, and knew he would leave soon. However, the door creaked open, and someone entered.

“Oh, darling.” A gentle murmur in Gabriel’s voice came.

“Go away,” I pleaded, looking at him for an instant, letting him see my horrified red-rimmed eyes. “Leave! I don’t want you to see me like…” I broke off, turning away and burying my face into a pillow, sobs wracking my body.

“No, no, my Clarissa. I will not leave you,” he whispered. I heard him dragging a chair toward the bed and then sitting heavily. I felt a gentle touch to my back and soon he had begun to trace a soothing pattern. Although initially I had stiffened at his touch, I gradually relaxed into his caress and began to calm.

“Why are you here?” I whispered around a hiccup.

“To see you. To hold you if you’d let me. To ask you to forgive me for being so thoughtless.”

I took a shuddering breath, my back toward him. Suddenly I needed to be held. I turned, and he was able to see the full extent of my sorrow and grief. I scooted toward him, not giving myself time to think through my actions. I clambered onto his lap. “Hold me. Please,” I asked. Another shudder rippled through me, and I sighed as his arms clasped me firmly, yet gently.

“This is what I missed most,” I murmured. “Being held by you. Feeling safe in your arms.”

“I hope you understand that now, Clarissa. I’m sorry you felt unwanted or threatened at Amelia’s. But it is you I love. You I want,” he murmured into my ear.

I nodded, beginning to stroke his nape.

He eased me back so he could look into my eyes. “I’m sorry that you have such pain inside, darling. But you know we must speak of it.”

My eyes welled again, and he chased away the tears with his thumbs. “Not tonight, Gabriel. Please.”

He nodded as he eased my head back onto his chest. “Soon, my darling, soon.” The soothing caress continued over my spine, a balm to my bruised spirit.

CHAPTER 34

“IF YOU ARE GOING to work with me, missy,” Mr. Pickens said, “stop
sir
ring me.”

I noted an amused twinkle in his eye and hid a smile. “My name’s A.J. Been good enough for ever’one else, good enough for you.” He stood by the chair he’d cleared off by a table covered in cookbooks and others highlighting the home arts. Sunlight streamed in through the windows at the front of the room, the rays dancing on pieces of dust. Yellowed wallpaper with green flowers covered the walls, the edges toward the ceiling peeling away and rolling toward the floor. Patches of plaster could be seen in certain sections and a water stain marred a small section of the ceiling near the window farthest from the door.

I wandered among the scattered tables and nodded my agreement. “I’ll try, Mr. Pickens.”

He frowned at me and my persistent inability to call him A.J.

Mr. Pickens wheezed a sigh at the sound of a slamming door downstairs and then heavy footsteps on the stairs leading to the depository. “Ah, here it is then, the final hurdle to working here. You better be ready to run the gauntlet. A bit like good ol’ Coulter!” He laughed with glee, nearly falling over again.

I walked toward him, pushing him into the only available chair. I looked toward the door with a pleasant, impersonal smile. I realized I was emulating Mrs. Smythe and grimaced, but pasted the smile on once more. I tensed as I heard the footfalls growing louder as the people approached.

A rotund woman emerged through the doorway into the depository. I blinked in surprise once, hoping she did not note my momentary shock at seeing only one person after the amount of noise from the stairwell.

“A.J.,” she bellowed out in an authoritative, booming voice akin to a drill sergeant’s. “Good morning!” She inhaled a few times, catching her breath. Her bosom heaved with her laborious breaths, and I feared her dress might give way from the exertions. She had reddish-blond hair tied back in a tight chignon, causing her forehead and eyes to be pulled back from the pressure of the pins in her hair. Her dress style was fashionable, yet more colorful than expected. Her rich hazel eyes glowed with intelligence.

“So this is the young miss you want me to meet,” she said in her loud voice. “What’s the matter, dear?” she called out in a louder voice. “You hard of hearing?”

“No, ma’am,” I replied, attempting to cover up my laugh with a small cough, speaking as demurely as possible.

“
Hmmph
,” she replied. She started to walk toward me, causing the floorboards to creak. “Let’s have a look at you then.” She perused me up and down, frowning. “Not much to look at, is there, miss?”

My head shot up, color tingeing my cheeks with anger. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“You need sharper clothes, need a better sense of style,” she said, holding one hand at her waist, as though to show off her jade-colored suit with gold-tinted buttons. “We want our patrons to believe only the most refined are here to care for them. Your hair is a drab, nondescript brown, and your face is freckled from the sun. Don’t you know better, to wear a hat? And you’re too thin by half. Don’t you eat?” Her bosom heaved more and more with each noted transgression, and her voice became louder. “I can’t imagine you have the strength to stand for long periods, never mind to put this place to rights,” she finished with a wave toward the disordered room.

I breathed out in an attempt to control my temper.

“Well, girl, can’t you speak?” she asked in her booming voice.

“Yes, ma’am, I can. I will do the best I can to meet your exacting fashionable standards on the limited salary. And I believe my figure is fine the way it is.”

She jerked, clearly taken aback at my words. Mr. Pickens sounded like a bagpipe as he laughed, and I blushed beet red at my impertinence.

“Ah, so you have a bit of a bark,” the woman said with a small frown, before smiling. “I like that. Well done, A.J.” She turned to survey the room, giving a small sniff of disapproval, before turning back toward me.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Clarissa Sullivan, ma’am.”

Her brow furrowed as she studied me. “Sullivan, hmm … Your brother works at the smithy on Alder now?” She said it as a question, but I knew she required no answer. “And you’re the one who jilted your fiancée, then ran across the country with nary a word to your family and is trying to steal that cabinetmaker from the poor widow.” Her voice held a note of barely restrained curiosity.

After an appallingly long silence, I stammered, “That is one way of looking at things.”

“I can tell there is an entertaining story here, and we need good tales to survive the long winters,” she said. “Well done, A.J.!” She beamed again. “You are learned? You know your letters?”

“I was a schoolteacher in Boston,” I said.

“A schoolteacher! In Boston!” she gushed. “And now in little old Missoula.” She watched me. “I wonder how long you’ll stay.”

After a moment’s pause, I spoke. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name and what is your role here?”

“Oh, I am Mrs. Bouchard,” she preened as she said her last name with an attempt at a French accent. “I helped found the library with Bessie. I try to help out when I am able, but I can become so busy at home. I’m sure you understand.” Then she looked at me as if to say, “Maybe not,” with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. She waved her hand as though to indicate “No matter” and continued at a near bellow. “I will be so thankful to have the day-to-day burden of running the library off my shoulders. You have no idea how much of a concern this has been for me.” She sighed in a dramatic fashion to emphasize her worries.

I heard Mr. Pickens snicker, before muttering, “You wouldn’t know what a burden was if it sat on yer head.”

I attempted to hide my smile but knew I had failed when Mrs. Bouchard stared at the two of us. She cocked her head to one side, squinting at Mr. Pickens for a moment. At our continued silence, she shook her head in frustration.

“Good luck, Miss Sullivan!” she called out as she pivoted her large girth toward the doorway. “A.J.” Then loud footsteps could be heard down the stairs, and she was gone.

I realized I was holding my breath and exhaled loudly. Mr. Pickens laughed, slapping his thigh in merriment.

“Oh, you did well, missy,” he said with glee, making that strange bagpipe noise. “She didn’t know what to do with you!”

“I wonder,” I said.

“No need to worry about her. All bluster, very little bite,” he said. “And she married well. You know what her name means, don’t ye, missy?”

I shook my head, smiling fully at him, enjoying his contagious good mood.

“Well, she used to drive my poor Bessie insane, with all of her demands and comments and need to impress the townsfolk. Now, never mind she was never willin’ to lift a finger.” He sighed out a wheeze. “So, one day, my Bessie was fed up. She never was mean, mind you, just dubious.” He looked at me, lifting his eyebrows up and down, proud to have used another big word.

“Dubious?” I asked. I thought through the conversation. “Oh, you mean
devious
!”

He slapped his leg, laughing silently. “Yes, that’s it, missy.
Deeevious
.” He liked the sound of the
E
and overemphasized it. “So, my Bessie looked into what her proud French name means. Any guesses?”

I shook my head again.

“Someone with a big mouth!” he exclaimed with glee.

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud, nearly doubling over with it, and I soon had tears coursing down my cheeks. I finally gasped out, “No, you must be making this up.”

“On my poor Bessie’s grave.” He raised one hand as though swearing an oath, though his eyes continued to twinkle with merriment.

“Do you think she knows?” I asked.

“I doubt she’d let on to somethin’ like that,” he said, wheezing out a new noise, an accordion-sounding laugh. “I’m sure she’s off to give a report to Mrs. Vaughan. They’ll be chatterin’ away worse than two magpies soon about you. Never doubt that, missy. You are too mysterious for their likin’,” he said with a knowing quirk of his eyebrows.

“Mrs. Vaughan?” I asked. “Who’s Mrs. Vaughan?”

Mr. Pickens heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes heavenward. “She’s the one the good Lord sent us as penance for any misdeed we might have done or contemplated doin’ at some point in our lives.”

My eyes widened.

“She’s the biggest—and I do mean that laterally, missy—biggest busybody ye’ll ever have the misfortune of meeting.”

“She likes to gossip?” I asked. I looked around in vain for another chair to sit on. I felt ill at the thought of all these faceless people talking about me without my knowledge. I located a stool hidden in a corner, pulled it out and perched on it for a few moments near Mr. Pickens’s chair.

“Gossip? Gossip?”

I thought this time he would faint onto the floor.

“Oh, missy, there ain’t been no word invented yet to describe how that woman likes to talk. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it in all my years. And I’ve lived plenty o’ years,” he said, twitching his eyebrows at me again for emphasis. “At times I think she’ll get lockjaw, she talks so much.”

“Lockjaw?” I asked weakly, but then giggled.

“Yes, missy, you will do fine,” Mr. Pickens said.

CHAPTER 35

“HELLO, MR. O’BARA,” I said as I poked my head into his room. “Is this a bad time for a visitor?” Midmorning sun had begun to peek in through his windows enhancing the shadows on the side of the room near his bed.