A huff of mirthless laughter escaped, and she sniffled. Wiping her face with the sleeve of her robe, she shook her head and then pushed her chair back, distancing herself from him. “Don’t you realize that you already are?” She walked the full distance around the table to avoid passing him, before exiting the kitchen to return to her bedroom. The door shut with a click, while Richard remained on the kitchen floor, filled with uncertainty and sadness.
* * *
Zylphia poked her head into Parthena’s private sitting room. A piano stood in the bow window, while two settees faced each other with a low table between them to form a cozy sitting area. Elaborate molding on the ceiling and a beautiful chandelier gave the room an elegant feel. Today Parthena sat at her piano. “P.T.,” Zylphia said, as she listened to her friend’s melancholy piano music. “What’s going on?” She played with her gloves when she saw her friend shrug. “Who’s going on an extended trip?”
Parthena slammed her fingers onto the piano keys, provoking a cacophony of discordant notes, and turned to face her friend. “I believe Morgan has finally had enough of me and is moving out.”
Zylphia paled. “No. He wouldn’t.” At Parthena’s weak nod, Zylphia shook her head in denial again. “P.T., why?”
Sighing, Parthena pushed herself up and joined her on the comfortable settee. “He’s fed up with me.”
“No,” Zylphia snapped, as she gripped her friend’s hand. “No.” When Parthena set her jaw in mutinous defiance, Zylphia squeezed it hard. “He’s fed up with the distance and the guilt and the lack of closeness between you. You’ve pushed him to this, P.T.”
“How dare you?” Parthena whispered, her voice catching, as though unable to speak any louder. “How dare you insinuate this is my fault?” Her cheeks reddened with her agitation, and she breathed quickly. “I’ve always been loyal to you. Supportive of you.”
Nodding, Zylphia ran a hand over her friend’s shoulder. “I know you have. And it’s because of your loyalty that I must show you the same.” Her blue eyes shone with concern. “You’re being a fool. You’ve already lost your daughter. Don’t lose your husband.”
P.T. jerked her hand from Zylphia’s hold and rose. After a moment, she paced to a far wall and then hit it with the flat of her hand. When that brought little relief, she hit it again and then screamed in frustration. After a moment, she leaned against the wall as her shoulders shook.
“Parthena,” Zylphia breathed. She rose and wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder.
“Why … Why are you still friends with me?” Parthena stammered. “I treated you horribly that day. And you remained. You soothed me. You held me.”
Zylphia eased to the floor with Parthena, as she crumbled to rest against the wall. “I couldn’t leave you alone, not after you kicked Morgan out.”
Parthena shook her head. “No, that’s not what happened. He wanted nothing to do with me, once he realized I let our baby die. He … He left me.” When her friend stared at her in confusion, Parthena hiccupped out a sob. “He said I was a terrible excuse for a mother. That, if I had been a good mother, I wouldn’t have let her die. And then he stormed away.”
“Oh, no,” Zylphia whispered, shaking her head. “He never said any of that. Not to you.” A tear coursed down her cheek. “I fear that’s what you think you heard, but that’s not what he said.” She clasped Parthena’s hand. “He yelled at the doctor, railed at him for being a failure. Asked how he could call himself a healer when he couldn’t aid your little girl.” Zylphia’s voice caught as she remembered that grief-laden day. “When he returned from throwing him out, you … you wouldn’t let him near you. Wouldn’t let him hold the baby.”
Parthena sat in stunned silence, as a river of tears coursed down her cheeks. “I … I don’t remember any of that.”
“Do you remember crooning to your daughter, begging her to wake up? Pleading with her that you would give anything to have her smile at you again?” Zylphia asked. She sniffled and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at her face and nose. “Do you remember the second doctor who arrived?”
Parthena nodded. “Yes. I never want to see him again.”
Shaking her head, Zylphia whispered, “He was doing what he had to. To ease your torment. And to allow you to let go.” After a long moment, she whispered, “Morgan wanted to be there for you too, P.T.” She bit her lip to prevent from saying anything more.
“But I wouldn’t let him,” she whispered. Her panicked gaze met Zylphia’s. “And now I’m to lose him too.”
Running a hand over Parthena’s disheveled blond hair, Zylphia shook her head. “You don’t have to. Not if you have the courage to go to him. But you must be brave, P.T.”
“I fear I lost all my courage with the death of my daughter.” She collapsed forward, sobbing into her friend’s shoulder.
* * *
Morgan sat in the glassed-in conservatory at the back of his mansion, staring into space. Birds chirped outside in the bush hugging the area between the alleyway and the building, while another sat on a nest. The sun flirted with clouds, and shadows fell and lifted from the room. He rose from his chair, stripped off his jacket, tie, and waistcoat, then sprawled on the carpeted floor, resting in a patch of sunlight. He fought to empty his mind of grief. Of hopeless yearning. Of endless regret.
His mind continued to return to the day he’d careened through the streets of Boston in his race to make it home to save his baby girl. The overwhelming desolation as he had witnessed Parthena’s grief as she held their still baby in her arms.
Raising an arm, he rested it over his eyes and attempted to erase the memory of backing away from Parthena. Of lashing out at those in the room.
“I can’t have yelled at her what she says I did,” Morgan whispered to himself. “I can’t have been that cruel.” He stomped a foot on the floor in frustration that that entire afternoon was a scrambled mess of memories, which he couldn’t patch together in any semblance of order.
He ignored the door opening, as he knew the servant would take one look at him and discreetly leave him alone. When the door shut a moment later, he barely registered that he was again alone. He’d been alone for so many months in a house filled with servants. And his wife.
When a hesitant touch stroked the arm covering his face, he jerked in surprise. His brown eyes lit with alarm and then concern as he saw Parthena hovering over him. “Hennie?” he whispered as he swiped at his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Why are you on the floor? Did you fall and hurt yourself?” she asked, as she knelt beside his hip.
“No. I’ve missed the sun.” He put his arm over his eyes again and exhaled deeply, her subtle scent teasing him.
“Have you missed me?”
He tensed at her hesitant question. “Don’t toy with me, Hennie.” He dropped his arm and looked at his wife, his arm rising as of its own volition to run his thumb over her eyebrow as he frowned in concern. “You’ve been crying,” he murmured when he saw her red-rimmed eyes. At her nod, he asked, “Why?”
“I haven’t had a lot of reason for joy lately,” she whispered. She saw the sorrow in his gaze, and her expression softened, rather than hardened. “Will you hold me?”
His eyes widened with shock at her request, and he reached for her, opening his arms to welcome her into his embrace. His breath stuttered as she rested against him. “I’ve missed this.” He kissed her head as he felt her shoulders shake. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
She clung to him as he eased away from her. “No! Don’t leave me,” she cried, as she wrapped herself around him like a vine. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“Oh, my love,” he murmured, as he held her in his arms while she sobbed. “Cry, my darling. Cry as much as you need to.” He freed her hair from its pins and ran his hands through her long tresses, then roved over her in an attempt to provide comfort. Tears leaked from his eyes, unheeded and unabashedly, as he continued to murmur to her.
When her sobs had quie
ted to stuttering breaths, she still rested against him, her hold of him as fierce as when she wouldn’t let him go. “I wanted …” She sniffled. “I needed someone to blame. A target for my anger.”
Morgan gripped her face and tilted her head up so their gazes met. “I swear to you. I don’t remember saying what you heard that day.” His eyes shone with remorse and pain. “From the moment I entered the house until her … burial, everything is hazy. Nothing is clear.”
Parthena accepted his handkerchief and swiped at her face and nose. “I clung to my hurt as a buffer. As a way not to feel again.” She cupped his face. “But Zee told me that you never said what I remember hearing. That you railed at the doctors. You railed at the staff. And you tried to comfort me, but I wouldn’t let you.” She closed her eyes. “I wouldn’t let you hold her. Or me.”
A flash of the deepest possible pain shone in his eyes. “That hurt more than you will ever know.” When she ducked her head as though in shame, he asked, “Why wouldn’t you let me hold her one last time? Allow me to kiss her forehead as I whispered goodbye? I loved her too.”
“If I gave her to you, it was an admission she was gone,” Parthena whispered, her gaze lowered in shame. “And I couldn’t bear to admit that.”
“But you did let her go,” Morgan whispered. “We buried her.”
Parthena looked at him, her gaze shattered. “I pushed you away. I forced the staff away. I wanted to be the madwoman on Commonwealth Avenue who clung to her baby.” Her voice broke, and she took a stuttering breath. “But Zee refused to leave me. Somehow she accepted my abuse that day, understanding the horrible grief I suffered. She’d lived through something similar and would not leave me alone.” She sniffled. “Hours later, when I wished I’d die with her so I didn’t have to feel such pain, a different doctor arrived at the house. He gave me a shot. A sedative. And, when I woke, I no longer held our baby in my arms. Our baby was gone.”
“Oh, Parthena,” Morgan whispered, as his arms tightened around her. “For my sake, I hope you never wish to leave me. I can’t survive without you.” He rubbed at her cheeks and the tears cascading down them. “I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head, as though unable to understand him. “You did nothing wrong. I hurt you then. I kept hurting you.”
“No, my love,” he soothed. “You weren’t able to say goodbye to her either,” he said, as tears continued to leak from his eyes. After a long moment, he closed his eyes, as though attempting to banish the vision of standing in front of a tiny grave. “The funeral was too well-attended. Too public for any outwardly display of our true heartache.”
Parthena huffed out a humorless laugh. “My mother informed me the morning of her burial, as I wore layers of black, that I was being self-important in my mourning. That I needed to accept loss as part of life and that soon I’d have another baby in my arms and that this would all be a distant memory.”
“Hennie,” Morgan rasped, as a tear coursed down his cheek. “I don’t want our beautiful girl to ever be a distant memory.” He took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to be mired in the past. Unable to dream of the future. These past months have been hell for me.”
He watched as she nodded and looked around the brightly lit conservatory as the afternoon sun now beamed into the space, unfettered by any overhead clouds. He had moved in a few of his favorite pieces of furniture, the dark leather and mahogany in contrast to the lighter wicker furniture.
“Are you really leaving?” Her voice emerged hesitant and fearful.
Raising one of her hands, he kissed the back of it and looked deeply into her terrified gaze. “I doubted you would notice.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “I play songs I know you love, hoping that will entice you to join me in my sitting room. I listen for your entrance into the mansion, when you return from your meetings, hoping to hear your voice or to catch your scent. I wait, every night, for you to knock on my door, asking to join me.” She flushed at the confused wonder in his gaze. “I haven’t been able to express it, but I’ve needed you here, Morgan.”
“I can’t continue to live a parallel life, Hennie. I need my wife.” He waited as she bit her lip. “I need you.”
A tear tracked down her cheek. “I’m so afraid I’m no longer what you want. That I’ve changed irrevocably and that you’ll wish you had decided to look for someone new. Someone easier to be with.”
He yanked her against him, squeezing the air from her. “Hennie, how could you possibly believe that? I’ve loved you since we were children. Since I believed I had no hope of ever winning your affection. I will never give up on us. Never.”
“Oh, Morgan,” she murmured. “I know I don’t deserve you.”
“Shh, my love. You do. You deserve me and so much more.” He held her as she shuddered, understanding instinctively what he meant. “One day, Hennie. One day, we will have another baby. And she will grow to be strong and beautiful and brilliant. And she will know of her sister, who we cherished but lost.”
“Help me to believe,” she whispered as she curled into his embrace.
They cuddled in each other’s arms until long after night had fallen.
Chapter 7
Missoula, Montana; April 1920
Jeremy locked the workshop door, sighing with frustration that he was expected at his brother’s house for dinner. He wanted to go home, have a glass of prohibited whiskey, and contemplate his loneliness in peace. With a resolute firming of his shoulders, he turned away from the workshop and barreled into a woman walking down the boardwalk. She stifled a shriek as she stumbled backward, her arm reaching toward him but grasping at empty air as she fell.
Jeremy leaped forward and grabbed her around her waist, stifling a chuckle at her relieved sigh as he prevented her from tumbling to the ground. “Forgive me, ma’am. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Miss,” she whispered as she ducked her head, hiding bright hazel eyes, as she searched for her hat that had become dislodged. She found her hat but frowned when she did not see the hatpin anywhere around. A lose tendril of black hair shaped the side of one round cheek, and she continued to look down. “Thank you for your kind solicitude.”
“I would feel better if you would permit me to escort you home,” Jeremy said.
She flushed and met his inquisitive, concerned gaze. “No, … no, that won’t be necessary. And I’m certain it isn’t proper,” she said, as she backed away a step. “I’m certain you have places to go and people to see.” She gave him a small bob of her head and walked away as quickly as she could.
Jeremy turned to watch her departure, his gaze tracking her movement as she easily avoided other townsfolk. Soon she melded into the evening crowd. He shivered as an early spring breeze blew, and he decided he would join Gabriel and the family after all. “I need the distraction,” he muttered to himself. He turned toward Higgins, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck, pausing when he saw a bright silver stickpin with a turquoise top on the boardwalk near his foot. He bent over and picked it up, smiling as he realized this was the mysterious woman’s lost hatpin. He fingered it once and then put it in his pocket.
After a brisk walk over the bridge, he turned right toward Gabriel and Clarissa’s house. Ascending their porch, he paused and took a deep breath. After eighteen months, he chastised himself that he had not reconciled himself to entering Gabriel’s home alone. Jeremy fought winging out his arm for Savannah to grasp.
After another deep breath, where he kept his right elbow at his side by sheer force of will, he opened the door and let himself in. Chaos met his silent entrance, soothing his overwrought nerves.
Children’s high, happy voices called out to each other, as they played and raced around. The scent of roasting chicken mixed with the faint hint of almonds wafted from the kitchen. Indistinct women’s voices emerged from the kitchen, while he heard his brother and Colin laughing in the dining room.
“Uncle Jeremy!” Billy McLeod hollered, as he raced for him. He wrap
ped his small arms around Jeremy’s middle and beamed up at him. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to arrive.” He grabbed Jeremy’s arm and tugged him to the small play area, where the train set Gabriel had whittled for him sat in disarray.
“It looks as though it fell off the rails,” Jeremy said, unable to fight a smile at his impish nephew’s imagination and energy.
“It did!” Billy said, as he jumped up and down with enthusiasm. “There was a boulder, and it went bash.” He made a dramatic sound with his hands, earning a warning from his father. “I’m supposed to play quietly in the corner because Little Colin isn’t feeling well.” Billy shrugged. “I think he’ll feel better if he hears me playing and will want to get out of bed.”
Jeremy laughed at his nephew’s logic and tousled his black hair. He suspected Gabriel was using Little Colin’s illness as an excuse to try to temper Billy’s exuberance, as he doubted Little Colin could hear them from upstairs. “Come. Let’s put your train to rights and see how fast it can go.” He dropped to the floor and listened with avid interest as Billy described his day at school—the impromptu snowball fight with the early spring snow that led to the breakage of a school windowpane and the teacher’s anger.
“I spent an extra hour today at school,” Billy said, holding up his hand, as though showing how he’d suffered. “Can you see how it’s all cramped?” He frowned as his uncle seemed unable to discern the suffering he’d endured. “I had to write I will not throw snowballs on school property one hundred times.” He fell backward with his arms extended dramatically and stared at the ceiling.
“Oh, how they mistreated you,” Jeremy said, unable to fight a chuckle as he shared an amused smile with his brother. “If you promise to follow through with what you wrote, the next time it snows, I’ll have a snowball fight with you and then build a snow fort.”
Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine Page 11
