Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine

by Flightner, Ramona

  Jeremy looked to the kitchen and strode to the door. He poked his head in, interrupting one of Ronan’s stories. “Eleanor just arrived, in case you want to meet her.”

  Colin dropped a dish in the sink, causing a clunk but thankfully not a shattering noise, and Gabriel stared at Jeremy in wide-eyed wonder. Ronan hit Gabriel in his shins as he rolled his wheelchair to the door. He had been injured in Butte in the mining accident that had killed their good friend Liam in 1901 and had been confined to a wheelchair ever since.

  “Out of my way, Jer. This is more interesting than retelling stories from my time in Butte with Gabe.” Ronan winked at him as he came out with Jeremy by his side. When he had settled near one of the settees, Jeremy placed a snoozing Breandan in his arms. “There’s my beautiful boy,” Ronan crooned, as he stroked a hand over Breandan’s head.

  Jeremy looked up to see Eleanor laughing at something Lucas said before Billy tugged her to the floor to play with him. Jeremy caught her gaze and saw her smile soften at the sight of Ronan holding his son. Jeremy cleared his throat and looked away, as his chest tightened, then nodded his head at something Patrick said, although Jeremy had no idea what had been spoken.

  Gabriel slung an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He whispered in his brother’s ear, “So that’s her.” When Jeremy nodded, Gabriel gave him a pat. “She seems to fit in if she’s already on the floor playing with Billy. Most women would find it distasteful to crawl around, looking for marbles or toy soldiers.”

  “I don’t know much about her, Gabe,” Jeremy said, as he looked away. “But I find that I want to.”

  Colin had joined the fray and was now on the floor with Lucas, Eleanor, and Billy. Colin must have said something irreverent because Eleanor looked at him in shock for a moment before bursting into giggles. Jeremy stood stock-still as he beheld her natural joy. Her eyes glowed; her skin shone a healthy pink, and she lost the defensive curve of her shoulders, as though awaiting an attack.

  “She reminds me of Clarissa when she first arrived from Boston,” Gabriel said. “Leery, but desperate to break free of the pain of her past.” He squeezed his brother’s arm before moving around the groups of people and joining his wife.

  Jeremy sat beside Ronan and watched as Eleanor seamlessly joined their tight family unit.

  “Don’t think you don’t deserve happiness, Jer,” Ronan murmured to him.

  Jeremy nodded. “I continue to tell myself that I do.” He looked at Ronan. “Some days I believe it more than others.” He smiled as he saw Billy pick up the small package Eleanor had brought. “Billy, no.”

  Billy looked at him in frustration. “But I want to open it.”

  Clarissa flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not for you, Billy.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “It’s for …” She looked with confusion at the group and then smiled with relief as she remembered. “For Patrick.” She stood and handed him the small package. “Happy birthday.”

  Patrick looked at her with a mixture of shock and amusement. “How is it that someone I’ve never met bought me a birthday present and my own family didn’t?” He teased his family as they groaned. Araminta threw a pillow at him, and he laughed. “May I open it now?”

  “Open it! Open it!” Billy said, as he bounced on his knees in excitement.

  Eleanor looked at the family and flushed with embarrassment. “I never meant to cause any problems,” she murmured, as she stepped to the side of the group and next to Jeremy.

  Jeremy reached out his hand and squeezed hers. “You didn’t. We tease each other a lot. Patrick asked us not to get him gifts this year after we bought him horrible presents last year.”

  “Who would want six pairs of matching socks, pantaloons, and suspenders in purple, fuchsia, and puce?” Patrick asked with a chuckle. He shook his head while his family roared with laughter at the prank they had pulled the previous year. “Fiona suggested no presents this year.”

  “Spoilsport,” Colin said, with deep affection to his sister-in-law.

  Patrick looked at the small box and ripped it open. Inside was a small red handkerchief. “Red?” Patrick asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Eleanor blushed when everyone looked to her. “I didn’t know how old you were. If you were a boy, I thought you could use it, like I’ve read about how bullfighters use red capes as you play.” She fought a smile as Billy reached for it, saying, “Yay!”

  “I think it’s olé,” Jeremy murmured with a chuckle.

  “If you were grown, I hoped you’d find some use for it.” She flushed. “It was a silly thought.”

  Patrick shook his head. “On the contrary. It was very thoughtful. Thank you, Miss Bouchard.”

  “Eleanor,” she said. “Please, I hope you’ll all call me Eleanor.”

  Jeremy tugged on her hand, encouraging her to sit on a vacant spot on a settee next to Araminta. Eleanor continued to interact with Billy, encouraging him as he played with his soldiers and used her feet as fort walls. She winked at the boy when his father moved his feet, ruining his attempt to have high ground.

  “Do you mind, Eleanor?” Araminta asked, as she held baby Lily to her to be held. She watched her with frank curiosity, as though testing her to see how she’d react.

  “Not at all,” Eleanor said, as she made a funny face at the four-month-old. “Oh, aren’t you beautiful,” she cooed. She tickled Lily’s toes and then bounced her in her arms, as Lily fussed for a few moments before settling. Soon Lily fell asleep. Eleanor looked to Jeremy with wonder. “I’ve never seen a baby calm so quickly after being passed to a stranger.”

  “She knows all of us and feels safe here. She’s used to being passed from loving arms to loving arms. She has no reason to believe you would not cherish her as she is used to.” Jeremy ran a hand over his niece’s back. He met Eleanor’s gaze and frowned to see her battling tears. “What did I say?”

  She held Lily close and kissed the top of her head. “You have no idea what it is to come from a family who doesn’t cherish you, do you?” she whispered.

  His eyes shone with the torment of his childhood memories, and he shook his head. “Oh, I do, Miss Bouchard. I do.” His head jerked to the kitchen door, where Araminta stood holding a birthday cake with candles lit. He motioned to his brother, and they began singing for Patrick. Colin warbled out of tune; Clarissa’s voice was sweet and pure, and the children jumped around Patrick with glee.

  “I love cake,” twelve-year-old Myrtle said with a contented sigh, as she cuddled up next to her mother, causing all the adults to laugh.

  Araminta set the cake on the dining room table and motioned for Patrick to join her. “It’s your birthday, Patrick. You must cut the cake and make a wish.”

  He rose to stand beside her. He closed his eyes, and his lips moved, as though saying a silent litany. He opened his eyes, looking in the direction of Jeremy and Eleanor. “May we have many new additions to our family and continued happiness.” He cut the cake to a roar of agreement.

  * * *

  Later that evening Jeremy insisted on walking Eleanor home. “It’s the least one of us can do after you braved meeting the family,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. “I hope you enjoyed your evening with the McLeod-Sullivan-Russell gang.”

  She shook her head, and he frowned. He stiffened and backed up a step. “I beg your pardon. If you found our company …” He broke off as he fought to find a word but could not.

  “No,” she said, as she reached out, as though she were to grip his arm, and then dropped her hand to her side. “You misunderstand.” She looked to Clarissa and Gabriel’s house, where she could still hear laughter as Colin chuckled at something as he said his goodbye. “I … I’ve never been around a group of people who truly like each other. Who treat each other well and who find joy in the accomplishments of their loved ones.”

  Jeremy looked at her in sympathy. “That’s what family does. Or should do,” he murmured.

  She huffed out a frustrat
ed breath. “That’s what your family does, Mr. McLeod. Not mine.” After a moment she whispered, “Never mine.”

  “Tell me about your family,” Jeremy urged after a few beats of silence passed.

  When he’d winged out his arm in her direction, she shrugged and looped her arm through his. “They are supportive of those they believe merit such consideration. To those they deem unworthy, such kindness is rarely bestowed.” When he remained silent, she said, “For example, my cousin Bartholomew Bouchard, is seen as an exemplary young man, since he has traveled extensively and had numerous business dealings in New York and San Francisco. Uncle Vaughan considers himself fortunate to have one such as Bartholomew working at his bank.”

  Jeremy thought for a few moments. “What surprised you about tonight?”

  Her hand tightened on his arm for a moment, and then she relaxed. “What shocked me the most was that you celebrated everyone’s accomplishments. Not just the men’s.”

  He looked at her with a perplexed expression and then fought a glower. “I’m sorry you were never seen as remarkable as you are.”

  They walked in silence a few minutes.

  He cleared his throat. “Forgive me for gossiping, but I remember hearing a story about you when I first arrived in Missoula. For some reason I thought you were Mrs. Vaughan’s daughter.”

  She stared at him in confusion. “No, I am not Veronica, Mrs. Vaughan’s daughter. She is married with children and lives in Seattle and is deemed quite accomplished.”

  “But you were the one to marry Cameron Wright?” he asked, watching her curiously as she stiffened beside him a moment.

  After a long pause, she murmured, “Yes. I traveled to Seattle after my … disappointment.” She forced a laugh. “And I’m most definitely my mother’s daughter.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked with a curious quirk of his head. “From my few encounters with you, you don’t dress in flamboyant colors. You know how to whisper, and you do not seem to have a penchant for spiteful gossip. How are you your mother’s daughter?” He winked at her as she seemed to flush with pleasure.

  She shrugged and then asked, “Where is your son?”

  “Genevieve will make sure he gets home, and she’ll tuck him in. I doubt he’ll need a bedtime story, as he was tuckered out after playing with his cousins. I’ll look in on him, after I see you’re safely home.” He looked at her. “I have a large home. Lucas’s and Patrick’s families stay with me when they are in town.”

  “Where is your wife?” she blurted out and then gaped at him in horror, as the question seemed to have popped out, uninhibited.

  His green eyes clouded with grief. “She died. Eighteen months ago from the Spanish influenza.” He took a stuttering breath. “As did our daughter, Melinda.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” Eleanor whispered. She attempted to slip her hand free of his arm, but he held his free hand over hers and gave her fingers a squeeze.

  “It’s all right. I assumed your mother would have gloated about my loss to you.” He flushed and ducked his head. “Forgive me. That was uncharitable.”

  Eleanor made a small sound, either trying to soothe him or her. “No, that is how my mother acts and speaks. However, she is fixated on Clarissa and Colin. She loathes them with a passion that I fear will never die.”

  “And, by extension, anyone associated with them.” He sighed when she shrugged her agreement. “I don’t know why your mother dislikes Clarissa. I always assumed it had something to do with the library.”

  “No, it’s because of me,” Eleanor whispered. “But that’s a tale for another day.” She paused as they were about to turn up a street. “My parents’ house is the third one down. It would be better if my mother didn’t see you escort me to the door.” She eased her arm from his hold. “Thank you, Mr. McLeod.”

  He gripped her gloved hand. “Jeremy,” he said with a passionate intensity. “For I already consider you Eleanor.” He traced a finger over her cheek and then backed away a step. “Sweet dreams.” He watched as she scurried down the path to the home she had indicated. When she reached the door, she waved at him.

  “Sleep well,” he murmured, while he waited a moment longer before turning for home.

  When he arrived home, he looked into his office and found Lucas, Patrick, and Uncle Martin waiting for him. “Hello,” he said to them all, seated in the comfortable chairs in front of the fire, drinking his contraband whiskey. “Make yourselves at home,” he said with a wry smile.

  Lucas winked at him and raised his glass. “We will.” He stretched out his legs and motioned for Jeremy to join them. “Breandan is sound asleep, and he won’t know if you check on him now or when you head to bed. Vivie sang to him, when he fussed as she settled him in his crib, and he went right back to sleep.”

  “I’ll have to thank her,” Jeremy murmured. He moved to a nondescript piece of furniture, extracted a key from one of the drawers, and unlocked a hidden cabinet. That opened up a secret compartment that held a decanter of whiskey. He poured himself a small amount, locking the cabinet shut, before sitting down with the men he considered brother, cousin, and surrogate father. They were all Clarissa’s family. Savannah’s family. He raised his glass. “Slainte.”

  They raised theirs and drank a silent toast. “You know Vivie doesn’t want thanks. She loves Breandan and enjoyed having a little time with one of her favorite nephews,” Lucas said.

  Jeremy sipped his whiskey and remained quiet.

  “Eleanor seems a nice woman,” Patrick noted, as he rested his arms over his belly and stretched out his legs, as though warming his feet near the fire. He looked at Jeremy, then to Lucas when Jeremy remained quiet. “I wonder what her mother will say when she discovers Eleanor’s spent the evening with our family.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I think you underestimate Eleanor.” He took a small sip of his drink, his gaze distant, as he looked into the flickering flames. He frowned as Lucas and Patrick rose, leaving him alone with Martin, Savannah’s father. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Martin looked at him in confusion. “Why are you sorry, Jeremy?” When he met Jeremy’s bleak stare, he further settled into his chair, the leather creaking around him. “I won’t lie to you. Seeing you watch another woman with the delighted gleam in your eye, the way you watched my Savannah, was difficult.” He closed his eyes. “It was gut-wrenching.”

  Jeremy jumped up and paced to the mantel, his head bowed so that he wasn’t looking at the painting of Savannah holding baby Breandan a few days before her death. Of himself with his arms around the two of them, his expression one of a man with the world at his feet. “I won’t see her again. It was insensitive of me.”

  Martin made a disgruntled noise and slammed down his whiskey tumbler. “No, Jeremy. I have to mourn my daughter and my granddaughter in my own way. As you must mourn your wife and daughter.” He took a stuttering breath. “That does not give me the right to insist you never find happiness again. That you never look at another woman with interest or admiration again.” He paused as Jeremy met his gaze. “Or with love.”

  Jeremy massaged the back of his neck and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I … I don’t know if I can love again, sir.”

  Martin rose and gripped Jeremy’s shoulder. “I know you can. And I know my Savannah would want you to.” He met Jeremy’s devastated, guilt-riddled gaze. “She would want you to remember her and to always honor the memories you had with her, but she would never want you to remain mired in the past, unable to find joy again. That’s not who Savannah was.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Sav was generous and kind and loving.” He looked at Martin and stepped away from him. He heard Martin sigh, as though in frustration, but Jeremy moved to his desk to retrieve the letter Savannah had left for him. Although he’d told Gabriel about the letter, he’d never given it to anyone else to read. “She left me a letter. In her vanity. It took me over a year to find it.” He held it out to Martin.


  “Are you sure, son?” Martin asked. At Jeremy’s nod, Martin lightly clasped the piece of paper with extreme care. His eyes filled as he opened it and saw Savannah’s handwriting. “Oh, my darling girl,” he whispered with reverence as a tear trickled down his cheek. He moved to the chair he had recently vacated and began to read.

  After many minutes he looked up to Jeremy and smiled. “I knew she was generous, and this proves it.” He kissed the paper before handing it back to Jeremy. “When did you meet your Eleanor?”

  Jeremy let out a stuttering breath. “Earlier this month. A few months after reading this letter. I remained unconvinced I could do as Savannah asked, but something shifted inside me after reading this.” He placed the piece of paper back in the keepsake box on his desk. “I worry …” He paused and flushed as he looked down.

  “What is it, son?” Martin asked.

  Jeremy sat beside him again. “I worry that a woman has a right to more than I can offer her. I loved Savannah with every part of me. I can’t imagine loving like that again.” He looked at Martin in frustration. “Would that be fair to Eleanor?”

  With a deep sigh, Martin shook his head. “You are still discovering if you want to deepen your acquaintance with your Eleanor. I’d worry about that before you worry about disappointing her.” Martin sobered. “I know what it is to live with a woman I could never make happy. If you fear she will always want something you are unable to give her, then I hope you will find someone who can accept who you are and what you can offer her.”

  Jeremy’s eyes clouded at the reminder of Martin’s unhappy marriage to Savannah’s mother, Matilda. “I’m sorry, sir. I forgot that you suffered too.”

  “Your agony is more acute because you loved with all that you are. Mine was more a slow death by a thousand lashes. Every cutting remark and disapproving look ate away at my love and my regard until nothing was left except an icy tolerance of her presence.” Martin looked at Jeremy. “Choose wisely, like you did with my Savannah.”