She pushed herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his chest. “I know. And I fear I depend too much on you. Lean on you too much.”
He kissed her head and chuckled. “Never. You’ll never know how much your faith in me means to me.”
“What will we do?” she whispered.
“Hush, love, don’t cry.” He swiped at her tears and smiled at her. “Our children are safe. We are with family, and we will never have to face this alone.”
“But he has so much power,” she whispered, then slumped in on herself.
Patrick’s jaw firmed as he considered what she said, thinking about Gabriel and Jeremy’s cousin, Samuel Sanders. He held a powerful position in the Anaconda Company in Butte and relished wielding his influence. When Patrick had first moved to Butte, Samuel had been his boss and friend. He had not known that Samuel was using Patrick to gain access to his family, nor that his family’s defiance would lead to Fiona’s horrific abuse at his hands.
Although Patrick considered Rose to be his daughter, she was in fact Samuel’s unwanted offspring. “Our family has more clout than he likes to acknowledge. Jeremy is an extremely wealthy man, and Aidan has influence over US senators. I doubt anyone would want to offend him.”
She pressed into his arms. “I pray you are correct.” She breathed in his scent. “When I’m with you, held in your strong arms, I know we can face anything, Patrick.” She let out a stuttering breath. “It’s when I’m alone that my faith falters and that my fears sneak in.”
“Oh, my love. I wish I could be at home with you, but I can’t. I need to provide for us.” He watched her with solemn brown eyes, filled with regret.
She smiled and covered his lips with her fingertips. “Hush, I’m being selfish and foolish. I know you must go to work. Not only to provide for us but to also find your purpose outside of the home. I understand that.”
He took a deep breath. “Would you be upset if I no longer wanted to work for a mining company?” He watched her eyes widen at his whispered question. “I … I see beauty everywhere, Fee. I find my mind wandering at work. I no longer want to tally rows of numbers. I want to draw.”
Her eyes glowed with pleasure. “Draw?”
“Yes, like I used to when I was an architect.” He took a deep breath. “But I don’t ever want you to fear I won’t take care of us as a family.”
She cupped his cheeks and shook her head. “We have money put by, Jeremy. We can sell the house in Butte and buy a simpler place.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “What I care about is that you’re happy. And I’ve known for some time that you’re not content at the mining company.”
He groaned with delight and pulled her into his arms. “Oh, Fee, thank you,” he rasped. After a few moments, he whispered in her ear, “What would you think about moving to Missoula?”
She relaxed in his arms. “I’d love to be near family all the time, not only for a few weekends a year.”
After he kissed her head, he looked at the crib and the cot, where their children slept. “Soon we will live here, Fee. Mrs. Smythe will not dare attempt anything here against us. I’ll keep us safe. I promise you.”
* * *
April 23, 1920
My Dearest Geraldine,
I would like to use so many other words, other than dearest, but I fear I will scare you away. You are never far from my thoughts, as I attempt to reenter the world after a war. I imagine you beside me, as I watch spring unfurl in Montana. The snowpack in the mountains clings to crags and crevices of the peaks, and it glistens in the sunshine. My breath catches at the indescribable beauty of watching the sunrise each morning. Zylphia’s painting in my parents’ living room almost does it justice.
I know the snow will remain on the very top of the mountains for the entire summer, but I catalog the changing seasons by its slow retreat. I saw a robin a few days ago, and the meadowlark’s lilting song provides solace when I need to escape the confines of my parents’ house or the sawmill. I take comfort in the constancy of nature. The understanding that the seasons will continue as they always have is a balm to my weary soul.
My siblings, who were delighted when I first arrived home, are already regretting my return. My brothers had enjoyed having more space in the room we share. And they are exasperated with my night terrors.
I would only share with you that they continue because you witnessed my attacks. You held me as I shook and attempted to make me realize that the terror of my dream was not the blessing of my reality. I miss your arms around me. Your gentle voice. The subtle scent you wear that grounded me and that reassured me that the Front was thousands of miles away. The sense of peace I felt in your presence. I cherish the memory of our time together and also dream of future hours where I have the privilege of spending them with you.
Your,
Nickie
Chapter 10
In early May, Jeremy saw Eleanor walking in the direction of the library, and he trotted to catch up with her. “Miss Bouchard,” he called out, as he neared her side. He smiled at her as she paused and looked at him. “Would you allow me to walk with you?” He had seen her frequently during the past weeks at the library and at two dinners at his brother’s house. However, they had rarely had any time alone.
She nodded. “Yes, that would be pleasant.”
He refrained from extending his arm for her as curious bystanders watched their interaction. “Where are you headed?” he asked, as he matched her slower pace.
“To the library. A shipment of new books arrived yesterday, and I wanted time to look through them before tomorrow.”
He nodded and then smiled in a mischievous manner. “I imagine you enjoyed having an excuse to escape your family’s Sunday afternoon meal,” he said in a teasing voice. When she blushed, he chuckled.
After a moment, where she studied him as he nodded with affable grace to those they passed, she asked, “Why aren’t you with your family?”
His smile broadened. “I had a project that needed to be finished.” He shrugged and shared a conspiratorial smile with her. When they reached the library, he waited as she extracted her keys and unlocked the front door. “I wish you luck with your unpacking,” he said.
“Would you … ?” She bit her lip at blurting out anything. When he watched her with frank curiosity, she firmed her shoulders and asked, “Would you like to help me?”
His eyes brightened, making them appear jade in color, and he nodded. “I thought you’d never ask.” He squeezed her shoulder as he slipped past her and moved farther into the library, where he saw a few boxes of books. He heard her lock the door and glanced at her. “You aren’t worried about your reputation?”
She flushed and shook her head. “Would you mind moving those to the table in the back room?”
He laughed. “So you wanted a beast of burden?” He hefted the box and frowned at its weight. “Don’t even think about lifting one of these on your own. You’d harm yourself.”
“I’m sure I could manage,” she muttered.
“I admire independence as much as the next man but not stupidity,” he said, taking a deep breath after setting the box on the low table. Opening the box for her, he moved aside so she could work. Soon he had transferred all the boxes to the back room.
As she pulled out books with a near reverence, he studied her. Although she was nothing like Savannah in appearance, he was drawn to her as he had never been drawn to any woman other than Savannah. Although Eleanor wore stylish clothes, she could not match Savannah’s flair for fashion. Where Savannah had been svelte with an air of fragility, Eleanor was curvy, and he sensed an inner strength in her. Eleanor had lush black hair that had a penchant for falling out of its harsh bun. He took a deep breath as he battled the many memories of Savannah’s strawberry-blond hair in disarray.
However, as he considered Eleanor, the woman he was coming to know, he realized that, in essential ways, she was like Savannah. Stronger than she gave herself credit for. Able to overcome t
he bullying and belittling of her mother. Able to find the joy in the simple aspects of life. He took a stuttering breath as he fought panic at the thought of what this woman could come to mean to him. He jerked as she spoke, breaking into his thoughts.
“I know many people have said this to you, but I’m sorry your wife died,” Eleanor whispered, as she watched him staring into space. She frowned as he stiffened and then nodded his thanks. “I’ve only lost a grandmother, but that was hard enough.”
His gaze focused on her, the grief in his green eyes hidden by curiosity. “What was she like?”
Eleanor smiled with a distant look in her hazel eyes, as though seeing long-ago scenes. “The opposite of my mother. Generous, kind, with an infectious laugh. She wasn’t stingy with her love.” She flushed as though guilty for speaking unkindly about her mother.
When she saw no censure but only understanding in Jeremy’s gaze, she pulled out a chair and sat facing him. “She had black hair, like me, but brilliant blue eyes. Like your brother. They always twinkled, as though she were on the verge of telling a joke.” Her voice caught, and she flushed. “I should be accustomed to her loss. She died when I was fourteen.”
Jeremy reached out his hand and seemed to relax and exhale a relieved breath when she clasped it. After he squeezed her hand once, he laced their fingers together. “The finality of loss is the hardest for me.”
Eleanor’s eyes lit at his words, at him instinctively understanding her. “Yes. So many times over the years I’ve set out to walk to her home to speak with her or sat down to write her a letter and, only after I’ve begun, do I remember she’s gone.”
“She sounds like a remarkable woman,” Jeremy murmured.
Eleanor nodded. “She was pleased with me as I am, not as she wished I were.” Her cheeks flamed red at that admission. “I imagine you feel many layers of loss with the death of your wife.” She bit her lip as Jeremy stiffened.
“What do you mean?” His voice was raspy, and his green eyes shone even brighter, as though he were at risk of crying.
Shrugging, she whispered, “I feel like people only focus on the obvious. You lost your wife. They don’t consider that you had a good relationship with her. That she was your friend. The mother of your children. Your confidante.” She cleared her throat. “Few want to examine the many layers of loss.” He jerked, as though she had slapped him, and she pulled her hand away from his. “I beg your pardon. I’m too forward.” She hopped up from her chair but stilled when he set a hand on her hip.
“No,” he whispered. “No.” A tear tracked down his cheek. “No one has ever expressed an understanding of the many phases of grief I’ve experienced.” He let out a deep breath. “Gabe’s tried, but the thought of losing Clarissa is too much for him to bear.”
Eleanor reached out a shaking hand and ran it through his thick ebony hair. “I never meant to cause you more pain.”
“If you love, you will feel pain. I’m coming to accept that.” He dropped his head forward and rested his head against her midsection, causing her to catch her breath at the intimacy of the moment.
Although she had instinctively tensed when he rested his head against her, she now relaxed and ran her hands through his hair and over his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you believe it’s worth the pain?”
“Love?” He traced his strong fingers over her back. “Yes. For I’ve come to realize, if I live a life devoid of love, I live a life devoid of hope. And I can’t live such a life.” He turned his face and kissed her cloth-covered belly. “Thank you.” He eased back, although he kept his hands on her hips. “For challenging me and then soothing me.”
Her eyes shone with uncertainty, embarrassment, and adoration, all jumbled together. “I fear I’m not capable of surviving being toyed with.”
His eyes flashed with annoyance. “I have no desire to toy with you, Eleanor. But I refuse to lie to you. My wife died less than two years ago, and I do feel guilty for wanting you.” He frowned as her eyes filled with tears. He raised a trembling hand as he smoothed a finger over her satiny cheek. “But I do want you.”
She shook her head in confusion. “What does that mean?”
He rose and cupped his callused hands around her face, eliciting a shiver. “You are friends with the woman I consider a sister. You aren’t overwhelmed by my loud and rambunctious family.” His eyes shone with pride as he stared at her. “You’re good with Breandan.”
“What am I to you?”
He bent forward and brushed a featherlight kiss over her lips. After a moment, when she sighed, he deepened the kiss and hauled her forward the step that separated them, so she was held tight in his strong arms. One hand dove into her silky black hair, while the other dropped to her hips to pull her even closer, as he continued the kiss that made them both senseless. He groaned as he finally backed up a step, his chest heaving as he stared at her with passion-bright eyes. When he saw doubt and a flicker of shame in her gaze, his delight in their embrace faded. “What?”
“I … I know you’ll only ever desire this from me.” Eleanor ducked her head and slumped her shoulders forward, as though protecting herself.
“You’re wrong,” he murmured. He waited for her to speak and glowered at her downturned head, when she refused to look up at him. “But I will refrain from touching you or kissing you again, if that is what you desire.”
Her head jerked back, and she met his frustrated gaze. “I … I want more.”
His hands, still on her hips, fisted as though with agitation. “Do you have any idea how much you terrify me?” When she stared at him in awed uncertainty, he backed away a step, breaking all contact with her. “I know you loved before. I know you were to marry Cameron.” His voice was laced with loathing as he said Cameron’s name.
Her face grew taut at Cameron’s name, and she forced a smile. “I would never compare my disappointment over a broken engagement with the loss of your wife.” She turned away and picked up a book to set in another pile. “Thank you for your company today.”
“Eleanor, don’t shut me out,” Jeremy whispered. He watched her back move as she took a deep breath and then another. When she refused to turn around to face him again, he swore under his breath, grabbed his hat, and slipped from the library.
* * *
May 4, 1920
My Dear Nicholas,
Thank you for your recent letter. I am more sorry than I can ever express that you continue with night terrors. I wish I were there to comfort you. Does your mother know of what you suffer? I’m certain she would render any aid possible.
Now I can see you rolling your eyes and sighing with exasperation at my suggestion to discuss this with your mother. You’re a grown man who has no need to lean on his mother. However, as I watch my family recover from losses that have brought crushing pain, I have seen them depend on the constancy of each other’s love and support. I know your mother, and I know she would want to help you, if possible.
Suffering in silence in the hope of shielding her from your pain only leads to more misery. She is a wise woman, and I know that she is more aware of what torments you than you would like to believe. My mother always is. If you prefer, speak with uncle Sebastian. He has always considered you his son, and he would be honored to help you in any way possible.
As for me, I am honored that the memory of the time we spent together acts as a balm for you. I wish I could do more, but please accept the enclosed small token of friendship from me. I hope it helps alleviate at least one moment of your suffering.
Even as the miles separate us, know that the memory of holding you in my arms and of being held by you fills my dreams at night. My most fervent hope is that I will have more than mere memories in the future.
Your,
Geraldine
* * *
Jeremy slammed down a piece of oak, pulling out a chisel to begin working on crown molding for a lumber baron associated with the Anaconda Company, who had decided to build a ma
nsion in Missoula. Jeremy and Gabriel had won the bid to work on his mansion, and they were busy building furniture and working on the finer aspects of the interior space. Jeremy had thought the baron would want simple crown molding to go with the clean, more modern look popular after the intricate fussiness of the Victorian Era homes.
However, the baron wanted dentil detailing. It was not as intricate a pattern as hand-carved floral leaves or an embossed wreath, but it still required quite a bit of work on their part. Gabriel had reminded Jeremy as he worked on the sixtieth piece of crown molding that he should be thankful the lumber baron hadn’t opted to use ready-made materials.
Jeremy set down his chisel and leaned against the workbench as he closed his eyes. He heard Gabriel and Ronan chattering behind him and envisioned Gabriel working on a beautiful mahogany desk for the man’s office, while Ronan cobbled a pair of boots. Their workspace—although now feeling a bit small, due to the size of their current commission and the amount of furniture stored in the downstairs space—had always been a welcoming space. Today he chafed against the confining brick walls.
He focused on his brother and their good friend, when Jeremy realized their tools had gone silent. He looked over his shoulder at his eldest brother and frowned. “Are you all right?”
Gabriel watched him with an unfathomable depth of love and understanding. “I think that question is one you should ask yourself.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and looked away from his brother for a moment. Although he had always enjoyed working with his brother and Ronan, recently Jeremy had longed for the days in Boston, many years ago before he had moved to Montana, when he had worked alone. When Savannah visited him, and they had time without interference from family and friends. “Fat lot of good that did me yesterday,” he muttered to himself. He rubbed at the stiff muscles at the nape of his neck and then turned and sat near Ronan and Gabriel.
Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine Page 16
