Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine

by Flightner, Ramona

  When they rose, Morgan stood and carefully transferred the sleeping Lizzie to Lucas, kissing her one last time on the head as he let her go. The two men shook hands as the sisters embraced.

  “We’ll see you soon,” Parthena whispered. As she watched them leave, she waited for the front door to click shut before turning to stride across her room to her piano.

  “Hennie,” Morgan whispered.

  “Not now, Morgan. I must play,” she said in a low voice. “I must …” She broke off as she sat and took a deep breath. Soon a deep, mournful piece poured from her. When she raised her gaze from the keyboard to see he had slipped from the room, she allowed the tears to course down her cheeks as she continued to play.

  * * *

  Lucas sighed with fatigue as he collapsed onto Sophie’s settee in her back sitting room. The rear window overlooking her neighbor’s green space was open, a slight breeze fluttering papers on her desk. He glanced at Zylphia’s painting of the Newport cliffs and then closed his eyes, relaxing for the first time since they had disembarked from the train. When the door opened, he remained on the settee, his eyes closed.

  “I fear you’ve become a heathen in your time in that godforsaken country,” Sophronia said in her scratchy voice. Her cane thunked with each of her steps, and he heard her give a slight sigh of relief when she eased herself into a chair.

  He cracked an eye open, grinning at the old woman who had been a friend for nearly two decades. “Hi, Sophie. If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d give you a hug.”

  “If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d insist you move to my front sitting room and play for me.” She pinned him in place with a severe stare, although her aquamarine eyes twinkled with merriment at the sight of him. “Don’t think I’m unaware for one moment of your motive in sitting back here.”

  “It’s quieter,” he protested.

  “Yes, and farther from the piano.” She harrumphed, although there was no bite to the noise. “I hope you’ll find the energy required to take the audience’s breath away again. The report of your return has been widely proclaimed in our newspapers.”

  Sighing, Lucas opened his eyes and met Sophie’s sardonic gaze. “You have even less respect for those newspapermen than I do.” He yawned. “I’m only thankful we’re staying here and not in some hotel.” He shuddered. “In Minneapolis, when we stopped to rest for a few days, an intrepid fan attempted to sneak into our hotel room. She refused to believe I was happily married.”

  “You call her intrepid. I call her delusional,” Sophie said, then stomped her cane down with a loud thunk. “Ever since the War ended, brazenness has become commonplace.” She shook her head in disgust.

  Lucas tapped his fingers on his thighs, as though playing a piece, even though he was far from a piano keyboard. “For those who fought and lost loved ones in either the War or the influenza epidemic, you can understand the desire to grasp at life and to not wait for it to pass them by. Too many have died too young in recent years.”

  “Be that as it may, young man, my generation did not act like flappers without any common sense.” She shook her head.

  “Ah, but you still had alcohol to temper your strong emotions,” he murmured. “Now the youth are faced with the understanding of their imminent demise, and they have no way to dull that knowledge. Not a combination for harmony.”

  Sophronia looked at him and then rolled her eyes, cackling at his logic. “You are incorrigible, my boy. I know you are wise enough to understand that the majority of the good citizens have never had the need to give up their libations. They’ve merely had to conceal it.”

  Lucas nodded. “I fear you are correct. Although I remain hopeful you have a small stash sequestered in your house.” At Sophie’s shake of her head, he groaned and rested his head against the back of the couch. “I should visit Aidan McLeod. I’m certain he’s like his nephews.”

  “Why would Aidan be like his nephews?” Genevieve asked, as she entered the room. She smiled at Sophie but held herself back, as she was not as well acquainted with the elderly woman as her sister or Lucas’s family was.

  “Ah, Genevieve,” Sophie said in a welcoming tone. “It is wonderful to have you here. Please forgive me for being away when you arrived.” She paused as she watched Lucas sit up and place an arm around his wife’s shoulder when she sat beside him on the settee. “I trust your rooms are satisfactory?”

  Genevieve smiled. “I fear you should never leave Boston or the comfort of your friend’s homes.” She met Sophronia’s confused stare. “Our rooms are opulent and far more sumptuous than anything we are accustomed to.” She squeezed Lucas’s hand as he murmured his agreement. “We will be very comfortable.”

  Sophronia gave a small harrumph of approval. “Good. You should know every comfort.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I will have you know that Aidan is irritated you chose to stay with me rather than Delia and him.”

  Lucas groaned, his head flopping backward to bounce against the back of the settee. “You have a wonderful piano. You have a butler who is worse than a bulldog and will keep away those we don’t want to visit us. And the Common and Public Gardens are right here. Why wouldn’t we want to be at your home?”

  Genevieve swatted him on his arm, as Sophronia watched him with amusement. “And you are a gracious host and a marvelous friend,” she said, giving a meaningful look at her husband.

  “Of course you are. You already know that.” He winked at Sophie, who stared at him with fond tenderness. “She was my champion before I even knew I needed one.”

  “As she was for Savannah,” Genevieve murmured, causing Sophronia and Lucas to sober.

  “Tell me, my boy, how is Jeremy?” Sophronia demanded as she watched for any prevarication or hesitancy.

  “Recovering,” Lucas said, as he eased his hold on Genevieve. He shrugged and flushed as he met Sophie’s patient stare. “He’s interested in a woman, and I fear it will only lead to heartache. Although I’m not sure it will be his or hers.” He sighed, sitting up and rubbing at his head, before leaning on his elbows. “And I’m impatient with myself because I begrudge him the fact that he could find joy again. Without my sister.” Although he had spoken with Jeremy months ago, a lingering dissatisfaction remained.

  Sophie frowned as she studied him. “That’s not like you,” she said softly. “Why would you act like that?”

  He shrugged. “I miss her. Every day it’s like a bullet to my gut that she’s not here. That I can’t telephone her or visit her. That I can’t hear her laugh or listen to her tell me about one of Melly’s escapades.” His brown eyes flashed with anger. “That I have to witness another woman raise her child.”

  “Oh, my boy,” Sophie whispered. “Savannah wouldn’t want you to feel this way.” She paused, as though gripped by the memory of Savannah. “She would want you to find joy in every day and to rejoice in the ongoing opportunity for happiness and love. That is who she was.”

  Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know,” he whispered. “At times I fear my sorrow will overshadow who she was.”

  “If anyone knew the fleeting nature of life, it was Savannah,” Sophie murmured. She saw Lucas understood her meaning when he nodded. “Find peace with your loss, Lucas, so that you can exult in the future, as your dear sister would have wanted.”

  Lucas stared into Sophie’s wise gaze for a long moment before releasing a pent-up breath and nodding. “Somehow I know that I will find it here. In Boston.”

  * * *

  That evening Parthena sat in the sitting room between her and Morgan’s rooms, staring at the moonlight. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled on the cool June evening. Her gaze was unfocused as she relived the interactions in her sitting room from that afternoon. Seeing her sister again. Watching Morgan holding her niece. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, her hands rubbing at her temples.

  “Hennie?” Morgan asked. “It’s been a long day, and I’m going to bed.” He approached her to kiss her forehead,
before turning to enter his bedroom. She listened to the door latch, her breath ratcheting up as she stood, filled with indecision.

  After a moment, she took a few steps in the direction of her bedroom on the opposite side of the sitting room as Morgan’s, but then spun on her heel to his bedroom. She opened the door, giving a silent prayer of thanks for the well-oiled hinges that allowed it to open soundlessly, and stood on the threshold to his room. She watched as he tugged his shirt over his head, before tossing it on a chair. Soon he’d shucked the majority of his clothes, leaving only his underthings on before sliding under the sheets. She watched as he turned on his side and pounded on a pillow as he heaved out a breath, as though trying to ease his tension before forcing himself to sleep.

  “Morgan?” Parthena whispered. She gripped her hands together as she saw him jerk at her voice and sit up, the sheet falling down to his waist. “I … I …”

  He held his hand out to her, as though encouraging her to approach him. “It’s all right, Hennie,” he whispered.

  She shut the door behind her and walked on faltering legs to him. When she reached the side of the bed and stood beside him, she raised a shaking hand to touch her palm to his. She gasped when he clasped her hand and tugged her down to lay beside him.

  “Hennie,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “My Hennie.” He kissed her brow. “Finally in my bed and in my arms again.” He ran soothing hands over her arms as she shook. “Shh, love, holding you is enough.”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice thickened with tears. “No,” she cried out in distress, when his arms and hands dropped away from her. “Never let me go, Morgan.”

  “I can’t do both things, Hennie,” he said in a tortured voice. “I can’t hold you and comply with your wishes.”

  She flung herself into his arms, earning a grunt as her weight pushed him backward. She rested against his chest. “When I said, no, I meant holding you isn’t enough. It’s never been enough. I want more.” She waited as she heard his breath catch, and his hands caressing her back stuttered.

  “Tell me what you want,” he rasped. “I couldn’t bear to make a mistake with you. To harm you in any way.”

  She kissed his jaw, then his pulse point in his neck. “I want you. I need you. I’ve missed you.” Her voice broke. “So much.”

  With a growl, he propelled her onto her back and loomed over her. In the faint light from the lamp across the room, she saw an intense passion filling his gaze. “I’ve always wanted you, Hennie. I’ll always want you.” He leaned forward, kissing her ardently, groaning with delight and relief as she kissed him back and tugged at his hair to pull him even closer.

  Soon they stripped each other bare, and he kissed his way down her body. He paused when he reached her belly, kissing the faint stretch marks. He looked up at her with eyes lit with determination and hope. “Someday, Hennie, someday we will have another child to cherish. I promise you.” He waited until she nodded before he kissed her belly and moved up to kiss her lips again, the future and the past forgotten when they lost themselves to their present passion.

  * * *

  “What changed?” Morgan asked, as he traced fingers over Parthena’s silky back. “Why come to me tonight, when you’ve been reluctant to for the past months?” He kissed her head to ease any perceived criticism from his questions.

  She snuggled closer, her arms and legs wrapped around him. “I saw you. I saw what I’ve been denying you. Denying us both. And I was ashamed.”

  He shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

  She made a soothing sound and ran a hand over his chest. She lowered her face to kiss his chest, earning a stuttering breath from him at her outward display of affection. Of any action that could lead to passion. “You held Lizzie. I saw your joy as she played with your face.” She scooted up, propping herself on her elbows on his chest, her face half illuminated in the lamp’s light. “You fully laughed for the first time in nearly a year.” She traced fingers over his cheeks, as though finding the crinkles formed from laughter. “I hated realizing I’d denied you that joy.”

  “No, Hennie,” he whispered as he kissed her fingers. “You’ve never denied me joy. Don’t believe that.”

  “How can I not?” she asked. “I made the decision that I couldn’t bear to have another child. I decided that you were to be barred from my bedroom, depriving us of the opportunity to fully comfort each other through our misery.” She shook her head as her eyes filled. “I only thought of myself. I never thought of you. Of the harm I caused you. Of what I denied you.”

  “Shh, my love, you are too hard on yourself. We are not rational when we suffer.” He kissed her wet cheek and stroked a hand through her blond hair, tangling his fingers. “Do you know what gives me hope?” When she shook her head in confusion, he murmured, “You saw me today, holding a little girl, and you did not run from the room crying. You did not wail and bemoan our fate. Instead you saw what we could have. You began to dream again.”

  He watched as she nodded faintly at his words before arching up to kiss him. “You are brave and strong and resilient. You’ve needed this time to mourn.” His eyes were filled with sadness. “We will always miss our daughter. Tonight has restored my faith that we will have a resplendent future.” He pulled her into his arms, as she cried against his chest.

  Chapter 12

  Zylphia stood in front of a canvas in her studio, her head tilted to one side, as she glowered at the image. She had attempted to capture a morning storm threatening Boston’s harbor, but she instinctively knew something was lacking. She sighed with frustration because she could not discern what that something was.

  “You look as though you want to shred it,” Lucas said, smiling as Zylphia shrieked at his voice and then with joy at the sight of him. He opened his arms, hugging her close, with no concern for the paint stains that would mar his impeccably tailored suit.

  “Oh, Lucas,” she whispered. “I’ve tried to be patient. And Teddy told me that I should not visit you until you were ready for visitors.” She frowned in consternation. “But it’s been such a torment waiting for an invitation.” She hopped on her toes with delight. “And now you’re here!”

  He laughed at her exuberance. “Oh, Zee, how wondrous it is to see you haven’t changed. I hope you never do.”

  She motioned for him to wander the room or to sit on one of the red tufted-velvet chairs as she moved to the small sink to wash her hands and to shuck her apron. “How long are you in Boston?”

  He shrugged. “As you know, no more than a few weeks. Perry and I begin our rehearsals today, and our first show is next week. We’ll move on once Bostonians have had their fill of us.”

  She rolled her eyes, as she dried her hands on a towel. “We’ll never tire of having you in town. Although it is rare to have any music worthy of note in the summer.”

  Lucas nodded. “Yes, our agents were vexed we wouldn’t tour in the winter. They feared we wouldn’t earn him as much money.” He grinned at her. “It’s always a joy to prove the miserly man wrong.”

  Zylphia snorted, sitting with her legs tugged up underneath her on the settee. She reached up, freeing her thick black hair from its pins, and it cascaded down her back. “Ah, heaven,” she whispered, as the heavy weight swung loose. “I should cut my hair, like the flapper women do, but Teddy says he would mourn forever.”

  Lucas laughed. “Then I’d do what your husband wishes. For you don’t want him to be sad for all time.” He glanced around at the mixed-up bunch of paintings scattered around the room. “What’s your theme?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t really got one right now. I paint what strikes my fancy. Or try to,” she said with a wave to the painting drying on the easel. “I need to leave it for now before looking at it again with fresh eyes.” She smiled at the maid who entered with a tea tray, motioning for her to set it down and to depart. “I had a nice visit with Sophie yesterday.”

  Wi
ncing, Lucas picked up his cup of tea, although he didn’t take a sip. After a moment, he set it down. “I can only imagine what she said. Bitter brother unable to overcome the death of his sister. Resentful of any woman attempting to usurp her place.”

  “Lucas,” Zylphia said, a slight tone of admonishment in her voice. “That’s not how Sophie is. You know that. She adores you and worries about you.” She paused. “Although I wonder if you don’t battle guilt. Guilt that you wish you’d done more for her.”

  Lucas rubbed at his head. “I’ll always wish that.” He looked at Zylphia with a deep sadness. “I’ll always wonder how we could have prevented it.”

  “Don’t torment yourself like this, Lucas.” She bit her lip as she leaned forward and gripped his hand. “Have you ever considered that you aren’t honoring her memory by resenting the fact that Jeremy could find another woman, could be happy himself again, and could find a wonderful mother for Breandan?”

  Lucas sat, dumbstruck at her words.

  “I can’t imagine what it is to lose a sibling, as I am an only child. I do know that painting the portrait of Jeremy with Savannah and Breandan was as much for me as for them. It helped me mourn Melly.” She waited until Lucas nodded in understanding. “Consider it, Lucas.”

  * * *

  Lucas departed Zylphia’s house on Beacon Street and walked the few short blocks to his friend Perry Hawke’s house. Lucas marveled at Boston’s cobbled sidewalks rather than Montana’s wooden walkways and then tripped as his foot caught on one of the bricks. As he walked, he listened to the birds trill in the trees, pausing as he heard a mockingbird. He closed his eyes, listening to the entire repertoire as the mockingbird ran through calls from nine other birds. When the mockingbird paused to begin again, Lucas smiled and continued his short walk.