Zylphia drummed her fingers on the table. “Sophie knows everyone and seems to be due a favor from almost as many. Even she doesn’t know how to sway them to her way of thinking. If only President Wilson would make a more forceful statement for suffrage. Then his party members would follow his lead.”
Florence leaned forward and whispered, “Are we doomed as we just begin?”
Zylphia shook her head emphatically. “I refuse to concede defeat when it is only late June. Much can change between now and November. However, I think canvassing at this point is not a worthwhile endeavor. We need to put our energies into other activities that will have a greater impact.”
“Even though going door to door in Montana was essential for success?”
“It is essential, but I think it’s too early right now. We need to focus our energies on other things at this time.” Zylphia tapped the copy of the Remonstrance. “We must have a greater argument for women voting than the Antis have against us. And we must be more eloquent and more persuasive. Our newspapers must have better distribution.” She continued to tap the paper as she thought through a new approach.
“Well, as to that, I must be home soon. Richard has his hands full with the children.” She smiled fondly as though imagining the scene at home. “I can only envision the chaos that is occurring there.”
Zylphia laughed. “You love every minute of it.”
“I do,” Florence said with a broad smile. “Come for dinner. Richard and the children would love to see you.”
Zylphia nodded her agreement as she paid for their drinks. They rose and ran outside to catch the passing trolley. They laughed like schoolgirls as they jumped on the rear platform and bit their lips as the ticket taker reprimanded them for their foolishness.
Upon their arrival at Florence and Richard’s house, bedlam erupted the minute the front door opened. Little feet ran down the front hall, the boys screaming and waving small sticks in the air. Florence picked up one of her sons, holding him even when he wriggled to be set free. “What have I told you about running with dangerous objects?” she asked.
“It’s not dangerous, Mama. It’s a stick. And we’re playin’ cops ’n’ robbers.”
She kissed his head and let him down but kept a firm hold of one of his hands. “I fail to see what a stick has to do with it.”
“It’s my sword,” Gideon said, brandishing it with pride and nearly hitting her in the face as he flung it upward.
Zylphia giggled behind Florence. “I hope I’m allowed to play.”
“Zee!” he screamed, launching himself at her. “Oh, you’re the best! Come!” Gideon ordered, dragging Zylphia down the hallway to what had been the dining room but was now a bedroom filled with chattering boys.
A roar of approval greeted Zylphia’s arrival, and Florence shook her head as she walked into the kitchen, where Richard stood at the stove, humming lines from “Peg O’ My Heart.”
She paused as he burst into song, his deep voice forming a beautiful harmony as he whistled and sang a few lines from the chorus. “I love you,” he sang.
He whistled the next part of the chorus before singing, “I love you.” He continued to whistle the rest of the chorus before he returned to humming, and Florence giggled
“You never can remember more than those lyrics. Hello, darling,” she murmured as she wrapped her arms around Richard from behind and placed her cheek on the muscles between his shoulder blades. “Thank you for attempting to corral the boys’ chaos.”
He chuckled, setting down the spoon and turning to pull her into a hug. “Hello, my love. I’ve missed you and had to resort to singing love songs.”
Florence laughed and gave him a quick kiss.
Richard heard his sons’ voices and whispered, “Later,” to Florence. He turned again to the soup pot, giving it another stir. “Ian is insistent he’s too old to play with his brothers but then becomes caught up in running the whole show. He’s a bit bossy, but he still looks out for his brothers, and no one’s bled yet today.”
“A successful day then,” Florence said, smiling as she heard peals of laughter coming from the bedroom and Zylphia’s softer voice in contrast to her boys’ voices.
“How did you convince her to take time away from her day to come over?” Richard asked, pivoting to smooth a hand over Florence’s curly black hair.
“Don’t be rancorous, Richard. She’s busy with the cause. With her painting. Attempting to not mourn her young man. We need to be patient with her,” Florence said.
He kissed his wife on the forehead before returning to the stove again. “I know. But I’ve found I’ve missed her these past months, as have the boys.” He turned down the heat and moved to the icebox, taking out a pitcher of iced tea. He waved for Florence to sit and set down the pitcher as Zylphia entered the kitchen.
Her blue eyes shone with mischief and delight after playing with her young cousins. Her hair was in disarray, coming free of its pins, and her stockings had a run. However, Florence hadn’t seen Zylphia this carefree in months.
“Oh, it’s wonderful to spend time with the boys. I should come by more often,” she said. She rushed to Richard and grabbed him in a hug. “I’ve missed you, Richard.”
“And I you, Zee. Come. Sit. Tell us what you’ve been up to.” He motioned to the table, sharing a smile with Zylphia as she smirked at his stained apron.
“Oh, I have no interesting news. I paint. I write letters to England in the hopes one will come back to me with news of Teddy. And I work for the right to vote.” She took a sip of the tea he poured her. “I can’t believe you’re a man of leisure.”
He laughed. “I’m not. I thankfully have men at each shop who can run them without my presence. I stop into each location most days but take time off to be with my family too. Today was one of those days.” He shared a smile with Florence, who sat next to Zylphia. “And we’re never open on Sundays.”
Zylphia took a handful of early peas to be shelled and began to work while she chatted. “Do you have any news from Montana?”
Florence placed a large bowl next to her that they could share for discarding the shells and a small bowl in front of her for the peas. “Richard just received a letter last night,” Florence said, swiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she rose to retrieve the letter from the living room. She returned, handing it to her husband.
He flipped it open and smiled at the familiar handwriting. “It’s from Gabe. I still can’t believe he’s so far away, even after all these years.” He looked down at the letter. “He says that they’re all doing well. The children are growing faster than he can believe, and they are excited for the fair later this summer.” He scanned over the next few lines. “Clarissa still mourns Mr. Pickens, although it helps her to work part time again at the library. She and Miss Loken seem to have come to a truce.” He smiled as she looked at Zylphia and Florence. “It appears that Miss Loken has an admirer in one of Colin’s blacksmiths, and she’s worried about the library if she were to marry.”
Zylphia smiled. “I’m happy for Miss Loken. She deserves to find happiness after she had a rough start in Missoula.” Zylphia frowned. “I can still hear Mr. Pickens sometimes. It’s like he’s there, giving me his irreverent advice when I don’t know what to do. It’s hard to realize he’s gone, but I know he would be happy that Clarissa is again at the library. I never became well acquainted with Miss Loken, but I’m glad their animosity is behind them.”
Richard nodded. “Gabe remains busy with work. He and Jer work on lots of fine molding and finish work on some of the finer houses in Missoula along with their furniture commissions.”
“I’d think they’d take on someone else,” Florence said. Richard nodded his agreement.
“How are Jeremy and Savannah?” Zylphia asked. “I loved staying with them last summer, and Melinda was a joy.”
Richard set aside the letter. “I believe they are well. Enjoying Melly, but I think Jeremy worries what Savannah will do once their daugh
ter is grown.” He shared a glance with Florence. “I know Flo and I don’t agree on this, but I think they should adopt another child. They would be wonderful parents, and I think it would help ease Savannah’s hurts.”
“She’ll never fully recover from the loss of her daughter, Richard,” Florence said, her voice harsh.
Richard looked down at his lap, momentarily chastised by his wife. His good humor had evaporated with her comment, and he sat there, somber and serious. “I know you never fully recover, Flo. I would never suggest that. Or that Sav should forget. I merely thought it might help ease her sorrow.”
Zylphia watched the two of them, and her hands, busy shelling peas, stilled. She reached one hand to Richard and one to Florence. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you remember a time you’d rather forget.”
“As Florence says, we’ll never forget the daughter we barely knew,” Richard said, rising and breaking contact with Zylphia. He reached for the stew pot and gave it a quick stir before whacking the spoon on the pot’s edge. “I, for one, refuse to live in the past, dreaming of what could have been. I far prefer to live in the present.”
He turned to face the two women, Zylphia with a look of entreaty and Florence glancing at the table, her hands continuing to prepare the peas for dinner. Zylphia shook her head at him in dismay and rose, mumbling something about seeing how her young cousins were.
Richard moved to Florence and sat across from her. His large callused hands, battered from years working at the smithy, reached forward and stilled her erratic movements. “Florence, I wasn’t criticizing you. I never would. Nor would I ever forget our daughter. I never could.” He waited long moments for her to raise her eyes to meet his worried gaze.
“I don’t know why I’m so prickly,” she whispered. “I love our boys. I love our life. I’m sorry.”
He stroked a hand down her cheek, his caress soothing a part of her ache. “There’s never a need to apologize,” he whispered.
“Yes, there is. Especially when I’ve nurtured a resentment in my heart toward you. And it was wrong of me. I know it,” she said, lowering her gaze.
His brows furrowed as he studied her. “You’ve hidden your anger well. Are you unhappy with me? With our life?”
She flinched at the pain she heard in his voice. “I’m not, not really. There are moments when the grief overwhelms me.” She rose and sat in a chair next to him, snuggling into his side. “But then one of the boys does something, and I laugh, and joy comes back into my life. Or you return home with a crazy story from the smithy, and it’s like old times. But there’s this ache in me that never goes away.”
“It doesn’t for me either,” he admitted.
“It never seems as though you were as sad as me. And that hurts.”
“It’s also unfair,” he whispered. “Would it have helped you to see me sob in my uncle’s arms the weeks after we lost her? Would it have helped you to see Zylphia and Delia attempt to boost my spirits so I could return home to you, strong and able, as the husband you needed?”
He looked around the controlled chaos of the kitchen. “I love our life. I love our boys. Do you want to try for another child?”
“If we are gifted with another child, I will rejoice. But I don’t want to tempt fate.” Florence entwined her fingers with his.
“Be brave, Flo. Dare to grasp what your heart desires,” Richard entreated.
“I must learn to be content with what I already have,” she murmured. She smiled at Zylphia as she reentered the room, their quiet moment lost.
Richard rose and pulled down plates and bowls for dinner, handing them to Zylphia. She set the table, the previous topic of conversation ignored as they discussed the struggle for universal enfranchisement and the women they had met that day.
5
Parthena stood in her bedroom, staring out the window dressed in her wedding finery. She fingered the lace curtain and ignored her three younger sisters bustling around the room. “Could you leave me alone for a few minutes before we have to depart?” She heard her sisters leave, the click of the door a signal that she was alone.
She closed her eyes as she battled nerves, envisioning the upcoming day. She took a deep breath as she banished thoughts of the wedding night, refusing to contemplate Morgan’s touch after knowing such tenderness from Lucas. When her bedroom door opened, she swiveled to reprimand the person invading her last few moments of privacy as a single woman. However, the words lodged in her throat as she beheld Sophronia, vibrating with fury. The door shut behind her, nearly soundlessly.
“Well, my girl, you’ve embroiled yourself in a mess. What are you going to do to extricate yourself?” Sophie glowered at Parthena’s silence. Sophie wore an ice-blue dress that highlighted her regal bearing and enhanced her aged beauty. She marched to a lady’s chair near Parthena and sat with an appreciative sigh.
“You failed to notify me or your uncles of your distress or of any need for aid. What could we do to help you if you refused to ask for it?” Sophie’s aquamarine eyes shone with disappointment.
Parthena stood tall in her wedding finery, her veil undulating with her movements. “I made my choice to help my sisters and my family.”
“Will it bring you happiness? Do you believe you should sacrifice yourself for those who should know better than to expect such actions by their daughters?”
Parthena glared at Sophie. “You know as well as I do that this is the common course of action for many of our class.”
Sophie thunked her cane on the floor softly so as not to draw attention to her illicit visit on the morning of Parthena’s wedding yet with enough strength to display her displeasure to Parthena. She gripped the handle as though she wished she could wave it about with her agitation. “That may be so, my girl, but I always thought you had a sturdier resolve to live the life you desired.”
“I refuse to be the one to cause Genevieve to marry Mr. Carlisle, Sophie. Or Eudora. Or Isabel. My father would find a wretched man for all of them if he could. I will help them, in my way.”
Sophie sighed, the anger and bluster leaving her. “I see you are determined.” At Parthena’s nod, Sophie heaved herself to her feet. “Then you must know your life will not be as you envisioned. Not married to a man such as Mr. Wheeler. He has a strength of will that even you will have trouble bending. I wish …”
Sophie’s eyes glistened a moment as she beheld Parthena standing tall in defiant determination of the course she had chosen. “I wish you all happiness and joy, my girl. I fear it may be some time before you acknowledge it exists in your new reality.”
Zylphia slid into the empty pew next to Rowena in the church. She shared a long glance with Rowena, her hat tipped forward, giving them the illusion of privacy. Bright sunlight streamed in through the high stained-glass windows.
Rowena wore a pale green dress with matching hat and white gloves. She fanned herself, as the summer heat had failed to abate. She spoke at a volume barely loud enough for Zylphia to hear. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about P.T. and …” She broke off her whisper and made her eyes big.
Zylphia’s smile failed to reach her worried eyes as she attempted to maintain the charade of chatting with a friend before eagerly awaiting another friend’s wedding. “I keep hoping he’ll march down the aisle and demand the wedding to stop.” Zylphia’s light-blue dress highlighted her dark hair and her brilliant blue eyes.
“I’m thankful she’ll have her sisters beside her as she marries,” Rowena murmured.
Zylphia coughed in an attempt to hide a snort. “God forbid we had to participate in this farce,” she whispered in Rowena’s ear. “I’m having a hard enough time reminding myself I have to hold my peace and refrain from yelling out my dissent.”
Rowena fought a chagrined smile as she nodded to newcomers in their pew, effectively silencing their conversation. She and Zylphia spoke of the weather and Zylphia’s recent suffrage canvassing as they awaited the heralding blast from the church organ.
&nbs
p; As the minutes ticked by with no evidence of Parthena’s arrival, Zylphia fought an amused smile. “Do you think … ?” she whispered to Rowena.
Rowena shook her head. “No, she’ll be here.” They sighed in unison as the organ’s blast put an abrupt halt to the murmured conversations within the church. They rose and turned toward the entrance of the church for their first sight of Parthena.
Parthena walked down the aisle with her head held high, her dress made of layers of white satin that enhanced her curves. Her face was largely hidden by an elaborate lace veil, and a long satin train dragged behind her. She rested her hand on top of her father’s arm, but it appeared she barely touched him. When she arrived to the front of the church and an awaiting Morgan, she backed away before her father could kiss her on her cheek.
Zylphia sighed as she saw her friend stand with rigid formality before the pastor throughout the wedding ceremony. Although her voice trembled, her vows were clearly heard by all present. “It’s done,” Zylphia whispered mournfully.
Rowena gripped Zylphia’s hand a moment and shook her head in solemn solidarity. They rose as the newly married couple walked past them, Morgan smiling to his friends and business associates as though triumphant, Parthena with a vapid smile and staring straight ahead. She failed to acknowledge the supportive smile Zylphia gave her as she marched down the aisle.
Lucas wandered the expansive first floor of a grand house in Cambridge. He knew the hostess had hoped he’d play something—as she’d set up a piano in a place of honor in the large drawing room—but he’d avoided venturing in that direction ever since he’d caught sight of it upon his arrival. He roamed, searching for a petite woman with straw-blond hair. When he caught sight of Parthena, he tracked her through the small parlor and followed her to the edge of the ballroom.
Unrelenting Love: Banished Saga, Book Five Page 6
