Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four

by Ramona Flightner

  Colin swore under his breath again as he saw the answer in Patrick’s eyes. “Well, we’ll simply have to enjoy our time with Lucas and then welcome this man for a supper with us.” As Patrick heaved out a sigh of relief, Colin slapped him on his arm. “You know we’d do much more than that for you, Pat.”

  17

  The following day, Patrick and Clarissa set out for Greenough Park. As they walked toward his favorite area along the creek, the fallen leaves crunched under their feet. A few bright yellow and burnished orange leaves clung desperately to the tree limbs.

  “I love fall,” Patrick said. “It always seems strange not to see the full range of colors here that we saw in Boston.”

  “I miss the vibrant red,” Clarissa said. “But, when I travel down the Bitter Root Valley to see our friends, Amelia and Sebastian, it’s extraordinary to see the hillsides filled with tamaracks turning gold. I hadn’t realized until I moved here that trees could lose their needles each year.”

  They arrived at the place he had loved during the summer and found perches on rocks. Clarissa shivered as she settled and attempted to study Patrick from the corner of her eye but knew she had failed when he stiffened.

  “What is it?” he asked, absently rubbing at his face.

  “You’ve nothing on your face,” she said with a laugh. “You seem less worried today than last night.”

  “I’ve finally realized that you and Colin truly want me to be a part of your life. That you still consider me family. When I spoke with Colin last night, I realized a part of me had remained skeptical and afraid to trust in you.” His deep brown eyes were filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Of course you’re part of my family and I want you to be a part of my life.” She blinked away tears as she reached forward to clasp his hand. “I never want you to doubt it.”

  He gripped hers intently and nodded. “With each visit to Missoula, I believe it more and more.”

  They sat for a few moments, enjoying the peace of the creek. “Thank you for bringing me to this peaceful place. I imagine it must calm you to come here.”

  She shuddered as she looked around at the bucolic scene. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  He watched her with concern.

  “I hate this place,” she whispered. “I come here because I promised myself, not too long ago, that I was stronger than any memories.”

  “Rissa, what happened to you? To you and Gabe?” When she remained silent, he said, “I know when I left, I forfeited my right to act as your big brother.” He cupped his hands together, interlocking his fingers. “But, dammit, I am your big brother. You and Gabe seem much better than this summer, but there always seems to be a shroud of sadness around you.”

  “You’ve changed,” she whispered, fighting tears.

  “How?”

  “You aren’t the domineering know-it-all from before. You always acted as though, if you pushed hard enough, people or the world would bend to your wishes.”

  “I grew up.” His eyes were haunted with memories of the years they were apart.

  “I think it’s more than that.” She cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

  “I lived, for over a decade, believing I’d never have family. That I was unworthy of family. I convinced myself that hard work, surviving at any cost, was enough.”

  “What changed?”

  “I saw you and Sav.” His gaze grew distant, wondrous. “I heard Lucas’s music. I remembered I was more than a cog in a very large machine.”

  After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Why are you no longer an architect?” At his hurt stare, she flinched. “You loved it so much. Talking about the—”

  He held a hand to Clarissa’s lips, stopping her words. “For me, to be a good architect, to envision the buildings and spaces, I needed to …” His gaze flitted to the trees bowing over the creek, the rocks glistening in the sunlight, the leaves blowing in the breeze before falling into the stream. “I needed to be able to see beauty. And I couldn’t. Not anymore. The world was a gray void instead of the kaleidoscope of colors firing my imagination. Everything I drew was an imitation of another’s brilliant idea. I was empty, and I had nothing to offer.”

  He sighed, lowering his hand and head. “I moved constantly. I thought, if I changed scenery, inspiration would return. I roamed from New York City to Buffalo to Cleveland, then on to St. Louis, eking out a survival, but slowly realizing I would never be an architect. Never build”—he shrugged—“anything. I finally returned to New York City. I was always good with numbers. The two worlds were separate, so those I had sought a job from in architecture didn’t remember the dismal failure of Pat Sullivan, the architect. They saw Pat Sullivan, the eager accountant.”

  “And here you are,” she murmured.

  He nodded and took a deep breath. “So why do you hate this place, Rissa?”

  She stiffened and then rose. “Come,” she said. They rejoined the trail and walked a few minutes. Her body trembled, but she shook off Patrick’s arm on her shoulder and walked down a small path toward the creek. She stood riveted, staring at the creek, her mind forcing her to see reality, not her nightmare.

  “Rissa, sit down.” Patrick pushed her onto the creek bank, moisture dampening her skirt. “You’re as white as a ghost. What’s the matter?”

  “Do you see that boulder over there?” She pointed to a place a short distance down the creek, partly in shadow.

  “The one at the water’s edge? Yes.”

  “My son died there.”

  “Oh, God,” Patrick breathed. He grabbed her arm and forcefully pulled her up the trail and away as she hyperventilated. “Why would you force yourself to come here?”

  “I need to be stronger than my ghosts,” she whispered, shaking as he held her.

  “Rissa, you’ve always been strong. You nursed Mama through her illness. You survived the likes of Mrs. Smythe to create a life where you thrive. Why would you need to prove anything to yourself?”

  “He died when he was with Gabriel,” she whispered against Patrick’s chest.

  “Which is why there was such a distance between you two this summer.” Patrick eased her away. “You have to forgive him. He loves his family. He loves his children. He would never have wished harm to befall any of them.”

  She nodded her agreement. “I know. I thought, … if I could come here, my anger at fate, at whatever caused me to lose Rory, would release its hold on me.”

  Patrick pulled her close again, stroking a hand over her head and back. “You’re smart enough to know that nothing will, Rissa. Time will lessen the ache, but it will always be there.”

  “His birthday is approaching,” she whispered, refusing to mention the date.

  “What do you want to do that day?”

  “A part of me wants to celebrate it and remember him. The other part wants to hide in bed all day.”

  “What will you do?” Patrick asked.

  She sighed, her crying abated. “I don’t know, but I won’t spend it in bed.”

  “There’s the Rissa I remember,” Patrick said. He released her, and she looped her arm through his, beginning a slow walk down the creek toward the streetcar stop.

  The following day Patrick slipped into the kitchen, causing Clarissa to jump, dropping the baking pan and splattering the floor with batter.

  “You’re on edge today, Rissa,” Patrick said.

  She stared at the floor, then at Patrick, and burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry, Rissa,” he said, rushing forward, pulling her into his arms.

  “It’s not your fault,” she whispered as she sniffled and pushed away from him, looking at the floor. She reached for a cloth and bent to scrub it. “Stand still or you’ll step in the mess and spread it throughout the house. We’re lucky you didn’t already step in it.”

  Clarissa scrubbed the floor, rising to rinse the cloth and then bending back over to swipe at the floor. She wiped and wiped at it, eve
n though it was clean.

  “Rissa, there’s nothing left,” Patrick whispered.

  She rose, nodding her head jerkily. “I know.” She turned toward the sink and gripped the edge of it. “I can’t imagine starting over again.”

  “I’m sure Araminta would help you.” He rested a warm hand on her stiff shoulder.

  “No. Not today. This is something I must do.” She swiped at her runny nose, washed her hands and turned toward the dry ingredients she had set aside. “Please, Patrick, I’m not good company now.”

  She heard him ease from the room. Inhaling deep breaths to ease her tension, she battled her tears. Her grip on the countertop was a painful counterpoint to her inner turmoil, grounding her. She stiffened as the kitchen door eased open again. “Please, Patrick.”

  Fingers trailed down her back, then up again, coming to rest on her shoulders. She smelled musk and the scent of pine, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Gabriel,” she whispered, leaning backward. He bent forward, nuzzling the side of her neck as he dropped his hands from her shoulders to her waist, linking them around her front.

  “You were up this morning before I awoke,” he whispered, a note of reproach in his voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Clarissa said. “I … I didn’t know how to face this day. I didn’t sleep much last night and decided if I was busy …” Her voice cracked.

  He exerted gentle pressure on her side, until she spun to face him. His beautiful blue eyes were haunted, filled with pain and concern. “What are you doing in the kitchen?” he asked.

  She raised a hand to trace his eyebrow, then his cheek. She tipped up on her toes, kissing him softly on his mouth. “I wanted to celebrate today, rather than mourn.” She bit her trembling lip. “But it seems I’m unable to do anything other than cry.”

  “It’s been one year, Rissa,” Gabriel said. “Of course you are mourning. We all are.” He looked at the kitchen countertop with its dirty pans and furrowed his brow. “Were you thinking of making a cake?”

  She flushed at the incredulity she heard in his voice. “No matter what, I want to remember him. To celebrate him.” Her breath hitched as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I …”

  “Oh, love,” he stuttered out, his voice shattering as he pulled her tight. He held her as she cried, shuddering in equal measure in her arms. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove you are strong,” he whispered into her neck.

  “Today will always be one of the worst days of my life. But I don’t want to forget him. I don’t want our children to believe they can’t speak of him.” She leaned away far enough that he ran shaking hands over her cheeks, smearing her tears.

  “Let Minta make the cake. Let others help you today,” he said. When she protested, he held up a finger to her lips. “I should have told you before, but I’ve always envisioned us spending the day together as a family, talking about Rory. Our adventures. What we loved about him.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I think it would do the children good to have us all together, remembering him.”

  Clarissa shuddered. “Like a wake, but a year late.”

  “Something like that.” He clasped her head between his palms. “Something we weren’t capable of doing when he died.” He paused, staring for endless moments into her eyes. “Our family wants to have a gathering tonight at Jeremy and Sav’s, and I couldn’t dissuade them. I think it will be good for us. But today I want time for us and our children.”

  She bit her lip, staring into his eyes.

  “Please, Rissa.” His entreaty provoked two new tears to trickle from her eyes.

  She nodded, leaning forward again into his embrace. “Yes.”

  Patrick wandered through Savannah and Jeremy’s first floor. The large living room and dining room were lit and ready for company. Colin’s cajoling voice could be heard from the rear kitchen as he teased Araminta, with Melinda’s high-pitched voice joining in. Patrick smiled at her youthful joviality. A darkened room to one side of the entranceway with a large bow-fronted window intrigued him, but he didn’t enter.

  “That’s our office,” Jeremy said with a smile as he joined Patrick and pushed him into the living room where a fire roared. “Savannah likes to write letters in there.” He offered Patrick a drink, and Jeremy settled in a comfortable chair.

  “Is there anything I could do to help?”

  “No, not right now.” Jeremy smiled to Ronan and A.J, handing them drinks as well. He answered another knock on the door. “Miss Loken, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” He turned to frown at A.J.

  A.J. thumped his cane. “She’s part of our group, ain’t she?”

  Patrick watched as she stood to one side of the door, refraining from taking off her coat.

  “If tonight’s not a good evening, I can come another time.” She gripped her purse in front of her until her knuckles were white.

  “No, it’s just that we’re trying to cheer up Gabriel, Clarissa and the kids,” Patrick said.

  “If that’s possible,” Ronan muttered.

  Jeremy nodded his agreement. “It’s the one year anniversary of their son’s death.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t be here,” Hester protested. “Mr. Pickens, you should never have extended an invitation.”

  “Didn’t know how else ye’d feel a part of our group unless ye were with us for the good an’ the bad,” he said. “Asides, Mr. Sullivan’s visitin’ from Butte. Seemed a pity ye wouldn’t see ’im while he’s here.”

  Patrick turned startled eyes to Mr. Pickens, who watched him with an owlish innocence. “Of course, you are very welcome,” Patrick said to Hester.

  Hester was pushed inside as Gabriel and Clarissa arrived with their children. Jeremy pulled Gabriel close for a long embrace, releasing him with a few hard pats to his back before enfolding Clarissa in his arms and holding her tightly. He murmured something in her ear, and she sniffled her thanks.

  The children wandered off to play with Melinda, and Gabriel sniffed the scents of cooking. “Did Minta make a cake?” he asked.

  “No, Sav did,” Jeremy said. “She wanted to do something special for you and to remember her nephew by.”

  Clarissa nodded her thanks, too overcome to speak.

  Gabriel kept a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned backward into him. He eased her into the living room and onto a settee. After stroking a hand down her arm, he whispered, “No one expects you to be good company tonight, darling.”

  She nodded again to show her agreement. She half listened as the conversation continued around her, paying attention to what was said when she heard Colin and Mr. Pickens speaking about Mrs. Vaughan and Mrs. Bouchard.

  “As long as ye can steer clear of those pesky sisters!” A.J. said with glee, earning a half smile from Clarissa.

  “Why would the sisters pester you, Mr. Sullivan?” Hester asked. She’d settled on a chair near Mr. A.J.

  Colin flushed. “Ah, well, Mrs. Vaughan has come to the conclusion I should marry her daughter.”

  Hester bit back a smile at his unease. “What does her daughter think?”

  Mr. A.J. thunked down his cane. “Now, I don’t know as anyone’s ever asked that poor girl. Seems she’s still bein’ told what she will or won’t do by her mother.”

  “Well, it is often easier to do their bidding than to fight them,” Clarissa said. “That’s one of the best aspects of no longer working at the library.”

  “Do ye remember, Missy, when we worked in the depository? We could always hear her comin’ ’cause she’d make as much noise as a herd o’ buffalo walkin’ up the stairs.” He chortled. “Not so easy now yer in a proper building,” he said to Hester.

  Hester smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a warning before they appeared.” She glanced at Colin. “As for you, sir, I’d think you’d continue to evade them.”

  Colin nodded his agreement.

  After a few moments, Hester was pulled into the kitchen, and Clarissa sat alone on the settee while most of the men wandered to the s
tudy for a drink. Mr. A.J. heaved himself to his feet, moving to her. He collapsed next to her, sinking into the cushions.

  “Whoo wee, Missy, I’m gonna need all those young’uns to help me outta here,” he said with a grin. He sobered as he watched her. “Now, Missy, how are ye?” He reached out a gnarled hand to pat hers.

  “I’m all right. Gabriel, the children and I spent the day together, remembering Rory,” Clarissa whispered. “It’s hard to believe it’s been a year.”

  “Ye did what ye needed to do,” Mr. A.J. said. “Yer children needed to see their parents rememberin’ their brother. Speakin’ ’bout him with love.”

  “Rejoicing in what he was and all he brought us,” Clarissa whispered.

  “Exactly, Missy.” He patted her hand again. “Take yer time to be sad but don’t dwell in it. Yer too full o’ joy.”

  “I worry this is who I’ll forever be,” Clarissa whispered.

  “Well, course this is who ye’ll be. Ye’ll always be different. Loss leads to altercations.” He grunted as she stifled a giggle at his word. “But it don’t mean you have to cling to yer sorrow. Fight for yer joy instead.”

  Clarissa stilled, meeting his worried gaze. “I like that. And I will, Mr. A.J. Every day I’ll fight for my joy.” She leaned over to embrace him, stifling a sob as his arms came up around her.

  Soon dinner was served, and they moved to Savannah’s large dining room. Clarissa bit back a sob, turning to flee the dining room but ran into Gabriel. He held her against his chest but was as a stone wall, immobile in his constancy even as she exerted increasing pressure against him.

  “Rissa, it’s all right,” he murmured against her head, kissing it softly.

  “They made all his favorite foods.”

  “I know. I asked them to.” He eased away and met her gaze. “I thought this would be a way to honor him.”