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

by Ramona Flightner

  Zylphia held her teacup halfway to her lips, studying him, as if to decipher if he were in earnest. “Even scientists must need to communicate.”

  He shrugged.

  Zylphia took a sip of tea, holding her cup by the handle in a dainty manner rather than cupping it in her hand. “My theory, if I were a scientist, would be that you act as you do to increase your mystique.”

  He choked on a laugh, his eyes sparkling with merriment. “I fear you’ll find few who would agree with that theory.”

  “But has anyone done their research?” She wriggled her eyebrows at him, smiling without guile and leaning forward.

  He sobered as he watched her. “Is that how you see me? As a subject for research?” Any levity disappeared as he tensed, awaiting her response.

  She stilled, belatedly realizing she’d offended him in some way. “Of course not. Forgive me.” She looked down at her now-clenched hand on her lap. “I often speak rashly, unwittingly causing distress with my comments.”

  “Please do not concern yourself on my account, Zylphia.” He half smiled. “You don’t regret our agreement at the Wheeler ball that I am permitted to call you Zylphia in private?”

  “Of course not. It means I can call you Teddy rather than Theodore.”

  “I still think it would remind you of your former president.”

  “I have no need to think of a president.” She laughed.

  He watched her with a small smile. “You might, as you continue your crusade on behalf of women and universal suffrage.”

  Zylphia watched him with an arrested expression.

  “I’d like to think I could be of some help,” said Teddy. At Zylphia’s prolonged silence, he set his empty teacup on the table, the brief sense of camaraderie dissipating. “I don’t imagine you’d be interested in seeing my laboratory?”

  “I would. Very much so.” Zylphia set down her cup and rose.

  He stood, showing her the way to the hallway and stairs, which they took in silence. “The third floor is my domain,” he said as they reached the landing. “My parents didn’t have much use for it, and, when I returned from England, it was the perfect space for me. My private study is down there.” He pointed to a closed door at the end of the hall on the right.

  He thrust open a door, ushering her into a space filled with tables covered in metal pieces, wires, nuts and bolts, and an assortment of tools.

  “How do you know where everything is?” Zylphia asked as she took in the disorganized space. “I imagined it to be”—she waved her arm around—“tidier.” She wandered toward a desk near a window, a drawing pad with a pencil on top, its pages fluttering in the breeze.

  “I imagine most people create best in an orderly environment. I thrive on chaos and clutter.”

  “Well, you’ve succeeded here.” They shared a rueful smile. She walked from table to table, deciphering what made each table’s experiment different from the previous. She raised a confused gaze to his.

  He walked to where she stood. “If you look closely, this wire is twisted three times while the one over there, four. I’m testing if that has any bearing on my project.”

  “Have you noted any difference?”

  “Not yet but I’m not done with my quality checks.”

  She nodded and moved again toward his drawings. “Don’t you miss living in England?”

  “No. Although I spent most of my youth there, I’ve spent enough time here to know this is where I want to be. Boston is my home now. I don’t feel guilty for having no desire to live in England. That is, until my grandparents visit.” He smiled with a distant look in his eyes.

  “Why?”

  He focused on her, his gray eyes penetrating and intense even through his wire-rimmed glasses, yet kindled with a gentle warmth as he met her curious stare. “Because they discuss the important familial antecedents, the inspiring feats performed by generations past, and it makes me wish, for an instant, I were that sort of person.”

  “Rather than the sort who tinkers away in solitude in a lab.”

  “It’s not all I do.” He smirked at her raised eyebrow. “I know they wish I’d return to England and perform some glorious deed to increase their sense of esteem among their peers.”

  “You mean, fighting in duels and wars.” Zylphia crinkled her nose in disgust.

  He laughed. “You think it’s unimportant, but those actions by men were as significant at the time as what your fellow suffragettes are currently doing in England. What you’d like to do here.” He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to disagree with him.

  “I’d hardly call dueling and the struggle for universal suffrage remotely equal,” Zylphia scoffed.

  “Maybe not to you but, to men, attacks on their honor or against those they love, are powerful motivators. Just as the desire to show women are deserving of the rights of full citizenship is a powerful motivator for many women now.”

  “You’ve never sounded more English.”

  “You’ve never sounded more scornful of the fact.” His delight faded as their discussion continued. “Zylphia, I’m not saying I agree in any way with warring or dueling, but I can understand what prompts a man to act as he does. Just as I’m beginning to understand what motivates you.”

  Zylphia stilled in her movement around his laboratory. “No need to make me one of your experiments. I’m not that difficult to understand.”

  “On the contrary.” He smiled, the tenderness in his gaze intended to soothe her. “You’re more intricate than any experiment I could fathom.”

  “I don’t want to be viewed as something to be studied in a laboratory.” Her eyes flashed mutinously, her discomfort obvious.

  “Just as I don’t wish to be seen as a pet project, only worthy of a report back to your friends.”

  “Is that how you see me? That I only deign to show you interest because I see you as an oddity?”

  He reached forward, clasping her shoulders, preventing her from spinning away and rushing through the open doorway. “No, of course not. Forgive me.” She stilled under the gentle caress of his fingers down her cheek. “I’d hoped we were friends.”

  “I’ve been advised unmarried women of my class can’t be friends with men.”

  He chuffed out a laugh. “Why would the two unconventional misfits of Boston society play by their rules?” His smile widened as she reluctantly grinned back. “Be my friend, Zylphia.”

  “My friends call me Zee,” she whispered.

  His body relaxed, and he released her. “Zee, I’m so glad we’re friends.”

  “So am I.”

  “Are you certain Clarissa and Gabriel have reconciled?” Zylphia asked, curled in an oversize chair in the front parlor.

  A gentle fire glowed in the fireplace, adding more warmth to the mint-green wallpaper. Thick cream-colored drapes covered the front windows. The ceiling was decorated with a mural of contented cherubs, and a thick oriental carpet covered the wooden floors.

  “When I saw them in Washington, DC, in the spring, it seemed as though they’d never find peace again.” Her gaze roved over her parents, silently celebrating their presence in Boston on their return from Montana. Aidan held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, his other stroking Delia’s fingers as they settled into a comfortable settee.

  Aidan sighed, stretching his long legs toward the warmth of the coal fire. “Ask you mother, but I believe all is finally well in Montana.”

  Delia nodded her agreement.

  “At last I felt it was time to come home. We’d left you alone long enough. We were saddened to miss the first anniversary of Rory’s death, but we wanted to return home before any inclement weather impeded train travel.”

  “I was fine, Father. I had my adventure in Newport, and I’ve continued my other activities.”

  “I’m certain Sophie has kept you busy,” Delia said with a smile.

  A pounding on the door interrupted their conversation. Aidan glanced first to Delia and then Zylphia before rising with a si
gh. “I’m afraid our butler is too busy flirting with the maid to be of much use right now.”

  “Aidan, don’t be too hard on him,” Delia pled. “He’s still learning the role, and he’s terrified of being sent back to the orphanage.”

  “I know. And I’d never turn him out,” Aidan said with a frustrated sigh. “If he could have served under our previous butler for a while, I think that would have been more suitable.” Aidan strode from the room, a faint light from a wall sconce casting shadows on the carpet as he approached the front door.

  He wrenched open the door, a glower already on his face for the person interrupting his reunion with his daughter. “Yes,” he snapped.

  “Uncle,” Richard said. “Thank God you’re home.” He stood, swaying in front of Aidan, pale and shaking as though he were in the throes of shock.

  “Richard.” Aidan pulled him into the warmth of the large foyer before clasping him momentarily into a strong embrace. “Are you all right? No, I can see you’re not.” He swung an arm around his shoulder and propelled him into the front parlor with Delia and Zee.

  “Richard,” Zylphia said as he entered. “How lovely to see you.”

  Delia studied his swaying form for a moment before sharing a silent look with Aidan. When Richard collapsed into a chair next to Zylphia, Delia asked, “Is it Florence? Or the children?”

  “Yes. No,” Richard said. “Forgive me.” He paused, glancing at them all for a moment. “The children are fine. They are with our wonderful neighbor, who acts like their grandmother.”

  “Yes, Mrs. O’Connell,” Delia murmured.

  “Florence had the baby today,” Richard whispered.

  Rather than shouting exclamations of joy, Delia tensed, while Zylphia frowned, and Aidan stood at attention, as though waiting to learn what was needed from him.

  “She’s always so valiant when it’s her time.”

  Zylphia reached over and grasped his hand, giving quiet solace. “It’s all right, Richard.”

  “They wouldn’t let me see her. Florence didn’t really want me there, and, by the time I arrived from the smithy, she was already far along.” He let out a stuttering exhalation. “Our little girl never took a breath. She was born …”

  “Oh, no,” Zylphia whispered, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “They told me the cord was wrapped around her neck. There was nothing anyone could have done.” He swiped at his eyes.

  “How is Florence?” Delia asked.

  “Devastated. She’d always wanted a little girl, and, after five sons, to know this was our chance …” He took a deep breath. “They wouldn’t let me spend the night. It’s against hospital policy, even though I begged.” His shoulders shook.

  Aidan shared another look with Delia, who rose and coaxed Zylphia from the room. Aidan took Zylphia’s seat. “Richard,” Aidan said. As the door clicked closed behind them, Richard collapsed into his uncle’s arms.

  Aidan held him for the few moments Richard leaned on him. “Forgive me,” Richard croaked.

  “What should I forgive?” Aidan asked. “A father mourning the loss of his child? You must mourn, Richard.”

  “I must be strong for Florence.” His eyes became distant. “You didn’t hear her shrieking, her begging for the doctor to help her baby.”

  “What happened at the hospital?” Aidan placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder, before moving it around to cup the back of his neck to encourage him to meet his gaze.

  “I shouldn’t have heard her screaming, but I’d become restless, and I snuck into the back area where I wasn’t supposed to go. I thought I was fortunate the nurses were lax in guarding the front.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Turns out they were restraining an inconsolable mother.

  “When I realized it was Florence, nothing would have kept me from her. The doctor and nurses were appalled that I barged in, but all I could focus on was Florence. Keening. As though her heart were breaking.” Richard bowed his head as tears trickled down his cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry, Richard.”

  “So am I, Uncle.” He sniffed as he attempted to control his tears. “I saw her, our daughter, for a moment. She was perfect but for the fact she wasn’t breathing.”

  “How is Florence now?”

  “They had to sedate her. I’ll return tomorrow morning at the earliest moment they’ll let me be with her.” He took a deep breath before he met his uncle’s gaze. “I know I’ve asked many favors from you over the years, and I’m sorry to burden you.”

  “You’ve always been one of my life’s greatest joys. Never a burden,” Aidan whispered.

  “Will you come with me as I tell my boys there will be no baby?” He sniffed again and straightened his shoulders. “I must tell them myself, but, afterward, when they are calm, it would help me to have you there.”

  Aidan squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “Of course. I’m honored you’d ask me. Let me speak with Delia, and then we’ll be off.”

  Aidan left the room, striding with purpose until he saw Zylphia sitting on the stairs and Delia pacing in the foyer. “I’m to travel with him to be there after he tells his boys. I’ll most likely spend the night there.”

  As Delia and Aidan walked upstairs to pack a small overnight bag for him, Zylphia approached the parlor.

  Richard sat stock-still, an expression of intense anguish and fatigue on his face.

  “Cousin,” Zylphia whispered as she approached. “What can I do?”

  Richard jerked at her voice, attempted and failed to smile his welcome at her in the room, instead grimacing at her presence. “Visit Florence soon. She’ll need the company. And the distraction. Talk about the struggle for the vote. Your friends. Anything to get her mind off what just happened.”

  “I promise,” Zylphia whispered, leaning forward to enfold him in her embrace for a few moments. She held him until a gentle clearing of Aidan’s throat heralded the men could leave. “Take care of yourself, Richard.”

  He squeezed her arm before following his uncle from the room and out of the house.

  20

  Zylphia exited the streetcar in Dorchester, straightening her pale-yellow ribbed day-dress and navy blue coat. Her raven hair was held by a few pins in a loose chignon and covered by a matching hat. She tugged on her ivory gloves, tucked her handbag under an arm and began the short walk past rows of triple-decker houses to her cousins’ house, enjoying the short walk in the sunshine on a late-November day. Children played on the sidewalks and streets, calling out a warning to clear the road when a carriage or car passed.

  She knocked on the door of the first-floor unit of a three-story house, painted a blue-gray.

  “Zee!” her cousin Thomas shrieked when he opened the door. He gave her a quick hug before dragging her inside.

  “Thomas! What have I said about not opening the door to strangers?” Florence called down the rear kitchen hallway that led to the front entranceway with rooms on either side. White and green floral wallpaper lined the walls in the hallway.

  “It’s no stranger, Mama. It’s Zee!” he said, emphasizing the vowel sound of her name with glee.

  A clatter was heard from the kitchen before the click of her shoes sounded down the hallway. “Zylphia.”

  Florence approached with a broad smile, her expression lit with joy upon seeing Zylphia. However, deep circles under Flo’s eyes hinted at her recent anguish. She swiped at flour on the apron covering her gray day-dress.

  “What a wonderful surprise.” She hugged Zylphia close for a moment before leading her to the kitchen. “I’m baking a cake. Why don’t you keep me company?”

  “What kind?” Zylphia asked as she handed her coat to little Thomas and followed Florence.

  “Nothing fancy. A simple white one with plain icing. Richard hopes today is the day he takes charge of the Hartley forge. If it goes well, I want to have a cake to celebrate. If it doesn’t, one to commiserate.” She shared a rueful smile with Zylphia.

  “Thus, not much decoration.”
>
  “Exactly.” She moved to the stove, put the kettle on for tea and motioned for Zylphia to settle at one of the kitchen table chairs. “How did you get here? Did your father’s driver bring you to us?”

  “No, I took the streetcar.”

  “Zee, you shouldn’t have. Take advantage of what your father can offer you now.”

  “I know, but it seemed excessive to have his driver travel to the garage to drive me here and then to wait during my visit. I’ll be fine. Besides, I enjoy the adventure and the people-watching.”

  “I imagine there’s always something to see,” Florence said with a half smile. Her gaze darted out the doorway, listening as her sons played in the front room. She measured flour, vanilla and milk while Zylphia settled at the table. “Somehow I thought, when we moved, we’d spend all of our time in the living room.” She laughed to herself as her gaze became distant for a moment. “I had insisted on a formal dining room.”

  “I remember the arguments you and Richard had,” Zylphia murmured, motioning for Florence to continue with the cake as Zylphia rose to fill the teapot with tea and boiling water.

  “And look at us. Just like before, everything of import occurs in the kitchen! The children study in here. We eat almost every meal here. That dining room would be wasted space if we hadn’t turned it into a bedroom for the children.” She gave a chagrined laugh, before choking back a sob at her last word.

  Zylphia watched her closely but avoided speaking about the loss of her daughter that had brought Florence nearly to tears. “It seems to me, as a family, you know what’s important. Being together.”

  Florence cleared her throat. “Well, Richard works more than I’d like, but he seems to relish each new challenge, and he’s quite adept at managing the three blacksmith shops we own.”

  “How have you adjusted to living here rather than the North End?”

  “We’ve been here long enough now that it doesn’t feel quite so strange. I still miss living nearer to the central part of the city, but we’re not far. And I think this is a better place to raise the children. One day, we hope our children will live upstairs rather than renting out the units.” Florence laughed. “I never could have imagined any of this when I married Richard.”