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

by Ramona Flightner

  “One aspect of this crusade troubling our leaders is the issue of raising funds. To place newspaper advertisements, to run our own newspaper, to print pamphlets—it all costs money,” Savannah said.

  “Why raise women’s hopes when it’s doomed to fail?” Mrs. Bouchard muttered.

  “I refuse to believe we are doomed to fail,” Clarissa replied. “I refuse to believe the good men of Montana will not listen with a fair conscience to our arguments and then vote accordingly. You have little faith,” Clarissa said pointedly to Mrs. Bouchard and her sister. “We have always known that this would be a long crusade, but it doesn’t mean it is any less worthwhile.” She looked around the room and saw the majority of the women nodding.

  “With regard to fund-raising, my brother, the estimable pianist Lucas Russell, has agreed to perform a series of concerts throughout the state and donate all proceeds to our cause. He will be here in the month of June, and his performance in Missoula will be at the Opera House.”

  The women in the room gasped and clasped their hands together at the news.

  A worried-looking young woman raised her hand. “As it will be a fund-raiser, I’m sure the tickets will cost quite a bit of money.”

  “I will ask him if he will be able to perform a small at-home performance for our members—as long as the fund-raising concert sells a suitable number of tickets,” Savannah said.

  The women of the room whispered among themselves in excited voices. Savannah and Clarissa shared amused glances.

  Clarissa added, “For now, what I would suggest is that you discuss with us and among yourselves what you envision doing for the movement, and enjoy the tea awaiting you. For any of you who would like to read Miss Rankin’s letter, it will be here on the desk for you to see,” Clarissa said.

  The silence lasted only a few seconds before the room was filled with excited female voices. Clarissa and Savannah were separated, speaking with various women about ideas for promoting suffrage. They discussed forming committees on the proper way to canvass, on practicing a prepared speech for the first few times they approached constituents and the joy of planning for victory.

  Clarissa shared a glare with Mrs. Vaughan who left after partaking of a plateful of Araminta’s delicious food.

  “Don’t let her bother you, missus,” a young woman whispered. “She’s a lot of bluster but not much bite there. I think that’s what makes her even angrier.”

  Clarissa laughed and nodded. “I’m sure that’s part of it. Tell me. What do you plan on doing for the cause?” She focused on the young woman and nodded her encouragement as she forgot about the Mrs. Vaughans of the world and focused on the woman before her and the future.

  Gabriel stood in front of the ornate mansion with its covered portico entrance, the black walnut door gleaming from a recent polishing. He studied the carvings thereon, shaking his head at the mythical scenes from ancient Greece and Rome. He rapped on the door, meeting the butler’s dour expression with an equally grim one, refusing to be denied entrance. He entered a front hall devoid of warmth or charm, its impersonal, expensive art intending to raise the occupant’s sense of social status scattered throughout.

  Gabriel followed the butler into a small side room, darkly paneled with mahogany wood. A small bar stood at the far end of the room, near a desk. Heavy burgundy curtains half covered the windows, allowing in only a fraction of the day’s bright daylight. A thick oriental carpet covered the floor, silencing the sound of Gabriel’s pacing.

  “Ah, so the prodigal cousin couldn’t keep away,” Henry murmured as he strolled into the room. His finely tailored navy suit had precise creases down his pant legs, and his starched collar appeared so stiff as to force his neck upward.

  His silent, stealthy movement reminded Gabriel of a cat before striking out at prey.

  “Have you come to congratulate me on my impending fatherhood?” Henry asked, his eyes sparkling with devious delight.

  “I would never find joy in the fact that any Masterson had the ability to procreate. I would have thought you unable to—due to your natural inclinations.” Gabriel examined his cousin from head to foot. “Although I imagine you were only able to … provoke your interest in a woman … if you were causing her physical harm. I imagine raping Fiona would excite you unnaturally.”

  Henry sneered at Gabriel. “You’re just upset that I took away your brother-in-law’s toy. She’s a worthless woman. He’ll soon find another.”

  Gabriel clenched his fists as his cousin moved toward the small bar at one side of the room. “Why not simply destroy me or Jeremy?”

  “It wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.” Henry saluted him with his glass of whiskey. “I’ll congratulate myself to a job well done, even if you won’t.”

  “You feed off her fear.” Gabriel released his clenched fists, not wanting to give Henry any more reason to gloat.

  “She’s pathetic. Anyone who allows someone to control her in such a manner is not worth your concern.”

  “Will you acknowledge your child? Provide funds?” Gabriel frowned as Henry moved behind the desk in the room.

  “Why should I? She was willing enough to allow for my … pleasure, meager though it was, as long as I kept my part of the bargain. I can only assume by your visit today that the bargain is null and void.”

  “You truly are a bastard. You’d leave her destitute, pregnant and at the mercy of a man who plots her murder.” At Henry’s gleeful smile, Gabriel snapped. He reached across the desk, heaving Henry across it by his lapels. Gabriel slammed his cousin onto the rug and then spun him so Henry was facedown, with Gabe’s knee in Henry’s lower back.

  “You think you’re so high and mighty, with your exemplary values. But when it comes down to it, you’re a barbarian, no better than the men blasting copper day after day.” Henry wheezed out a breath as Gabriel exerted more pressure on his back. “No matter what you do, no matter who you speak with, no law will force me to support that whore. No law will coerce me into giving her or her child my name.”

  “You’d ruin a child’s life?”

  “Yes.” Henry shifted enough so he could move his head and meet Gabriel’s irate gaze. “Because I can. Men like me always end up on top. I can do what I like, and I always will.”

  “I’ve wondered, since the day my parents died, what I did to deserve such heartless relations.” Gabriel grasped his cousin’s head, smashing it into the carpet with a resounding thud before rising. “You may think you’ve succeeded, Henry, but this is far from over.”

  Henry sat, his eyes lit with challenge. “I’m hopeful that’s true.”

  Gabriel stormed toward the Leggat Hotel, nearly plowing down those in front of him in his agitation. When a hand gripped his arm, he spun, ready to fight.

  “Whoa, Gabe,” Colin said, letting go to hold up his hands. “Come on.” He pointed with his head to a nearby bar, and Gabriel followed him inside.

  The bar was a dive. Dark, smoke stained, with blackened patches hinting of distant fires on the walls and ceilings, it matched Gabriel’s mood. The dim lights enhanced the sense of stepping into a cave.

  Gabriel and Colin headed to a table toward the rear where Patrick sat, sipping on a beer.

  “I’d try something stronger if I were you,” Gabriel muttered as he flopped onto one of the chairs to Patrick’s left. Colin sat to Patrick’s right, having picked up two more pints at the bar.

  Patrick rubbed at his forehead. “No luck?”

  “How could I ever have hoped to have a gentlemen’s discussion with the likes of him? No one can give morals to an immoral man. Besides, we’ve hated each other since we were children. It was a stupid idea.” Gabriel rapped his fingers on the tabletop in his agitation.

  “He said something that upset you,” Colin said, licking away the foam from his lip.

  “When doesn’t he say things that upset me?” Gabriel sighed. “He intentionally abused her, merely because he could. He has no plans to aid her in any way or the child.
It brings him joy to have harmed her and to have ruined the child’s life.”

  “What kind of person does that?” Colin asked.

  “A very sick man,” Gabriel said. “I always thought he was … more interested in men. But I realize now he only cares about causing pain. As long as he could harm your Fiona, he found her attractive.”

  “What will you do, Pat?” Colin asked, sharing a worried glance with Gabriel as Patrick remained quiet through their discussion.

  “I used to see no color in this world. I saw no beauty and was unable to work as an architect. You need to appreciate beauty, to see the soft curves, the importance of light, to envision space.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “When I met Fiona, I again dreamed in color, imagining a time when my life did not consist of row after row of numbers.”

  “And now?” Gabriel asked.

  “Now I only see red. Every shade of it.” He shared a long look with Gabriel.

  “No matter how you feel, you can’t kill him,” Gabriel said as Colin nodded. Gabe sat back in his chair and stared at the stained ceiling. “I keep asking myself what Uncle Aidan would do. He’d hire the best lawyer money could buy and free your Fiona from her first husband. And then he’d find someone to protect her.”

  “Sav has the money for an attorney, and I’m sure she’d be happy to give it to you,” Colin said.

  When Patrick protested, Gabriel said, “She’d be the first to want to help a woman escape an abusive man. Besides, you need to realize you have family around you again, and we refuse to allow you to suffer when we can help you.

  After a long moment, Patrick nodded. “I need to write her a letter.”

  “We have to return to Missoula tomorrow, so we can deliver it for you,” Gabriel said. He speared Patrick with an intense stare. “This is the easy part—hiring the lawyer and freeing Fiona from her murderous husband. It’s deciding what you want to do afterward that’ll be the true challenge.”

  28

  Boston, April 1914

  Zylphia rushed into the crowded parlor of a mansion on Commonwealth Avenue, rows of chairs filled with women avidly listening to the speaker at the front of the room. Zylphia frowned as she saw all the seats around Parthena and Rowena were occupied, noting their apologetic smiles as Zylphia came to an abrupt halt. She looked around for another seat, smiling as Sophie waved her over.

  “About time you arrived,” Sophie grumbled. “I’ve had to be most injudicious with my cane in order to save you this seat.”

  Zylphia smothered a laugh as she imagined the women who’d had the temerity to approach Sophie and who’d left with a bruised shin. Zylphia sat with a satisfied sigh, her purse held on her lap. “I was painting and forgot the hour.”

  “You’ve all but missed the meeting,” Sophie murmured. However, she smiled graciously as the women in front of the group nodded toward her and said they thought Mrs. Chickering’s idea had the most merit.

  After which the group of women relaxed in their seats and talked among themselves. Tea and snacks were made available in a side room, and the crowd slowly dispersed.

  “What was that all about?” Zylphia asked.

  “A measure will be on next year’s ballot, asking the men of Massachusetts to grant suffrage to women.”

  “Finally,” Zylphia breathed.

  “There is concern the result will be as dismal as 1895, and we refuse to be thwarted this time.”

  “Excellent. I’m sure you have a wonderful plan.” She smiled at Parthena and Rowena who joined them, pulling now-empty chairs from a nearby row to sit with them.

  “Will you do it?” Parthena asked Zee.

  “What do I have to do with anything?” Zylphia asked, confused.

  “You are essential, dear girl, to my proposition,” Sophie said. “We must learn the tactics of successful states seeking the vote. I’m certain, with women such as your cousins petitioning for the vote, that there will be success in Montana this November.”

  “You want me to travel to Montana?” Zylphia asked.

  “Yes. You’re the only one here with family there. It makes the most sense.” She watched Zylphia with wry humor in her eyes. “Besides, I believe a change of scenery could be what you need.”

  “You don’t want me here?” Zylphia whispered.

  “Come now. None of that nonsense,” Sophie said, her voice tinged with impatience. “I thought you’d rather travel there than the other states where the question is on the ballot.”

  Zylphia ticked them off in her mind: Nevada, Nebraska, Ohio, Missouri, and North and South Dakota. She nodded at Sophie.

  “You’ve often spoken of your desire to do more for the movement, and this is your chance.”

  “Of course I’d prefer to be with my family in Montana,” Zylphia said, “and if I can help earn us the vote, too …” Her voice trailed away.

  “It won’t be as difficult for you, Zee. You’ll be able to travel around with women who are already accepted among the suffragists and the townsfolk there,” Rowena said.

  Sophronia watched Zylphia with a knowing glint in her eye. “Excellent. All you must do is convince your father. And be in Montana by the first part of June, I should think.”

  “That’s barely two months away.”

  “As you have nothing keeping you here, it should pose no difficulties for you,” Sophie said, leaning forward to heave upright.

  “I don’t know if I can leave so suddenly,” Zylphia sputtered.

  “It will only benefit the men of this town to realize you are a woman of purpose and that you and your beliefs should not be trifled with.”

  Zylphia nodded absently at Sophie’s edict.

  “Besides, I’ve been informed that Mr. Hubbard has become a bit brazen, and I should think you’d relish a reprieve from his company.”

  Zylphia met Sophie’s knowing gaze and acquiesced with a long sigh. Zylphia, Parthena and Rowena walked together with Sophie and paused as a group of women approached them. “Aren’t you excited, Miss McLeod?” one of them gushed.

  “I heard you might even have the opportunity to meet Dr. Shaw herself,” another enthused.

  Zylphia stiffened as Sophie gave her shin a nudge with her cane. “Of course, I’m quite pleased about my upcoming travels and any opportunity I might have to meet those in leadership of our movement.”

  The women bustled past them, leaving Zylphia with her friends. “Well spoken, Zee,” Parthena said.

  “None of them would know you’d rather meet Alice than Anna,” Sophie said, with a small cackle of laughter. “Seeing as this group is aligned with NAWSA, best not to ruffle their feathers.” Sophie turned to Parthena and Rowena. “You two should prepare yourself for some sort of work this summer. However, I realize your families aren’t as progressive as Zee’s, and I wouldn’t want to hasten any unfortunate events.” She harrumphed as she turned to walk down the front stairs to her waiting automobile.

  “I don’t understand why you insist on bothering me here,” Zylphia snapped. She flopped onto one of the tufted red velvet chairs in her studio and glared at her mother.

  Delia sighed as she wandered toward the front windows, glancing at the discordant colors and shapes in Zylphia’s most recent paintings. “These are different.” She traced a line down one side of a cube meant to be an eye and frowned. “Why?”

  “It’s art, Mother. It’s not always meant to be beautiful.”

  “Why waste your talent on something so … mediocre?” She watched as Zylphia flinched at her criticism. “They’re not nearly as good as your other work. Something I’m sure you realize, as you are honest with yourself about your art.”

  Zylphia covered her face a moment before lowering her hands. “I simply haven’t discovered what will make them … make them …”

  “You can’t even determine what you want them to be. They’ll never be beautiful. They’ll never cause someone to stop what they’re doing and lose all sense of themselves staring at your painting. Not like your other work.
” Delia turned from the newest paintings and studied Zylphia, her frown deepening. “Zylphia, you must see it yourself too. How your inherent vitality has dimmed. Your eyes that used to sparkle with merriment or mischief are dulled and filled with disillusionment. What’s bothering you, dearest?”

  Zylphia shook her head as she battled tears. “Sophie wants me to go to Montana. Learn from Sav and Rissa how to successfully wage a battle for the vote.”

  “Why should that upset you?” Delia moved toward the matching chair near Zylphia and reached out a hand to stroke her arm.

  “I feel as though she’s banishing me. It’s irrational, I know.”

  “You feel safe and secure here, in this home, when you’ve had little security in your life,” Delia murmured.

  Zee nodded, exhaling a loud sigh. “It’s childish, but I have this irrational fear that, if I leave you and Father behind now, something will happen, and everything will be different when I come home.”

  “Or that your father or I won’t be here,” Delia whispered.

  Zylphia lost her battle with tears as they trickled out, forming silver tracks down her cheeks. “It’s stupid.”

  Delia moved closer, kneeling on the floor by her daughter and pulling her into her arms. “It’s not, my dearest, beloved daughter.” She ran a hand over Zylphia’s disheveled hair. “Is it because you don’t want to leave someone else here, too?”

  Zylphia closed her eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not what any man here would want. Should want. In the end I’d only be a disappointment.”

  “What utter nonsense,” Delia hissed. “I knew I should never have agreed to your desire to enter society. There was little to gain and much to lose, as I feared.”

  “I know what I am, Mother.”