“Not something your Company appreciates?” Clarissa asked with a wry smile.
Patrick shook his head.
“They should,” Zylphia argued. “They should be relieved someone knows what’s going on so that things aren’t such a surprise to them.”
“Those in charge at the company aren’t that intelligent.” Fiona’s eyes blazed with impassioned anger.
“As Fee said, that’s not the nature of things here,” Patrick said.
The following morning, the McLeod women walked into the suffrage committee headquarters and waited their turn to speak with the secretary. They looked past her at the rows of desks bustling with women typing or discussing strategy. A large map of Montana hung on a far wall, with stick pins of differing colors highlighting the cities and towns.
“How may I help you?” the secretary asked when she was free.
“I am Savannah McLeod. These are my cousins Clarissa and Zylphia McLeod, and this is my daughter, Melinda McLeod. We’ve traveled from Missoula to meet with Miss O’Reilly” She shared a wink with Melinda as the secretary’s eyes widened slightly.
“Of course. If you will wait a moment.” She rose and moved toward the back and entered a small office area.
“Who’s Miss O’Reilly?” Zylphia whispered as they waited.
“One of the leaders who works closely with Miss Rankin,” Savannah whispered.
The secretary returned a few moments later and motioned for them to follow her.
Miss O’Reilly sat behind a desk covered in newspaper clippings. She smiled weakly as they entered the room and frowned when she realized she only had two chairs. “I beg your pardon. I don’t have enough seats.”
“It’s fine,” Savannah and Clarissa said at the same time. Zylphia motioned for them to sit, and she stood behind them with Melinda.
“I’m thankful you were able to travel here to us. Miss Zylphia McLeod’s arrival was heralded by numerous letters from our counterparts in Massachusetts. I’ve honestly never seen the like before.” She raised an eyebrow as she watched them over her wire-framed glasses. Her fingers were smudged with newspaper ink, as were her previously pristine shirt cuffs.
“That would be our friend Mrs. Sophronia Chickering’s doing,” Clarissa said as she swallowed a chuckle. “She’s a firm believer in introductions.”
Miss O’Reilly rifled through the papers on her desk before extracting one and tipping her head down to read it. “She wrote as though I should be preparing for the arrival of the pope himself.” She grinned as she saw the women sitting across from her hiding their embarrassment. “I expect her to be feted to the highest of your abilities. Never again will such a woman with such dedication to the cause present herself with no expectation of remittance of any kind.” Miss O’Reilly raised an amused eyebrow. “It goes on for a good three pages.”
“For the love of …” Zylphia muttered.
“After reading your good friend’s ramblings, I finally discerned that her main worry was that I would separate Miss Zylphia from the rest of you. I find I don’t have the heart to write such a letter. Thus, I’m happy to report that Miss Zylphia should canvass with the McLeod women in Missoula and the Bitter Root Valley as we work toward success in November.”
Zylphia sighed her relief and smiled her agreement.
“I have two other concerns we must discuss, since you are here,” Miss O’Reilly said, picking up a pencil and doodling on a scrap piece of paper. “First, Mrs. McLeod—Mrs. Savannah McLeod,” she clarified, “I wanted to assure you that everything has been prepared for your brother’s tour through Montana. We of the committee were anxious when he needed to postpone a few weeks but are thankful he will arrive in early July for the concerts. All performance halls have been booked, and we have secured rooms for him.”
Savannah nodded her agreement. “When he is in Missoula, he will stay with family. No need for a hotel room there.”
Miss O’Reilly wrote herself a note. “Now for the more unpleasant business.” She pinned Clarissa with an intense stare. “I’ve had complaints that you are not as welcoming as you should be to all who are interested in our work.”
Clarissa tensed. “Have you had a letter from a Mrs. Vaughan or a Mrs. Bouchard?”
“I have. They claim you actively discourage women of a certain age from participating in the movement and that you believe this is a movement solely for the young.”
Clarissa clamped her mouth shut after she sputtered. A few deep breaths later, she spoke. “First, I’m not that young anymore, so I think their argument is a weak one. Second, at our meeting in March, the two sisters spent the majority of the gathering pointing out reasons why they thought the campaign was doomed to fail and that we shouldn’t get people’s hopes up. They are against campaigning door to door.”
Miss O’Reilly steepled her fingers as she considered what Clarissa had said. “I wondered if that wasn’t closer to the truth. I’ve never had complaints about the organization in Missoula and the Bitter Root Valley until now. It struck me as odd.” She nodded to Clarissa. “I must warn you. If I have further complaints, someone from central will have to come to investigate.”
Clarissa nodded. “That’s fine. I have—we have—nothing to hide.”
That evening, Patrick slung his jacket over his arm rather than donning it as he moved to the shadowed side of the street. Heat emanated off the brick streets, and a faint breeze stirred to alleviate the oppressive warmth. As it was the night before his wedding, he wasn’t supposed to see Fiona, and the women from his family had told him they were also expected to be too busy helping her prepare for the wedding to see him either. He thought he had walked without purpose but found himself proceeding up Main Street toward the Miners’ Hall. He frowned upon noting the large crowd buffeting the front of the Hall.
“Patrick,” Elias said as he approached the Hall, too. “What are you doing here?”
“I was wandering and ended up here.” He pointed to the mob of men. “I know you’re supposed to have a meeting, but I never imagined this sort of turnout.”
“As you know, the new president of the Western Federation of Miners is visiting. I think they hope it will calm things after the events of the past few weeks.” He bumped into Patrick as he was jostled by other miners moving toward the Hall.
“Do they know who stole the safe?”
Elias rolled his eyes. “Someone does, but they’re not saying who. They made off with all the records and over one thousand dollars.”
“I’d heard it was closer to fifteen hundred. A profitable night for someone.”
“And now that there are no records, the union has no idea who’s paid up, so that rustling system you boys are fond of won’t work.” Elias tried to hide a triumphant grin.
Patrick sobered and gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Please tell me that you weren’t involved.”
“I wasn’t, but I can’t say I didn’t agree with it.” Elias freed himself from Patrick’s grasp.
Patrick stiffened as a shot rang out from the second floor of the Miners’ Hall. He and Elias dropped to their haunches and then moved away from the building as the masses of men entering the hall fled.
Elias spoke in rapid-fire Finnish to some men nearby and then turned to Patrick. “A few progressives want to liberate the Hall.”
“What does that mean?” Patrick asked.
“Bare minimum is to free it of the BMU.”
Patrick shook his head at the thought of Butte without the Butte Miners Union. He and Elias watched from across the street as a few men scurried up the hill. Patrick raised an amused eyebrow. “Seems an odd way to liberate a place.” He clapped a hand on Elias’s shoulder and steered him into a nearby bar for a drink. “So where’ve you been recently? I haven’t seen you around.” Patrick paid for their drinks, and they moved to a calmer part of the bar.
“I traveled to Idaho for a bit. Worked for a month in the mines there and then thought I’d come back. See if Butte was more open to th
e non-Irish.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the same as always, although the past few weeks have been interesting.”
“The progressives have been active,” Patrick said.
A loud boom shook the bar, and Patrick reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall. “Was that …”
“Dynamite,” Elias said with glee. “Come on!” They moved outside with the men from the bar, remaining on the opposite side of the street as boom after boom was heard. The Hall shook, smoked and finally caved in on itself before crumbling and dissolving into a pile of rubble. Men across the street hooted and hollered with joy.
Patrick fanned the dust from his face with his hat, coughing. “Why do such a thing to your own union?”
“It’s never been ours,” Elias said. He winked at Patrick as he moved to the men across the street, slapping them on the back before slipping into the crowd and disappearing.
“A bunch of goddamn amateurs,” muttered a man next to Patrick.
Patrick turned to him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Any decent miner coulda taken that place down with three or four sticks. From the sounds of it, took them over twenty. Waste of good dynamite, if you ask me.” He cleared his throat and spat on the ground in disgust before returning to the bar and his drink.
Patrick bit back a smile. He finished his beer in two long sips, gave the glass to a man entering the bar and headed toward the Finlen at a brisk pace. He arrived at the hotel to find his family departing. “Rissa!”
She beamed as she saw him. “Patrick! We finished helping Fiona and have her settled for the night. Now the rest of us have decided to see a motion picture starring a man called Charlie Chaplin. Do you want to come?”
“No, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out tonight. The miners just blew up the Miners’ Hall, and I’d hate for you to be harmed.”
“They blew up the hall?” Zylphia asked, her eyes lit with interest as she edged toward the door.
Patrick reached out a long arm to grasp her shoulder. She frowned at his shake of his head. “It would be much safer for you to remain here,” Patrick said. “The miners are angry, and a group of angry men together is dangerous for everyone.”
“You could accompany us,” Savannah said. “That way we’d have a gentleman to protect us.”
“Sav, be serious,” Patrick said.
“I am. We want to see this actor everyone is talking about, and this is our opportunity. Come with us,” Savannah cajoled.
He sighed before nodding. “Fine, but we won’t go toward Main Street. We’ll head down toward Wyoming to Park and the cinema.”
As they entered the theater, Melinda grabbed Patrick’s arm and dragged him toward the concession stand. They bought a large bag of popcorn, Melinda hopping in delight.
“Are you sure you’re almost fourteen?”
“Papa says I have plenty of time to act like a grown woman, but that I’ll never have another chance to be a child.” Melinda beamed up at him.
Patrick thought for a moment before grinning. “I find I must agree with him. He’s smart, isn’t he?”
“He’s the smartest! Except for Uncle Aidan. He’s brilliant,” Melinda said, earning a laugh from Zylphia.
“He’s no smarter than your father, Melly. He’s just older,” Zylphia said. They smiled as they turned to enter the cinema.
Patrick met Savannah’s and then Clarissa’s gazes. “How was Fiona today?”
“She’s wonderful. And that is all we will tell you,” Clarissa said with a laugh at Patrick’s frustrated glower.
They took their seats and waited to see who Charlie Chaplin was and why he’d become popular.
32
Fiona woke the morning of her second wedding and rolled onto her side. She closed her eyes, battling the dream she’d had of her perfect wedding day. She then rolled onto her back, groaning as the motion nauseated her, and threw her forearm over her eyes, banishing her vision of a room filled with flowers, soft music playing, and family surrounding her. A tear trickled out, and she swiped at her cheeks as loud knocking sounded on her bedroom door.
Before Fiona could rise, Clarissa poked her head in. Her friendly smile faded as she saw Fiona’s distress. “Fee,” she whispered, entering the room and closing the door behind her. She moved toward the bed, perching on the side of it. When Fiona threw an arm over her face again, Clarissa gripped her other hand. “It will be all right.”
“It will never be all right. I’m ruining a good man’s life today, and I hate myself for being so desperate that I agreed to such a bargain.” She stuttered out a breath. “I feel like my life has turned into one huge bargain.”
“Do you care for my brother?” Clarissa whispered.
Fiona lowered her arm and frowned at her. “Of course I do. I’d never marry him if I didn’t.”
“He obviously cares for you.” She met Fiona’s gaze. “I know what it is to be terrified on my wedding night. You’ve chosen well, Fiona. If you tell him how you feel, he’ll treat you kindly.”
“I can’t stand the thought of a man’s touch.”
“I didn’t think I could either. But Gabriel changed everything.” She smiled wistfully at Fiona. “I hope Patrick is the same for you.”
“If I weren’t pregnant …” she said with a mutinous firming of her chin.
“But you are,” Clarissa said. At Fiona’s long sigh, Clarissa stroked a hand down her arm. “Come. Let’s get you ready for your wedding.”
Patrick entered the church and came to an abrupt halt. Standing near the nave were Jeremy, Gabriel and Colin. They wore their best suits and paced slightly as they awaited his arrival. He walked toward them with a broad smile and teased, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous.”
Colin laughed and slapped him on his back. “Today’s a big day, brother,” he said. “We wouldn’t miss being here with you.”
Patrick clasped each of their hands, eventually hauling Colin into a bear hug. “Stand up with me?” he whispered.
Colin gave a small whoop and nodded. At the priest’s clearing of his throat, Colin murmured an apology but couldn’t hide his grin.
Patrick nodded to a pew a few rows back, where his nieces and nephew sat with Araminta and Lottie. “I can’t believe you all came,” he whispered.
“You’re one of us and not getting rid of us anytime soon,” Gabriel teased. He glanced down the aisle and nodded with his chin for Patrick’s attention. The McLeod women arrived, moving to sit beside the children and Araminta. They beamed at Patrick as soft music played from the church’s organ.
Patrick moved to await his bride, smiling at her sister and cousin as they preceded her. He beamed at Fiona, dressed in a simple light-blue dress she could wear again with a short veil over her face. He itched to lift the veil but contented himself with running his hand down her arm and clasping her hand.
When the priest intoned “man and wife,” he turned her toward him and raised her veil. He frowned when he saw the tears in her eyes before bending to kiss her softly. He smiled when his family cheered, and he raised their clasped hands to kiss her hand as he turned with her to face them. As they walked down the aisle, his smile dimmed when she whispered, “Thank you.”
Patrick stood with Colin and his brothers-in-law, watching his wife as she laughed with his female family members. “She’s doing a good job keeping you at arm’s length,” Gabriel murmured. “Clarissa attempted the same.”
“How did you convince her you were different from Cameron?” Patrick asked, taking a sip of the drink he held in his hand but failing to taste it.
“By showing her kindness and patience.” Gabriel nodded to Jeremy. “He was the same with Sav. She was brutally beaten by her first husband, and he had to teach her to trust again.” He shared a rueful smile with Patrick.
Patrick was approached by a miner friend, and Gabriel moved to stand near Jeremy. He stiffened as he saw Henry sidle into the small reception room where they celebrat
ed the wedding lunch. He caught Jeremy’s eye and nodded toward the door, but, by the time Jeremy looked in that direction, he didn’t see anything. Jeremy searched the small crowd of well-wishers and froze.
Jeremy grabbed Gabriel by the arm, forcing him to approach the opposite side of the room at a measured pace. He muttered, “Discretion, Gabe.” Gabriel gave a terse nod and slipped through the crowd sipping champagne and murmured his apology when he bumped into merrymakers, spilling their drinks on themselves.
They reached the opposite side of the room, but Henry had disappeared. Gabriel and Jeremy stood taller than most present, but they failed to see him.
“Where’d he go?” Gabriel asked.
Jeremy shook his head before noticing a small alcove off the side of the room. “There’s a good hiding place. But, more important, where’s Rissa?”
Gabriel nearly growled as he and Jeremy hastened toward the small alcove.
Clarissa stilled at the voice behind her, taunting her. She’d moved to the side of the room for a moment alone to capture the day’s festivities in her mind without the distraction of conversation. Now she looked around the crowd, desperate for anyone to meet her panicked gaze. She shuddered as a hand grabbed her waist and tugged her backward into the small alcove. She spun her head to meet Henry’s taunting gaze. When he attempted to pull her into a mockery of an embrace, she stomped on his foot, earning a grunt of pain even though his grip on her arm tightened.
“You believe he’ll run over here and rescue you? That you’re that valuable to him? He’s across the room with his pathetic brother, oblivious to your distress.”
“You lie,” she said. “No matter where Gabriel is, he cares.”
“Do you honestly believe this pathetic charade of a wedding will protect that whore from me? At any point, all I have to do is whistle, and she will do my bidding.”
Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four Page 36
