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

by Ramona Flightner

  “Oh, it’s you, ZeeZee.” He beamed his toothless grin, waving her inside.

  She reached out a hand, grabbing him as he teetered to one side to prevent him from falling to the floor.

  “I’m not as steady on my feet today,” he said with his accordionlike laugh. He used his cane but also gripped other pieces of furniture in the room as he walked, needing support on both sides for each step. “The Wandering Wastrels were just leaving,” he said as she noted his friends sitting in his haphazard assortment of chairs.

  “Hello, Mr. Amos, Mr. Goudy,” Zylphia said with a nod. She placed her basket on a table in the kitchen area but refrained from extracting the pie.

  “That smells like a fresh baked apple pie with plenty of spice,” Mr. Goudy said as he raised his nose to sniff the air.

  “Yer like a bloodhound, Gouty.” A.J. collapsed onto the comfortable wooden chair Gabriel had made him years ago, topped with a cushion provided by Rissa. “I ain’t sharin’ my pie with the likes of ye this week. Not after ye bled me at poker.”

  “I’d say it’s your own fault for playing with two card sharks,” Zylphia said as she settled on a vacant chair between Mr. Pickens and Mr. Amos.

  “Don’t ye be takin’ their side,” he said, his eyes filled with mischief and glee.

  “Ah, we should be going,” Mr. Amos said as he tapped A.J. on his shoulder. “See you at our regular time at Gabriel’s tomorrow.”

  Mr. Pickens tapped his cane on the floor in agreement. “Don’t let those winnin’s go to yer gizzard. I plan on winnin’ ’em back next time!” He smiled as his friends closed the door behind them. “I haven’t seen ye in too long, my ZeeZee.”

  Zylphia smiled at his nickname for her.

  “It’s as though ye’ve been avoidin’ this ol’ buzzard.”

  She flushed and looked away from his penetrating gaze.

  “Ah, I see I’m right. What’s happened to cause ye to lose yer youthful blush?” When she rose to extract the pie from its basket and remained silent, A.J. squinted at her. “I bet it has to do with a young man.” He thumped his cane. “A senseless clod, if ye’ve lost yer bloom over ’im.”

  Zylphia set down the pie with a thunk, causing A.J. to grimace. “Don’t damage my pie just ’cause yer out ’o sorts, ZeeZee.”

  “Would you like a piece, Mr. A.J.?” She was already cutting into the pie, ready with a plate and a fork for Mr. A. J.

  “I’ve never been so simple-minded as to turn down a piece o’ pie. ’Specially one made by Minta.” He sighed with contentment when he held his piece and sniffed all the spices. “She always makes mine extra spicy an’ sweet.” He speared Zylphia with an intense stare. “Now, while I’m eatin’ my pie, you sit an’ tell me what’s got yer gander up.”

  Zylphia sat next to him again, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t come to Montana solely to fight for women’s votes.”

  When she paused a long time, A.J. grunted. “No, ye were runnin’ away. Somethin’ the ladies of yer family like to do. Ye lot have yet to learn it’s best to remain an’ face what’s comin’.”

  Zylphia glared at him. “For the record, I’m Gabriel’s cousin, not Clarissa’s or Savannah’s.”

  “Coulda fooled me by how ye act,” he said around a mouthful of pie. He waved his fork at her as though directing her to get on with her story.

  “I pushed away the man I love, and he traveled to England to be with his ill grandfather. I never had the opportunity to tell him that I’d been a fool. That what I’d said was said in fear.”

  A.J. tapped his fork against his half-empty plate. “He must’ve been one mad young man to flee from ye.” He squinted at her. “Or ye’ve yet to learn to control yer temper an’ mouth.”

  “My mother always said my rash words would come back to haunt me.” She gasped as she swallowed a sob. “They have.”

  “So ye love the man. Tell him.”

  Zylphia bent over and wept. She spoke through her tears, swiping at her cheeks. “He’s fighting in the war. We’ve begun to write each other again, now that he’s fighting. He’s in danger, and there’s nothing I can do.”

  Mr. A.J. reached out a shaky hand to stroke her head. “Ah, it’s like that then? Has he come to his senses, now he’s afeared he’ll meet his maker?”

  Zylphia nodded and sniffled.

  “Have ye written him? Told him ye forgive him?” He watched her with worried eyes. “For ye must, even if yer still angry with ’im. Ye don’t want that regret should somethin’ happen.”

  “I have. I’ve written him that I love him and want to be with him.” She bit her trembling lip as she fought tears. “But I’m so angry.”

  “At what, ZeeZee?” He reached out a gnarled hand, patting her head and cheek in an awkward yet comforting caress.

  “I wrote him, more times than I can count, when we were both still in Boston. I begged him in those letters to give me a chance to explain. And he never read any of them.” She firmed her jaw as she flushed with anger as her words came out stilted. “If he’d simply read one letter—one—before leaving, he would be safe in Boston. Not in some field fighting in France.”

  “We all make mistakes. Ye must forgive him.” Mr. A.J. patted her hand on the table. “An’ yerself. For if ye hadn’t pushed him away, ye wouldn’t have needed a letter.”

  “It’s all my fault if he dies,” Zylphia whispered.

  “That’s prepostosense.”

  Zylphia shook her head as she thought through his word. “Preposterous?” At his nod, she frowned. “Nonsense?”

  “Exactly,” he beamed. “You’re getting better an’ better at understandin’ my way o’ talkin’.” He sobered. “And it is prepostosense.” He waved his hand around to indicate the two words. “Ye’ve nothin’ to do with causin’ a war. An’ ye have nothin’ to do with forcin’ that man to join the army.”

  “He says it was a matter of honor,” she whispered.

  “As it always is during a time o’ war,” Mr. A.J. said, his gaze distant. “Write yer young man and dream o’ him. But he won’t come back the same man ye knew.”

  37

  October 2, 1914

  My Darling Zee,

  You will never know what joy your letter has brought me. I live, each moment, knowing that the next I might be separated from you forever, and that has truly taught me to fear. In truth, it’s no different than when I lived in Boston, for, at any moment, some tragedy could have befallen us. I think seeing man’s ability to craft such destruction in war has made me more aware of our fleeting time together.

  And it is time I want with you, Zee. I want to hold you. Just hold you. To be warmed by you. To breathe in the soft scent of jasmine in your hair. To kiss your paint-stained fingers and know you’d had as good a day creating art as I’d had at my inventions. To know that there’s nowhere you’d rather be than with me.

  Your letter is next to my heart, as it’s been since I opened it. I no longer need to read it, having memorized it weeks ago. I miss you, Zee. More than you’ll ever comprehend.

  Your Teddy

  “Have you had any news from Teddy?” Clarissa asked as they walked along the streets of Hamilton.

  She, Savannah and Zylphia had traveled throughout the Bitter Root Valley during the past few weeks to champion the upcoming vote for women. They paused for a moment on a corner of Main Street, as Zylphia scrawled “Votes for Women! Vote Yes November 3!” in chalk on the wooden boardwalk.

  Clarissa smiled at a man who frowned and appeared on the verge of spitting a large wad of chewing tobacco next to Zylphia. He continued to frown but refrained from any expectorations and walked on down the boardwalk.

  “The last letter I received,” Zylphia said with a slight huff as Clarissa helped heave her upright, “was a few days ago. He seemed to be doing all right, although, reading between the blackout lines, he was a bit dispirited.”

  “Why?” Savannah asked as she handed out a pamphlet to an inquisitive woman walking with her husband a
nd son. Savannah stopped to speak with them for a few minutes before rejoining her group.

  By now they were used to interrupted conversations and continued as though Savannah had just asked her question.

  “I’m not certain, but I think they’d hoped to make more progress. From what everyone had said, this would be a short conflict, but Teddy’s letters give me the impression he doesn’t think so.”

  “He would know better than anything we’re reading in the papers here,” Clarissa said as they approached their hotel. They trudged up the stairs, entering their rooms to collapse onto their cotlike beds.

  “I’d think with a fortune like yours we’d be able to afford more comfortable accommodations,” Clarissa groused, her foot nudging Savannah’s.

  Savannah let out a breathy sigh. “I’m so tired I could sleep on a block of cement. Who would have thought traveling around canvassing for votes would be this exhausting?”

  “I wish someone would bring us our supper,” Zylphia moaned as she stretched out on her bed.

  Clarissa laughed. “Only we would think of such a thing! Oh, but it feels good to relax for a few moments.”

  All three women groaned at an insistent tapping on their door. After a moment Zylphia moaned and rose. “I know. I’m the youngest and closest. But you two owe me.” She wrenched open the door and attempted a sweet smile for the young man. “Thank you kindly,” she said as she closed the door.

  Clarissa leaned on one elbow while Savannah peered from her prostrate position on her bed. “Well?”

  “A telegram for you.” Zylphia held it out to Clarissa.

  Any lassitude disappeared with those words. Clarissa sat upright, while Savannah rolled onto her side, her head propped on her hand, as Clarissa ripped open the telegram. After she read it, her lips moved as though trying to speak, and she became flushed and then pale.

  “Rissa?” Savannah was at her side in an instant. She gripped the telegram, easing it from her cousin’s tight grip. “Read it,” she commanded Zylphia as she took Clarissa in her arms. “Whatever it is, Rissa, it’ll be all right.” She looked up questioningly to Zylphia.

  “Mr. Pickens is dying.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Gabriel says to hurry.”

  Savannah held a shaking Clarissa to her as Savannah nodded to Zylphia. “Right. We must leave. Zee, go to the garage. Agree to pay whatever you must, but make sure they fix the car now.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” Zylphia said as she squeezed Clarissa’s shoulder and then raced from the room. They could hear Zylphia’s boot heels as they clattered down the stairs.

  Clarissa shook as she curled into Savannah’s embrace. “I know it’s ridiculous to be this upset. He’s an old man who’s been sickly for years.”

  “He’s as a grandfather to you. You love him,” Savannah soothed. “There’s nothing silly about it.”

  “He’s helped me through every major, and minor”—Clarissa half laughed—“crisis I’ve had since I arrived here in Montana. I don’t know how I’ll go on without him.”

  “You know we’ll all help you through this.”

  Clarissa pushed herself away, rising and throwing her traveling case on the bed. “I know you will, but some griefs are so deep.” She paused as a sob struck. She turned away for a moment before approaching her things in a small chest of drawers, placing those few items inside her bag. Savannah rose and hastily packed for herself and Zylphia, working in a companionable silence.

  When they’d packed their bags, they sat, staring at each other. “How long do you think it will take to fix the car?” Clarissa asked.

  “I don’t know.” Savannah’s expression darkened. “I hope they have the part they needed.”

  “I can’t spend another night here. He could die before morning. He can’t die before I see him again.” Clarissa’s voice emerged in a near pant, as though on the verge of hyperventilating from her agitation.

  Zylphia returned, breathless, a few moments later. “The automobile is out front. They’d just finished with it at the garage. I paid the hotel bill downstairs as well, so we’re ready. It will be dark soon, and it’s a long drive, but we have plenty of fuel.”

  “Thank God you purchased the automobile this spring,” Clarissa said to Savannah as they grabbed their bags and rushed down the stairs.

  “Thank goodness they fixed it today,” Savannah said.

  They nodded to the man working the front desk and bustled out the front door to their car. They heaved their bags to one side of the backseat, and then Zylphia climbed in the free space there. Savannah settled in to drive, while Clarissa paused, glancing at the mountains Mr. A.J. so loved for a moment. A canyon with tall granite peaks glinted in the late-evening sun.

  “Mr. Pickens loved these mountains,” Clarissa murmured. She shook her head to clear it from her reverie and heaved herself into the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

  Savannah eased the car into motion, beginning their journey to Missoula.

  During the long car ride, little was spoken. Clarissa’s thoughts were flooded with memories of Mr. Pickens. His impatience mixed with caring when she acted foolishly. His glee as he told a story about the olden days. His joy and sorrow when he spoke of his late wife, Bessie. Clarissa broke the tense silence. “I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

  Savannah nodded her agreement. “I know, Rissa. He’s important to all of us, but to you most of all.”

  Savannah had barely parked the car before Clarissa leapt from it and raced into her house. She banged the door open, startling Gabriel who stood at the fireplace. He spun to face her before moving toward her in a few strides to pull her into a tight embrace.

  “No,” Clarissa gasped. “Don’t tell me that I’m too late.”

  “You’re not, love,” he whispered against her ear. “I needed to hold you.” He backed away a step, and she noticed his eyes were tear-brightened. “He’s upstairs. When I realized how ill he was, I couldn’t fathom him all alone in his rooms. He agreed to come here, and Araminta’s been sitting with him the past half hour. We’ve been taking turns.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I should’ve known he was more ill than he was letting on, but I didn’t. Otherwise he never would have agreed to leave his home.”

  Clarissa stroked a hand over Gabriel’s stubbled cheeks before racing upstairs. She peeked into her bedroom to see her children altogether in the one large bed, sound asleep. She moved to Billy’s room, to find Mr. A.J. in Billy’s bed. She placed a hand on Araminta’s shoulder as she sat on a chair by his bed. She nodded and rose, leaving silently.

  “Mr. A.J.,” Clarissa whispered as she fell to her knees by his bed.

  “None of this, Missy.” He coughed a rattling noise. “Ye knew I couldn’t live forever.” He raised a shaky hand, his skin splotched with purple age spots and thinned by the passage of time. Gnarled fingers reached out to trace away her tears, his fingertips nearly as downy soft as a baby’s newborn skin.

  “I—” Her voice broke before she could say anything further.

  “I know, Missy. I love ye too. Ye were the granddaughter I never had. I gave thanks every day after ye walked into that depository all those years ago. I just wish my Bessie coulda met ye.”

  “Mr. A.J.” Clarissa bit back a sob. “You were the grandfather I’d always wanted to have. Kind, funny and yet giving me a kick in the skirts when I needed one.”

  “Darn straight.” His breathing became incrementally more labored. “I always knew when my Missy was troubled. And when ye were overthinkin’ a problem.” He speared her with eyes still lit with a fine intelligence born of a life well lived. “Ye and that man o’ yers are gonna have to find a way to yer own solutions now, Missy.”

  She sniffled out a giggle. “I’ll have to imagine to myself what you’d say to me and then do it.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he gasped out.

  “No, you always recommended less fighting and more time spent canoodling.”

  “Darn straight,” he whispered,
his voice failing.

  She held on to his hand as his eyes fluttered close. “Mr. A.J.”

  “Don’t fret, Missy. I’ll always be with ye,” he breathed out. He gripped her hand and closed his eyes. His chest continued to rise and fall, although he didn’t speak with her further.

  She lowered her head to the bed and cried, only calming when she felt warmth at her back. “Gabe?”

  “I’m here, love,” he murmured, kissing her nape. “I needed to be here too.” He placed his hand over hers, holding Mr. A.J.’s, and together they kept a silent vigil by his bedside. Eventually she leaned into Gabriel, crying silent tears against his collar as Mr. Pickens’s breathing became increasingly labored.

  She shuddered as she realized his time was nearing and reached forward to stroke a hand over Mr. A.J.’s forehead, his cheeks. She whispered, “I love you, Mr. A.J.,” and then, with one last deep exhalation, he was gone.

  “No, no, no,” she moaned against the edge of the bed, her body shaking with her sobs.

  “Clarissa, love,” Gabriel said, his voice as tentative as the hand he stroked over her shoulders and back.

  She continued bent over the bed as though alone with her grief, and he stiffened, moving to leave her alone. She reached back, gripping his thigh. “No, Gabriel. No.” She spun and flung herself into his chest. “Hold me. Help me to bear this pain.”

  He settled on the floor, pulling her onto his lap, cradling her. He whispered endearments, stroked his hands over her back and through her hair until it hung in disorderly strands down her back, and he shivered with relief as she clung to him like a burr.

  Only as she settled did Clarissa realize that Gabriel’s cheeks were wet. She traced her fingertips over his face and met his reddened eyes. “Darling?”

  “I loved him too,” he said in a grief-ladened voice. “He always knew what to say to ensure I’d find my way back to you.”

  “Oh, my darling.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheeks, brushing the hair off his forehead before resting her forehead against his chest.

  “And I realized, as I held you just now, this is what we missed by not mourning Rory together. And I’m sorrier than I can say.” His voice emerged roughened from his attempt to quell his tears.