Love's First Flames (Banished Saga, 0.5)

by Ramona Flightner

  Copyright © 2014 by Ramona Flightner.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Ramona Flightner/Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  P.O. Box 185

  Boston, MA 02128

  www.ramonaflightner.com

  Cover design by Derek Murphy

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Photographer:

  Maree Jamieson

  http://digimaree.deviantart.com/

  Model:

  Madelyn Christine Winter and she can be found here: http://www.realpeople.com.au/welcome/profile/8215

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Love’s First Flames/ Ramona Flightner. — 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-9860502-5-1

  LOVE’S

  FIRST FLAMES

  RAMONA FLIGHTNER

  Dedication:

  Thank you, Barry, for your enthusiasm,

  Interest, and constant encouragement.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Boston, 1886

  THE SCENT OF CLOVES and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen as Gabriel McLeod opened the front door to his family’s small apartment in the West End. He exchanged an amused smile with his younger brothers, Richard and Jeremy, before leading the way down the darkened hallway, passing a closed door to their shared bedroom. Tacked up pictures of Boston’s harbor and Public Garden from old magazines adorned the hallway.

  The three boys entered the main area consisting of the kitchen, dining area and small living room. A cramped kitchen with space for a stove and sink was set against the far wall. A window over the sink adorned with white curtains faded to yellow let in the bright late-afternoon light. A small round table with six chairs sat in front of the kitchen area with the fireplace to the right, its small fire smoldering on this cold November day. A bookshelf bursting with books stood along the back wall near the door entering the room, while a rocking chair and a half-stuffed gentleman’s chair sat on either side of the fireplace. Pictures of a slightly higher quality, highlighting European landmarks, were tacked on the wall opposite the fireplace along with a map of the world.

  “Hello, my darlings,” their mother said, a bright smile and a plate filled with burned cookies awaiting their arrival from school. She wiped at her flour-dusted cheeks, her bright blue eyes sparkling with delight at her accomplishment. Her gray apron was covered in more flour and dried dough, concealing a periwinkle dress. “I think you will enjoy these.” She held up the plate of cookies expectantly.

  Gabriel nudged Jeremy, his youngest brother, but Jeremy was reticent to try the cookies. Gabriel saw their mother’s pleasure dim at her boys’ hesitation so Gabriel hastened to select a cookie. He bit down, unable to sever off a piece of cookie with his front teeth. He gnawed on it with his molars, and, after a moment, a chunk broke off. The acrid, bitter taste of burned food overwhelmed him, and he coughed. “It might be even better with a glass of milk,” he rasped, nodding in encouragement to his brothers.

  “Oh, of course.” She turned toward the icebox and pulled out the milk that had been delivered that day. “Sit and tell me all about school. What did they teach you today?”

  The siblings began their post-school tradition of regaling their mother with their day’s activities while she prepared supper.

  “I don’t understand why I have to memorize Longfellow’s poem,” Richard complained. “If I wanted to read it again, I’d find a copy of it.”

  “Some poems and stories are meant to be memorized. The power of the language becomes a part of you, and you find yourself influenced in ways you’d never imagine in the future.” She gave him a stern look. “You are not wiggling out of that assignment, Richard.”

  “I have to write an essay on the generosity of the French in giving us that statue,” Gabriel grumbled. He pulled out a week-old newspaper with photos from the parade in New York City and the dedication of the Statue of Liberty with President Cleveland presiding.

  “What about you, Little Pop?” Geraldine asked, turning toward her youngest son. She traced the back of his head, resting her hand at his nape. All three of her sons had black hair and long limber frames, although Jeremy was not nearly as tall as Gabriel or Richard had been at the same age. Jeremy worried he’d never grow to be as tall as his father. Of the three, Jeremy had startling green eyes, rather than brilliant blue.

  “More spelling tests.” He laid his head down on his books in disgust. “I don’t understand why I can’t write things as they sound.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d want many more reprimands for thinking t-o-u-g-h should be spelled t-u-f-f.” Richard giggled.

  “Hsht,” their mother said with a fierce frown. “English is harder than you think, but you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll be here to help you.” Jeremy nodded as she rubbed his head one more time before moving toward the kitchen sink.

  As the front door opened and clicked shut, all three boys sat taller and looked toward the hallway in expectation.

  “Hi, Da!” Jeremy scrambled out of his chair to give his father a hug. Their father, Ian McLeod, crouched down to embrace his youngest son, hefting him into his arms for a moment, with Jeremy giggling in delight to be over six feet tall in his father’s arms. Jeremy leaned into his father, his small body snuggling in for a moment before he squirmed to get down.

  “Ah, there’s my Jeremy,” Ian said. “How are my boys today? And it seems you were in for a treat with your mother baking for you.” He ran a hand through his hair, equally as dark as his sons’.

  “Mom made us cookies,” Richard said. He gave his father a hug as he walked past him, whispering in his ear, “Eat one with a glass of milk.”

  His father nodded, his deep blue eyes glinting mischievously. “Hello, darling.” He pulled Geraldine into a hug and gave her a quick kiss, tracing a hand over firmly knotted hair the color of rich mahogany. She smiled, ignoring the byplay between her husband and sons.

  “Where’s Uncle Aidan, Da?” Gabriel asked. He grinned as his father ruffled his hair, watching as his father settled into the lopsided easy chair.

  “Ah, ’tis good to be home. Well, there’s no news on your uncle’s ship, but I expect its return to Boston any day now. And when it does, we’ll have to see about convincing him to stay for Christmas.”

  Gabriel moved from his chair to look at the map on the wall. “Where do you think he’s been?” He traced the lines of the countries on the map and counted the red dots. “He’s already been to twenty-seven places outside America.”

  “I’m sure by now it’s over thirty,” Ian said with a chuckle. “I can’t wait to hear of his latest adventures.”

  “Are you sure he’ll be home in time for Christmas, Da?” Richard asked as he nudged Gabriel aside to look at the map. They pushed each other back and forth for a moment, but Gabriel g
ave Richard his place in front of the map when Gabriel heard his father clear his throat in warning.

  “I wouldn’t worry that he’ll be home in time for Christmas.”

  Gabriel turned to see his mother smiling with fondness.

  “You’ll have your presents from Uncle Aidan, of that I have no doubt,” she said.

  “Yes!” Richard said, and jumped up and down a few times.

  “Richard, no jumping. You know how Mrs. Swarinovsky has been ill and needs us to be quiet up here.”

  Richard bowed his head. “Yes, Mum.”

  “Ah, there’s a good lad,” Ian said. “Why don’t we ready for the delicious dinner your mum’s prepared, and then she can continue reading to us? I, for one, want to know what happens next to the intrepid Jim Hawkins.”

  They all rose and washed their hands before sitting around the battered dinner table. The evening meal was filled with boisterous conversation and laughter. After they had all helped clean up after dinner—a tradition they had started when they realized it would mean Mum would be able to read to them more quickly and for a longer period of time—they settled to listen to her voice.

  Geraldine sat in her rocker with Jeremy curled on her lap. Ian had again relaxed in his armchair while Gabriel and Richard had pulled up dining room chairs to form a half circle and to also sit within the warmth of the fireplace.

  Geraldine extracted the library book, looking around at her men as she opened the book to where they had left off the night before. “Do we all remember where we were in Treasure Island last night?”

  “They were sailing for the island!” Richard said.

  “Like Uncle Aidan,” Jeremy said.

  Geraldine giggled and tousled his hair, giving him a quick kiss on his head before she read. After nearly an hour, she closed the novel. “And that is all for tonight.” Geraldine raised her eyes, seeing all of them canted forward with baited breath, waiting to hear more.

  “No, Mum. Please, just one more chapter!” Gabriel begged.

  Geraldine laughed. “Not tonight. You’ll hear more tomorrow, if you study hard and there’s no fighting. My boys need their rest if they are going to succeed and do well in school. Now off to bed with you, and I’ll be in soon to tuck you in.” She reached her hand out toward Ian and their fingers touched for a moment before she heaved Jeremy off her lap.

  “You too, Da?” Richard asked.

  “Of course, son.”

  Richard and Gabriel rose with grumbles and groans, making their way to their bedroom, Jeremy trudging along behind them. They entered the small room toward the front of the apartment, large enough to hold a double bed, a single cot and a large dresser. A leaky window at the head of the bed was covered by a dilapidated burgundy curtain and billowed with the breeze, allowing bursts of cold air into the room. They slept with their feet to the window.

  “Do you think there really are pirates?” Jeremy asked as he crawled under the covers, shivering. “Is Uncle Aidan a pirate?” His green eyes gleamed at the prospect.

  “Uncle Aidan’s not a pirate,” Gabriel said, with a roll of his eyes to Richard, before grinning broadly. “But I bet he’s seen some.” He climbed into the bed he shared with Richard.

  Their mother bustled into the room to tuck them in. “I hate that this room is always so cold for my boys. I’d have you sleep in the back bedroom, closer to the heat of the fire, but there’s not room there for all three of you in that small room.” She pulled the covers up tight around their chins and tucked the blankets tightly around their bodies. She glanced around the room for the nightly pile of clothes that she usually tidied and found none. “Have you decided to sleep in your clothes?”

  “Yes, Mum,” Gabriel murmured as sleep overtook him. “It’s too cold otherwise.”

  “Always rational, my Gabriel,” she said with an affectionate stroke of his head. “Sleep well, my young men. Dream of adventures on the high sea. I’ll see you in the morning, my darlings.”

  Their father entered, giving them each a kiss on their foreheads, earning faint, “Night, Da,” responses before they succumbed to sleep.

  “Oh, Ian, we are so blessed,” Geraldine whispered as she stood in her husband’s embrace, her back to his chest and his arms around her waist, watching their boys.

  “We are, love. We are.” She turned to face him, and he kissed her softly. “And the greatest blessing is that you have no regret in marrying me.”

  “None,” she whispered. They left the small room, shutting the door tightly behind them.

  ***

  GABRIEL WOKE WITH A START. He looked toward Richard, thinking he had elbowed Gabriel in the side again during one of Richard’s nightmares. However, Richard slept peacefully, mouth agape in a silent snore, nearly falling off his side of the bed. Gabriel propped himself on one elbow, rubbing his eyes for a moment, in confusion as to why he had awoken. He yawned, and, on the deep inhalation, he sniffed a hint of smoke and heard screaming.

  Jumping out of the bed, he opened the door to his room. Smoke billowed in the hallway, causing him to cough and blink his eyes rapidly. He slammed the door shut, racing to Jeremy, who lay on a cot near Gabriel’s bed. Gabriel shook his youngest brother, screaming, “Wake up!” He vaulted onto his bed, hitting Richard so hard he fell to the floor.

  “Gabe?” Richard asked sleepily. His head popped up over the side of the bed, and he moved to crawl back into his side of the bed.

  “Fire!” Gabriel said as he grabbed Richard’s arm and moved toward Jeremy, yanking him up and toward the doorway. Jeremy grabbed for a toy train Uncle Aidan had given him, but his fingers met only air as he was heaved forward by Gabriel. “The hallway’s full of smoke. We should crawl to the front door and then out.”

  “What about Mum and Da?” Richard asked.

  “I’m sure they couldn’t get to us and are already outside, waiting for us,” Gabriel said, his voice trembling as he battled the terror of opening the door again. “Whatever we do, let’s stay together.”

  He opened the door, and a roar enveloped them. The smoke had become thicker, and, only by instinct, Gabriel knew to turn right toward the front door. He crouched low, crawling along, hands bumping into a side table, knocking off a battered vase as he struggled forward. Smoke burned his lungs, and he pulled up his shirt to cover his mouth, although nothing helped prevent hacking coughs from bursting forth. Just as he thought he’d never reach the end of the hallway, one he’d always thought short, his hand hit the front door.

  Gabriel reached for the handle and pulled himself up. He twisted the knob, his sweaty hand slipping in the heat. On his third try, the door inched open, and cool, fresh air entered. He turned for Richard and Jeremy, pulling them through and looked behind for a moment as Gabriel heard a roar like a train engine. A huge flame was roaring toward them, down the hallway, as though fed by the open door. He jumped last through the door, slamming it shut.

  He pushed Jeremy and Richard into motion, propelling them down the stairs and into the middle of the street where he collapsed onto his knees, hacking, with tears streaming down his face. Flames burst out their bedroom window, glass shattering and splattering onto the street below. They turned their backs, shielding themselves as best they could for a moment before turning to watch as the flames licked up the side of the building, searching for more fuel in the brick building.

  A distant peal of a bell, rung over and over, heralded the arrival of the fire department. A pair of laboring horses dragged the coal-belching, steam-powered pot-bellied water hose, ready to begin dousing the fire as evidenced by the black smoke billowing into the sky. Firemen hung on the edge of the machine, ready to leap down and fight the blaze the moment they stopped. Gabriel, Jeremy and Richard were thrust aside by the firefighters, and the boys stumbled on the uneven cobblestone, never taking their eyes from the building or the front door. Soon hoses were attached to a nearby hydrant, and a stream of water spewed forth, causing a hissing, popping, crackling noise as steam emerged from where flames
had been moments before.

  “Da!” Richard screamed.

  “Mum!” Jeremy joined in.

  Gabriel shook, his voice lost from the coughing fit and overcome with dread as he fought to understand what had happened. “Mum,” he croaked, unable to yell. “Da!” he gasped. He slung an arm over each of his brothers’ shoulders, pulling them close to him, huddling with them in the middle of the street.

  After over an hour, while the firemen battled the worst of the blaze, the boys continued to shake and stare at their destroyed home. Mrs. McClowski approached them, wrapping a blanket around them. Gabriel jerked at her gentle touch, reminiscent of his mother’s and turned expectantly, hope and joy lighting his gaze at the thought of seeing his mother. He glowered at Mrs. McClowski before attempting to smile in appreciation for her kindness.

  “Come with me, children. Standing in the streets is no place for you,” she said. They attempted to forestall her, and, although appearing emaciated after the birth of a child a year for nearly a decade, she pushed them with astounding strength toward her home across the street and into her small front sitting room on the first floor. “I’ve settled the children in the back,” she said, and Gabriel noted the empty pallets on the floor. “Rest while you can.” She sat, rocking Jeremy until he quieted, and then helped him onto one of the makeshift beds by the fire.

  Gabriel glanced around the dark, coal-dust-covered walls. A lamp was lit on a table near the door. An anemic fire in the grate let off sparse heat, and Gabriel shivered after Richard moved toward the other pallet in front of the fire, taking the blanket with him. Gabriel clambered onto a hard wooden chair near them, sitting as though a sentry while his brothers collapsed into a fitful sleep.

  “Try to sleep, young Gabriel,” Mrs. McClowski coaxed, dull brown eyes filled with concern. “Dawn is coming soon enough.”

  “I want to be awake when my parents arrive,” he croaked, his throat burning with each syllable. He nodded his thanks as he accepted a ratty towel, and wiped away the soot and tears from his face. He pressed the damp towel to his sore eyes, a whimper of relief escaping at the soothing coolness.