Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7

by Ramona Flightner

  Patrick rose and held the door wide so Ronan could wheel himself inside more easily. “No, you’re right, Fee. It’s time for us to join the family.” He kissed her on her forehead and smiled.

  After a long meal with his family, marred only by the absence of Melinda and Jeremy, Patrick squeezed Fiona’s shoulder as a silent good-bye before escorting Savannah home.

  “There’s no need for you to walk me home,” Savannah protested.

  “Fee and Rose will settle in for the night after returning home with Colin. I’ll meet them there soon.” He glanced at Savannah before clearing his throat. “I’d like to speak with Melly if I could.”

  Savannah stiffened before she could control her reaction. “Of course. You have every right to speak with her.”

  Patrick gripped Savannah’s arm, stilling her increasingly frenetic pace. “Sav, stop. I’m not trying to change your relationship with Melinda.” He studied her panicked expression in the fading evening light. “However, Ronan helped me to see that Melinda might feel I’m embarrassed or ashamed of her, and I don’t want her to believe that. I couldn’t be more proud of her and the young woman she’s become.” He let go of Savannah’s arm. “Thanks to you and Jeremy.”

  Savannah sniffled as she fought tears. “It seems, no matter how many times you reassure me, I can’t fully believe that my relationship with her won’t be altered.” She squeezed his hand. “Come. Jeremy will be worried.”

  They returned to her large home on an oversize corner lot. The light in the turret room, Melinda’s room, was on, and Savannah led Patrick inside. He waited in Jeremy’s den, pacing in front of the window as he glanced at the door every other minute. He exhaled a deep breath when he heard rapid footfalls on the stairs.

  Melly slunk into the den and flopped onto one of the leather chairs. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, and she wore the same dress from the park. “Why are you here?”

  He leaned against the front of Jeremy’s desk a moment before realizing he towered over her in that position. He grabbed the other leather chair and tugged it where he sat facing her.

  She glared at him as he figured out what to say. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she curled into herself. “It’s not as though you wanted me. You managed to get rid of me. I’d think you’d be upset your escapade was discovered.”

  Patrick huffed out a laugh, his hand shooting out to hold her in place. “Melly, stop.” He raised an eyebrow as she glared at him mutinously. “Please stay here so we can talk and please cease speaking such nonsense.” He watched her with warm fondness. “Ronan said you had a vivid imagination.”

  “You’re here because of Ronan?” Her eyes filled before she blinked away the tears.

  “I’m botching this.” He rubbed at his head. “I’m here because Ronan, a good friend of the family, helped me to see that I was hurting you by not speaking with you.” He canted forward, his long fingers almost touching her arms wrapped around her middle. “You must know I could only ever be proud of you.”

  “Why?” Her raspy voice elicited a wince in him.

  “Because you’re bright, curious, kind.” His gaze roved over her. “You’re beautiful, but you don’t look to your beauty as the means to accomplish your goals.” He smiled. “How could I not be proud of you?”

  “You didn’t want me!”

  He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know you existed. Not until I arrived here four years ago. And I’m still not certain you are mine.” He flushed. “I’m delighted you have such wonderful parents who love you as you should be loved.”

  Melinda shook her head as a few tears leaked down her cheek. She jerked away when he reached forward to swipe at them. “You had years to tell me the truth, and you did nothing. Do you think because I’m young, I’m gullible?”

  Patrick stared at her with a deep intensity, his brown eyes boring into her. “There is no certainty that you are mine. That I am your father. Yet I remain your uncle. Of that I am sure. I could never love you more than I already do, Melly.”

  She rose, her gaze defiant as she panted with her agitation. “You have a weird way of showing it! You marry another and have a baby with her, forgetting about me! I don’t need you! I’ll never need you!” She pushed past him and spun, storming from the library.

  Patrick sat in stunned silence and ran a quaking hand over his face.

  Colin’s legs stretched out in front of him in his cozy living room. He twirled a piece of string he’d torn off the cuff of his shirt and listened as Fiona coaxed little Rose to sleep. He raised an eyebrow as Fiona emerged from the bedroom and collapsed on the settee across from him. “All settled?” he whispered.

  Fiona hugged a pillow to her middle and smiled. “She hates going to sleep. Thinks she’ll miss out on an adventure. Then, when she falls asleep, it’s as though she never fought sleep.”

  Colin smiled. “Pat still sleeps like that.”

  Fiona chuckled, her gaze softening at his mention of her husband.

  “I’m happy to see things have improved with my brother, Fee. You make him happy.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you can understand today’s events were out of his control.”

  Fiona frowned. “She’s a vile woman who knows exactly what to say to provoke harm. I wonder why your father married her.”

  Colin chuckled. “We men aren’t always rational. And she didn’t show her true nature until after the ceremony.” Colin sobered. “I’m the only one who didn’t suffer from her actions.”

  Fiona watched him a moment. “You suffered. You helped your sister heal, and you were separated from your brother for over a decade. And I can’t imagine she’ll let you go without trying to harm you in some way.”

  Colin shivered at the thought, causing Fiona to focus intently on him.

  “You don’t worry about yourself, do you? You worry about someone else.” Her gaze flitted away a moment as she thought before meeting his again and smiling. “The woman who’s always watching the children. Her.” At Colin’s nod, she smiled. “Well, I’d keep your interest hidden as long as that woman’s in town.”

  She broke off from saying anything further when Colin’s door creaked open. “Patrick,” she murmured. She scooted to the side on the settee so he could sit down and she could snuggle in his arms.

  “How did it go?” Colin asked.

  Patrick slung an arm around his wife’s shoulder and sighed. “Terrible. Melly hates me.”

  Colin chuffed out a laugh. “Of course she does. You’ve been back for years and ignored her the whole time. You couldn’t stand living near her, so you lived in another town, the ugliest she’s ever seen. Then you married another and replaced her with another child, so you have no need of her.” He raised an eyebrow. “How am I doing so far with her delusional thoughts?”

  Patrick groaned. “Not all are delusional, but that’s the basis for what she yelled at me.”

  Fiona snuggled into his chest. “You can’t expect to show up, tell her you might be her father and have her accept it without some questions. Not after you’ve been back for four years.”

  “She’s smart. She’s resourceful, and she’s fanciful.” Colin shrugged his shoulder. “One of her favorite people was Mr. Pickens and even he couldn’t keep her completely grounded.”

  “I’m glad she has an imagination, but I hate that it’s conjuring all sorts of falsehoods and making her doubt who she is and how much she is loved by her parents and all of us.” Patrick ran a hand down Fiona’s arm.

  Colin sat up and stretched. “Well, that mess will still be there tomorrow. I’m to bed. See you in the morning.” He brightened a moment. “Ari might come by and help with breakfast since you are here.” He went to bed with a spring in his step.

  Fiona giggled. “He’s enamored of that Araminta.”

  “Not nearly as much as I am of you,” he whispered. “Come to bed with me, Fee. These worries will keep for tomorrow.”

  She ran her palms over his chest before leaning up to kiss him. �
�Yes, love. You did promise me that tonight was ours.” She rose, reaching for him, and they walked to their room hand-in-hand.

  Monday morning Ronan sat tapping away at a pair of shoes. The shop was quiet as Gabriel and Jeremy had gone to the train station to see off Patrick, Fiona and Rose as they headed back to Butte. Ronan paused, stretching his back as he had leaned over his workbench for too long without pause. When he glanced at the door, he frowned to see Melinda hovering outside.

  “Melly, what are you doing out there?” He motioned for her to come inside and wheeled around his workbench to be near her. She wandered the room, her fingertips tracing pieces of furniture her father and uncle were in the process of building. Ronan rubbed his hands on a towel and waited for her to settle. Finally she moved toward him and plopped down on a bench next to him. They sat in companionable silence as they watched passersby on the boardwalk and street outside.

  “Minta has a suitor, Uncle Ronan,” she blurted out. She’d called him uncle since she could remember, and he’d always loved the honorary title.

  Ronan chuckled. “I’d heard that. One of my customers mentioned he’d seen her walking with a gentleman last week. Wonder how your brother’ll take it.”

  Melinda shrugged. “It won’t bother him. He knows Minta would never want anyone but him.”

  Ronan nodded and tapped his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair. “Must be nice, having such confidence in another person.”

  Melinda ducked her head, her shoulders stooped. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” He tilted his head to one side and then waved at a customer as he walked past. “I’d think you’d have more confidence than your brother or sister. With your family and all.”

  She snorted, before swiping at her nose and cheeks. “What family?”

  He spun his wheelchair so he faced her and not the street. “The family who’s loved and cared for you since the moment you were born. The brother and sister who rescued you from the orphanage and the parents who loved you so much they begged to have the chance to raise you.” He met her defiant, turbulent eyes. “The uncle who wanted to see you settled so he set aside his needs and desires to ensure you were happy.”

  She choked back a sob. “You were supposed to be my friend!”

  He grabbed her arm, causing her to spin toward him. He held her tighter than he would have liked but had no other recourse to prevent her from running away from him. “I am. Just as I am your father’s and uncle’s friend.” He smiled as she glared at him. “Being friends doesn’t mean I always agree with you, Melly. It gives me the right to tell you when you’re being a fool.”

  She failed to bite back a laugh. “That sounds like something Mr. Pickens would have said.”

  He smiled and let out a deep breath when she sat down across from him again. “Now you’re turning into a flatterer.” He gripped her hand. “I can imagine why you are upset with Patrick, your parents, your siblings.” He waited until she gave a small nod. “It all reminds you of how your birth mother gave you to an orphanage. And now your birth mother has brought up questions as to who your father is. No one can take away your anger or confusion, and you must work through that on your own time.”

  “I don’t know if I will ever forgive him for ignoring me since he returned four years ago.”

  Ronan sighed. “From what I heard, his da sent him away. Even Rissa and Colin didn’t see him for over ten years.” He met her hurt, confused gaze. “Do you understand how fortunate you were to have Colin save you from that orphanage? And then to have Savannah and Jeremy desperate to raise you as their daughter?” He watched as she blinked away tears. “Even your novels can’t compete with your own life, Melly.”

  She shook her head in mutinous denial. “He didn’t want me.”

  Ronan held her hand. “You have parents and family who love you. For the past four years, you’ve had another uncle who adores you. A man who loves you enough, who worries about you enough, to want you to be happy more than he wants to cause you doubt and confusion. I would consider that a tremendous gift.” He watched as she flushed. “All I’d ask, Melly, is that you not be rash.”

  She rose, hugging him before turning toward the door. “I’m expected at home. Thank you, Uncle Ronan.” She disappeared as quickly as she arrived. Ronan sighed and rubbed his head before returning to his work.

  Chapter 11

  Butte, Montana, July 1917

  Lucas sat at the piano, tinkering to find the correct chord and rhythm for his composition. He hummed to himself as his fingers moved from key to key and shook his head in defeat. He sighed, and his fingers effortlessly moved over the keys, playing the first part of the piece again as he coaxed the missing notes from his brain to his fingers. He closed his eyes at the sweet, tender music and played for a few minutes. He played the final section, hoping it would inspire the next part of his composition, but it remained elusive.

  He glanced to the doorway and smiled at Genevieve. “Vivie,” he called out. “Come join me.” He stopped playing and held out a hand for her. “Do you like my new composition? I’m trying to envision it with a violin as accompaniment, but I’m not good at writing violin music.”

  She sat on a nearby ottoman and smiled. “It’s as beautiful as all the others you’ve written. And don’t worry about writing a part for the violin.”

  He frowned at her platitudes. “That’s not helpful. Criticize it. Tell me what’s repetitive or weak. I can take it.” He leaned toward her as though eager to hear her critique.

  She shook her head, spreading her hands over her forest green skirt. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I wasn’t really paying attention to your music tonight. Will you play it again for me sometime?”

  He frowned at her distant expression. “I wrote it for you, Vivie.” He met her startled gaze with a tender smile. “Of course I’ll play it again. I doubt I’ll ever publish it as I’ll want to tinker with it my whole life to ensure I have it just right.” His frown transformed into a glower when he saw her near tears. “Vivie?”

  “Oh, Lucas, I have to tell you something.” At her whispered words, she scrubbed at her cheeks. “I don’t know if you’ll be happy or not.”

  “Tell me either way,” he pleaded. “I can’t bear your sadness.” He raised her hands, kissing each one.

  “I’m having a baby.” She met his surprised smile. “We’re having a baby.”

  He clasped her head between his palms, his expression transforming from exultation to concern. “Why were you afraid to tell me? Why would you think I wouldn’t be excited?”

  She sniffled. “It’s a change. We have a wonderful life. I worried … I worried you’d resent a child taking away from your piano time. Or my time with you.”

  “Vivie.” He sighed, resting his forehead against hers before he pushed away from her and kissed her lower belly. “Our child will only know love. And acceptance.”

  He rose up, kissing the tears off her cheeks. “She’ll never wonder if I will use her as a pawn to gain family respectability. He’ll never worry that his career choice will bring shame to the family. Our child will only know how proud we are of him or her.”

  “Oh, Lucas,” she whispered, crying into his neck. “Thank you.”

  “As for me worrying that a baby will take away piano or composing time, our baby should. I want to be present in our child’s life.” He met her surprised expression with an impish grin. “You’ll be sick of me, my love, and will send me off to the pubs for musical inspiration.”

  “Never,” she vowed, clinging tightly to him. “Never.”

  A strong breeze blew, nearly ripping off Genevieve’s hat pinned to her hair. She rushed home, a hand to her head to keep her hat in place. The points of the recent speech she had witnessed echoed in her mind as she sought to find anything of merit in the IWW speaker’s arguments. She slipped into her house, grimacing when she heard Lucas playing the piano in the front parlor. She eased out of her jacket, unpinned her hat and shut the door with a soft cl
ick. She stood in the front hall a moment, uncertain if she should tiptoe upstairs or enter the living room.

  “I know you’re there, Vivie,” Lucas called out. “Come join me.”

  She sighed with defeat and walked into the living room brightly lit by the rays from the late evening sun. “What are you working on?”

  He smiled. “A new piece for you and our babe. I’m hopeful it will be appropriate for a lullaby.” He tugged her close, settling her next to him on the piano bench. “Where were you, Vivie?”

  “I went to hear a speaker,” she whispered, her hands playing a few chords.

  Lucas stilled next to her, his hand on the piano keys motionless. “Not Frank Little.”

  She rose and moved to the settee. “Yes, Frank Little. I was curious to hear what he had to say. The papers were incendiary in their dislike of him, and I wanted to form my own opinions of the man who is here at the behest of the IWW.”

  “You’re not a Wobbly, Vivie.”

  She flushed. “You know I’m not. However, I am interested in the rights of all people, something the Company is eager to squash. Without a press free to print what it desires, rather than what the Company tells it to print, I needed to attend to hear what he truly said.”

  Lucas frowned. “I hate to think of you amid a crowd that could have turned into a dangerous, violent mob. You know the rumors that the Company infiltrates such gatherings with paid thugs and gunmen. You must take care of yourself. For yourself and for our baby.”

  She flushed. “I know it was foolish of me. The moment I arrived I wished you were there with me.”

  He smiled at her. “How do you know I wasn’t there?”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise as she gaped at her husband. “You were there?”

  He nodded and then laughed at her amazement. “Yes. I heard he was to speak again, even though his first speech a week ago was a debacle. I wanted to hear him speak too. Besides, I worried you’d attend, and I had the naive belief I’d find you in the crowd. I never imagined thousands would attend one of his speeches.” He rose to sit next to her on the settee. He stretched an arm over her shoulder, sighing with relief and pleasure when she leaned into him. “What did you think?”