Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7

by Ramona Flightner

  “I thought a case a few years ago settled all this,” Parthena argued, her brow furrowed.

  “No, the Supreme Court found in favor of the government, and that merely reinforced the law from 1907.” Zylphia balled up her hand and bounced it off her thigh repeatedly in agitation. “Men never fear losing their citizenship! They can marry whomever they please, a citizen or not. But I marry for love, and now I am seen as an alien to my own country.” She swiped at a tear.

  “And Teddy?” Parthena asked hesitantly.

  “And Teddy has the power to help me regain my citizenship but will do nothing!” She took a deep breath. “He’s lived here for years. I fail to understand why he clings to being British when he’s more American than many I meet.”

  “Except for his adorable accent,” Parthena said. She flushed when Zylphia glared at her.

  “I can apply for naturalization, as though I had never lived here and want to become a citizen. However, because Teddy doesn’t desire to be a naturalized citizen, it doesn’t matter what I do. As long as he remains a British citizen, I will never be an American citizen.”

  “Is that why such a distance is between you? Because you punish him for not seeing your side?” Parthena asked. “Sophie mentioned it to me when I visited a few weeks ago.”

  Zylphia slouched against the back of the bench. “Yes. I’m so angry at his implacability. Why won’t he do this for me?”

  Rowena shook her head. “I think you should understand that being British is as important to him as being an American is for you. Neither of you will have what you want. One of you must accept this, Zee.”

  Zylphia sniffled and rubbed at her nose. “I hate that I had no choice.”

  Parthena sighed in understanding. “That’s it, isn’t it? You want to have had a choice, and you resent that he does.” Parthena scooted forward and moved so that she could face Zylphia better. “Zee, you have to realize that life is unfair the majority of the time. It’s how we respond to all of these situations we wished were different that will determine whether or not we will be happy.”

  “I can’t believe you’d lecture me with that drivel when you’re in a worse situation with Morgan,” Zylphia snapped. She immediately blanched and grabbed at Parthena’s arm as P.T. moved to rise. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for.”

  “You’re right, Zee. I’m having a difficult time determining what I want to do about the mess I’ve made. Perhaps because of that, I see you doing something similar, and I want to prevent you from making the same mistakes.”

  “You and Teddy love each other, Zee,” Rowena argued. “It doesn’t matter what country you call home.”

  “I know what you say is true. But can you understand what it’s like to all of a sudden be considered a foreigner in your own land? Simply because I married a man from England? And how I had no desire to lose my citizenship. I want to be an American. I want to vote here when we win equal rights for women.”

  “I am not going through what you are right now,” Rowena said as she stroked a hand down Zylphia’s back. “But being angry with Teddy isn’t making either of you happy. It’s no more his fault than it is yours.”

  They sat in contemplative silence as they stared at the Tidal Basin. Vendors peddled ices, peanuts and newspapers. Nearby a father played with a son, attempting and failing to fly a kite in the sparse breeze. The child seemed undeterred, screeching with joy as he chased the kite around.

  “Do you regret marrying him?” Parthena asked after a long pause in their conversation.

  Zylphia closed her eyes, as though in defeat. “No. I could never regret marrying Teddy.”

  “The way you’re acting would give him that idea,” Rowena said. She gave Parthena a pointed glance, and Parthena blushed in agreement. “I’d think you were both fortunate in the men you married. You knew you were immediately upon your marriage, Zee, as you chose him. You’ve had to discern your luck, P.T., but I think you have by now.”

  Rowena watched as both her friends mulled over her words. “Now I’m wondering when I’ll be abandoned here in Washington when you both rush back to Boston to your husbands.”

  “I won’t leave until I’m certain that we’ve fulfilled Miss Paul’s goals with the picketing. I have a sense that things will soon come to a head.” Zylphia watched her friends. “After that, I can make no promises.”

  “I’d like to help, Zee,” Parthena said. “I want to remain a while longer. However, I will return to Boston by December. I have no desire to be away for many months on end like you. And I fear a long separation will give Morgan the wrong idea.”

  Rowena smiled. “Well, I have you both here for a while at least.”

  They settled onto the bench to watch the passersby and to enjoy the evening for a little while longer before venturing to find dinner and then returning to their apartment and finding a place for Parthena to stay while in DC.

  Chapter 15

  Butte, Montana, October 1917

  Genevieve walked into her living room and paused. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart as a strange man paced inside near her front door. His suit was tattered at the seams, while the previously white shirt appeared ivory colored at best. “May I inquire as to why you are in my front hall?” She stood tall as the man spun to face her.

  He stood taller than Lucas, nearly as tall as the McLeod cousins, although he had a lanky frame. His brown hair, longer than fashionable, hung over one blue eye, and his full beard needed a trim. “I’m your butler.” He bowed, scraping the floor with his fingers.

  Genevieve bit back a smile. “My butler?” Her gaze raked over him again and shook her head. “Do you know my husband?”

  “Of course. Luc is a wonderful friend to those in need,” he said.

  She was unable to bite back a laugh at this man’s nickname for her husband. “You’re the first person who’s ever called him by anything other than Lucas or Mr. Russell.” She speared the stranger with a fierce glower. “I believe it proper for a butler to address his employer, for lack of a better word, as Mr. Russell.” She placed quivering hands over the subtle bulge of her belly.

  “Mr. Lucas it shall be,” he said with a bow of his head.

  Genevieve sputtered out an incredulous laugh. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  He pulled at the lapel of his jacket and stood as tall as his lean frame allowed. “I’m Marc Legionnaire.”

  “And you’re French.” At his slight hesitancy, Genevieve’s smile widened. “Or you wish to appear French and thus more sophisticated.” At his sniff of disapproval, Genevieve laughed. “Oh, come. I wouldn’t think such airs and graces should be necessary in Butte. And certainly not in my home.”

  “For a musician, one’s persona is nearly as important as one’s talent.”

  “Hogwash,” Genevieve snapped. “Lucas could be a mealy-mouthed ingrate, and he’d still be sought after due to his extraordinary talent. The fact he’s charming is merely a bonus.” She glared at the stranger in a severe a manner, like a disapproving schoolmarm. “Now what is your name?”

  “I’m Joseph Rigionneri.” His shoulders stooped in defeat. “But I don’t want you usin’ that name outside this ’ouse!” He flushed as his rough accent emerged as he became flustered.

  Genevieve nodded her approval. “Good. You’re Italian?” At his nod, she continued. “I assume you’re used to hard work?” As the question was rhetorical, she barreled on. “If you are to act as our butler, you will have to earn your wage. You will not merely pace in front of the door in hopes of answering it. First of all, that isn’t what a butler does. Second, I hope you didn’t think you’d merely act busy in the belief you’d have the rest of the time to use my husband’s fine pianos to practice on?” When he flushed and then shook his head, Genevieve smiled. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Please go to the kitchens, and I will meet with you there in a few moments.”

  “But the door—”

  “Lucas has already been so kind as to hi
re a hall boy.” Genevieve looked around and sighed. “Although I imagine he’s either flirting with one of the new maids or eating his second breakfast.” She tilted her head in the direction of the back staircase and watched Joseph make a hasty retreat. She sighed as she sat on a settee.

  After a few moments, when she heard Lucas’s heavy steps descending the stairs, she inhaled deeply again. “How much of that did you hear?” she asked.

  “How did you know I was there?” Lucas asked, chuckling. He approached her, leaning in to first kiss her on the side of her neck and then to massage her shoulders.

  “Smells are accentuated for me right now. Including your aftershave.” She sighed as she bent her head forward to give him better access to her shoulders. “How much did you hear?”

  “Almost all of it. I should have known you’d see right through him from the start.” He gave her a last gentle squeeze and then sat across from her on a piano stool. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  She frowned. “Do we truly have enough money to keep such a large staff?”

  Lucas nodded. “I couldn’t bear to watch him starve, Vivie. He’s talented but hasn’t anyone to mentor him. And he has a mother and sisters to support.”

  “Why wasn’t he in the mine?” she asked.

  “His father and brother were, but they died in the disaster four months ago.” Lucas scrubbed at his forehead. “When they were going underground, they could eke out a survival. Now that no money is coming in …” Lucas shrugged. “And, with the strike, no one’s interested in using money they don’t have to pay for a musician to play a tune in a pub.” His shoulders stooped.

  “You can’t support the whole city, Lucas.” She watched him with fond exasperation. “We have two maids, a cook, a hall boy, a butler and a gardener.” She waved her arm around. “We don’t even have a garden! We could manage on our own if we had to.”

  “That’s just the point. We don’t have to.” He flushed and tapped his fingers on his leg as he met her amused gaze. “I know, just as it would be best if I became an unfeeling bastard who didn’t see the suffering all around me. But I can’t be that man, Vivie.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I wouldn’t want you to be.”

  “Good,” he whispered, leaning closer to grab her hands so as to play with her long fingers. “How do you feel about having a personal maid?” He laughed as she hit him on the shoulder. “I’ll take that to mean you’re not convinced you need one yet.”

  She giggled and tugged at him until he sat next to her on the settee. “I’d be very careful before you hire another servant, Lucas.” She ran a hand down his arm. “I know you want to aid those in need and that hiring all these people helps prevent abject poverty on their part. But, for me, it takes away the joy of my home. I feel as though a visitor now.”

  “I’m sorry, Vivie,” he whispered. “I never thought what it would mean to you. I thought all women liked help around the house and to be waited on.”

  She clasped his face between her palms to ensure he focused on her. “I am not your mother, Lucas.” When he nodded, she relaxed. “Would Sav enjoy living like this? Rissa?”

  He shuddered. “No, they’d chafe at it.” He gave her a pleading glance. “I can’t ask them to leave, not when they finally have hope of a job and a meal or two a day.”

  Genevieve turned to lean against him and snuggle into his arms. “I’d never demand you ask someone to leave your employ. Just don’t hire anyone else. Please?”

  He squeezed her lightly around the middle and kissed her on her head. “Of course. Although you might be happy for their help once the baby arrives.”

  She sighed in defeat at her husband’s stubbornness. “Perhaps I will.”

  Fiona sat at the table in the kitchen and glared at the empty seat across from her. She ate her meal of potatoes, carrots and boiled chicken as methodically as she always did. When she finished, she rose, covering Patrick’s plate with a cloth and placing it in the icebox. She hummed to distract herself as she washed the dishes, the open window allowing the late evening breeze into the small room.

  She dried her hands, checked on Rose sleeping soundly in her room and moved to the front porch, leaving the door ajar to hear Rose if she cried out. Fiona eased into the rocking chair and watched as neighbors acted as though it were normal to have their husbands, fathers and sons home when they should have been busy working in the mines. The constant background noise from the mines was mostly absent with the air clearer as the smelters no longer spewed an incessant stream of smoke into the air. As a herald of the fresher air, a patch of green grass had taken root next to the walkway leading to the house, along with a few dandelions.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the rocking chair, ignoring the letters she needed to write, her knitting to finish and a book she had just begun. She relaxed as the warm breeze cooled the evening after an unseasonably warm day and listened to the sounds of children playing. Someone nearby sang part of the song “Over There,” and she hummed along. She stilled when she heard footsteps on the walk.

  “Hello, Fee,” Patrick said as he dragged himself up each step. “How was dinner?”

  “Fine.” She clamped her jaw together and resumed rocking. “Your plate is in the icebox.”

  He nodded, resting a hand for a moment on her shoulder before moving into the house. He emerged a few minutes later with his dinner and a glass of water. He perched on the brick banister on the side of the porch and wolfed down his dinner. “This is delicious. Thank you, Fee.” When she only nodded, he frowned. “I’m sorry I missed dinner again.”

  “I fail to see how you are needed extra hours at that company you work for. No one is working,” Fiona whispered. “I’d think you’d want to see your daughter more than once a week on Sundays.”

  Patrick rose and motioned for her to join him inside. “We can’t have this discussion outside. Too many are interested in any scraps of gossip.” He held the door wide for her and followed her in. After setting his plate and glass in the kitchen sink, he joined her in the living room.

  He pulled up a chair and sat across from her as she held a rigid posture on the settee. He grasped her hands, his fingers playing with hers and intermittently tracing her wedding band.

  She frowned at the fatigue and guilt in his expression. “What is it, Patrick?”

  “They’ve found a loophole in the miners’ compensation law passed in 1915.” He rubbed at his forehead. “The North Butte has to provide $75 for funeral costs for all men who died, although most funerals run between $150 to $200. Instead of paying either the lump sum death benefit of $3,380 or the $10 weekly death benefit totaling $4,000, my company has spent months finagling its way out of paying what is owed to the survivors of those men.” His bleak gaze met his wife’s horrified stare. “If the miner wasn’t a citizen of the United States—or, even if he was a citizen, but his dependents live outside the United States or if his dependents were anyone other than wife and children—then he is being denied the death benefit.”

  Fiona gasped in horror. “That’s outrageous.”

  Patrick nodded. “It is. Instead of paying out more than half a million dollars to the miners’ families, the North Butte will only pay about $150,000.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Only 39 of the 163 miner families will receive death benefit compensation.”

  “Why the long hours at work?” She traced her finger over his hand.

  “They know I’m displeased, and I have to prove my worth to them. They’re looking for any reason to reduce staff and overhead costs. I don’t want them to look to me as expendable.” He raised worried eyes to meet hers. “I want to continue to provide for us.”

  She freed a hand and traced it over his cheek. “I thank you for that.” A tender smile escaped, and her features softened. “I miss you when you work long hours. I miss hearing you play with Rose as I work in the kitchen. I yearn to hear you read the paper aloud to me or tease me about my embroidery.”

  He
froze, perplexed by her words. “I never realized you cared if I was here.”

  “And that’s my fault. I’ve always wanted you here but had a hard time showing it.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. “I understand your need to work, but know that, when you are free, Rose and I are waiting for you.”

  His eyes lit with radiant joy as he beheld her. “I never dared hope you’d feel this way.”

  She tugged on him so that he sat beside her on the settee. After he’d settled, she nestled into his embrace, tucking herself into his side. “I’m slow to find my courage again, Patrick. Please be patient with me.”

  “Always, my love,” he murmured, kissing her head.

  She drifted in his arms a few moments before speaking again. “We had a letter from Clarissa today.” She paused.

  “Was there any news about Melinda?”

  She stroked a hand down her husband’s arm clasped around her waist. “She receives your letters, but no one knows if she reads them. I’m sorry, darling.”

  He stuttered out a breath and tightened his hold. “I’ll continue to hope she writes me someday.”

  Fiona sighed. “The main news is that your stepmother has departed Missoula for friendlier environments.” She stroked a hand down his arm again as he tensed and kissed his shoulder.

  “I wonder what that means. The woman always was cryptic.” Patrick ran his hand over Fiona’s head as though to soothe himself as well as her.

  “Do you think she’d come to Butte?”

  He cooed to her as she was unable to hide the fear in her voice. “There’s no reason for her to travel here. She has nothing to gain by seeing me again.”

  “I’m sure she’ll concoct one.”

  Genevieve slipped from her house, escaping the butler, Joseph, as he peppered her with questions about his role. She sighed, thankful to be outside even though the air was thick with smelter smoke as more and more miners trickled back to work with copper extraction creeping up to near normal levels. She turned toward Fiona and Patrick’s house, smiling to those she passed.