Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7

by Ramona Flightner

  An embarrassed flush lit his cheeks. “Of course not.” He met her curious stare. “It makes you happy.”

  “What makes you happy?” Parthena asked as she leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips. “What is it that you want?”

  He ran his gaze over her, laying in rumpled, sated contentment in his bed. “All this time, all I’ve ever wanted was you. Your touch. Your care,” Morgan whispered as he kissed her on her neck, then her breastbone. “Now you’re finally here.”

  The following morning Parthena reached for Morgan only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. She frowned even as she rolled to his side of the bed before sighing with pleasure. His scent was strong against the pillow, and she breathed it in appreciatively. As she remained between wakefulness and sleep, she relived the previous night. Gentle caresses. Soothing murmurs. Passionate pleasure. She smiled with contentment as she curled on her side.

  “I love seeing you smile,” Morgan whispered as the bed dipped with his weight. He met her sleepy gaze as she opened one eye. “Why are you on my side of the bed?” He traced a finger through her hair to her shoulder.

  “I missed you,” she whispered, flushing at the flash of delight in his eyes. “Your scent is strongest here.” She ran a finger over his tie. “Why are you already up and dressed?”

  He chuckled. “It’s nearly noon. I had a meeting I couldn’t cancel.” He raised her hand and kissed it.

  “Come back to bed, Morgan,” she whispered before her cheeks turned beet red. Although he could see her embarrassment, she met his startled gaze. “This is like our honeymoon. I want time with you.”

  “Parthena …” He sighed. He leaned over and buried his face in her hair. “I have work.”

  She turned so that she faced him, twisted at her waist. “You always have work. It will always be there. Please, Morgan.” She brushed hair off his forehead. “Dare to be spontaneous.” Her eyes challenged him, and he stiffened at her words. She ran a finger over his eyebrow as she gave him an encouraging nod.

  He pushed himself up, and her groan of disappointment turned into an approving smile as he worked to free himself of his clothes. She pushed herself up to kneel on the bed, the sheets falling around her, uninhibited by her nakedness in front of him. She tugged at his tie and eased his shirt off. He gave her a gentle nudge back into bed as he kicked off his shoes and shucked his pants.

  “Come here, Hennie,” he murmured, tugging her to him. “God, you feel good.” He ran a hand over her shoulders and back. “Like the finest satin and silk.” He kissed her collarbone and met her smile. “I was a fool not to woo you sooner.”

  She cupped his cheek. “Let’s not play that game of who was more foolish,” she whispered as she leaned forward and kissed him. “Let’s be thankful we’re no longer so misguided.”

  He groaned his agreement as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. “Never leave me, Hennie. I wouldn’t survive.”

  She gave him a nipping kiss on his chin and then ear before meeting his gaze. “I promise. This is where I want to be.”

  She shrieked as she toppled to her back and threw her arms around his shoulders, lost to their passion.

  Chapter 20

  Zylphia recalled the first time she had walked through the halls of congress. The excitement she felt at meeting Congresswoman Rankin. The pride filling her as she thought of her Montana family for having elected a woman to congress. Now she walked with purpose as she marched down the halls of congress, ignoring the questions from reporters who remained curious about her time spent in the Occoquan workhouse and jail. She wore a new suit in a deep violet, the cut of the dress and the fine corset underneath hiding the extent of her recent weight loss. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy chignon, with a yellow rose pin holding it in place. When she approached the hearing room for the Rankin Bill, she took a deep breath as she met another woman’s gaze, Kate Devereaux Blake, and nodded as they entered the room together.

  Representatives sat in comfortable green leather-backed chairs in a semicircle facing an unoccupied desk. Their aides and minions mingled behind them, while the gallery above was filled with reporters and curious onlookers. This was the second half of the day of questioning, and Zylphia hid her nerves as she fought to forget the women’s tales from the morning session.

  She sat, setting her short prepared speech in front of her. She smoothed a hand over her violet skirt and sat with perfect posture as she awaited recognition from the representatives. After listening to them recap the morning’s session, they turned to her. She smiled at Representative Raker, known to be a friend of the suffrage cause.

  “I thank you for the honor of speaking with you today. I am Zylphia McLeod Goff. I was born in Boston, educated at public schools before I attended university. I have worked to alleviate the suffering of orphan children in Boston. I am also a painter and a firm believer in the women’s suffrage movement.”

  She paused and cleared her throat. “I married my husband in November 1915, and, in doing so, I lost my citizenship. Although I consider myself to be a United States citizen, the laws of my country no longer consider me an American citizen merely because my husband is from the United Kingdom. He is proud of his citizenship, having fought and been wounded in the war raging in Europe.”

  She took a deep breath and looked from representative to representative. Some listened intently; others took notes, while the rest conferred with their staffers and paid little attention to what she said. “I am a loyal member of this country and wish to call myself a citizen of my home country. The 1907 Expatriation Act has denied me a basic right, and I am asking you to consider the Rankin Bill so as to right a wrong committed against many American women.” She clamped her jaw shut as one representative scoffed at her and rolled his eyes.

  “I can hardly credit one with your wealth and standing as having suffered a great blow,” one representative said with an arched eyebrow as he peered at her over his half glasses.

  “This isn’t about my wealth or standing,” Zylphia said. “This is about my rights as a citizen of the United States. Rights unjustly taken away from me.”

  “I fail to see why we as a body should be concerned about a disloyal woman,” another piped up. “If you chose to marry a man from outside this country, a man who refuses to become a United States citizen, then you should forego citizenship in this fine land.”

  “Then so should the men who marry alien women!” Zylphia snapped. “Why should they have citizenship conferred on them when mine is stripped from me? How can you determine that she will be loyal to this country merely because she married a citizen?”

  John Raker, a man Zylphia had looked to as an ally, watched her with mocking condescension. “My dear, under the tutelage of her kind American husband, she has become an American patriot at heart.” He pointed at a sputtering Zylphia. “Your actions, by marrying a foreigner, were a clear, open, broad-daylight voluntary surrender of citizenship. I feel no sympathy for you.”

  “Hear, hear!” another member shouted. “Let this be a lesson that good American girls marry good American boys!”

  Zylphia sat there in mute rage as they berated her and her fellow speakers for daring to question the legality and morality of the law. When the session paused for a break, Zylphia rose, collecting her papers in front of her. She emerged into the hallway, her confident step and posture reemerging as newspapermen swarmed. She pushed past them and walked down the long hallway. When one asked what she had hoped to accomplish as a noncitizen imprisoned in the United States, she bit back a response to remain stoically quiet.

  Once outside the Capitol building, she took a deep breath. Her anger gave her strength, but she knew she had not recovered to the extent she could walk to Cameron House. She hired a cab and escaped any further questioning from persistent reporters.

  Upon her return to Cameron House, she slammed her hat to her desk and kicked the chair before she sat down.

  Rowena raised an eyebrow as she watched her friend. “I
don’t need to ask how it went.”

  “They were insolent and superior in their beliefs that women should be punished for daring to marry anyone other than an American citizen. As though we are recalcitrant children and they feel it their duty to teach us a lesson.” She growled as she bowed her head forward and massaged her scalp with her fingers. Her neat chignon was ruined, and the yellow rose pin fell to the floor.

  “You knew it unlikely they’d see how they had mistreated the women of this country,” Rowena said. “The sad fact is that many women agree with them too.” She watched Zylphia with concern. “What will you do now?” Rowena asked. She bent forward and picked up the hairpin, setting it on Zylphia’s desk.

  “What is there for me to do?” Zylphia asked. When Rowena remained quiet, Zylphia laid her head on her arms on her desk. “I’m tired, Ro. So tired. I want to go home.”

  “Then go home. You haven’t been yourself since you were released from jail.” Her worried gaze roved over her friend who seemed nearly asleep on the desk. “You’ve never fully recovered from your time there, and I hope being with Teddy will help reinvigorate you.”

  Zylphia sighed. “If what you say is true, that Teddy is considering changing his opinion on his status …” Zylphia sighed and cleared her throat to remain awake. “Although at this point, I’m not sure I care after that House hearing. Rude buffoon men, lording over their so-called superiority.”

  “Go home, Zee. Make your peace with Teddy. Rest. Recover. See your parents.” Rowena’s voice acted as a sleeping tonic. “You’ve earned a break after nearly a year here.”

  “Tomorrow,” Zylphia whispered. “Tomorrow I return home.”

  Teddy sat at his desk, papers spread out in organized piles. A small fire in the grate warmed the room, while the weak December rays did little to brighten his office. A lamp on the corner of his desk provided illumination that would allow him to work long into the night. He waved to a small side table when the door opened, indicating the maid could leave his afternoon tea there. “I’ll pour it myself when I want a cup.”

  “I don’t have tea.” Zylphia wavered as though buffeted by a windstorm, moving forward and back.

  Teddy threw his pencil on the stack of papers in front of him, watching his wife’s unconscious movements. “Either enter or leave, Zee.” She flinched at his flat words.

  She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. The subtle shaking in her limbs lessened as she seemed to gather strength the longer she rested against the door. She wore a simple navy dress with a pin on her lapel.

  “Sit before you fall down. You’ve barely had time to recover.” He waved to a chair across from him, and she collapsed onto it. He refused to rise and join her on the nearby settee.

  She stared over his shoulder for a moment before meeting her husband’s gaze with one of confusion. “Where did my painting go?” She glanced again at the faded square on the wall behind him where the cherry blossom painting had hung, ever since moving into this house upon their return from their honeymoon two years ago. The painting had often shone as though under a spotlight as the afternoon sun entered his office.

  He watched her coolly. “The frame was damaged. It’s out for repair.” He watched as she shivered at his words. “Why did you come here, Zee?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she glared at him. “Because this is my home. Where else was I to go?”

  Teddy huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “After all these months, you’d have me believe you consider this your home? When you’ve preferred DC to here? To any amount of time you could have spent with me?” When she remained silent, he said, “I read about your testimony in front of the House Committee.” He watched as she flushed. His angry demeanor softened for a moment. “I’m sorry they tabled the resolution.”

  Her blush intensified, and she leaned forward, her index finger tapping a pile of papers. “As it will not affect your life, I don’t know why you’re sympathetic.” She glared at him as his neck mottled with anger. “You continue as you always have and hope I’ll simply grow tired of struggling for what I want.”

  “Do you ever consider that others’ considerations, dreams or desires are as valid as yours?” Teddy asked, his low voice laced with rage. “Do you ever consider anyone other than yourself when you think about how you’ve been wronged?”

  “You knew who I was before we married. You knew how important this cause is to me. Don’t act a martyr now because I’ve dedicated so much of my time to it.”

  He clamped his jaw shut to the point it twitched a few times. After glaring at each other, he said, “What does that pin mean?” He nodded to her lapel. “I’ve never known you to wear pins before.” The pin was a silver latticelike pattern that resembled a jail door.

  “Miss Paul gave them to us a few days ago. She had one made for each woman who was jailed for picketing.” She stroked a finger over it as though in pride or remembrance. She raised her head and met his gaze with one of defiance.

  Teddy leaned back in his chair, the creaking sound rending the air as they stared once more at each other. “I believed I loved you enough to accept being second best most of the time.” His silver eyes were colder than steel on a January day in Pittsburgh. “I’ve since learned I was mistaken.”

  Her indignant blush faded at his words. “What do you mean, Teddy?”

  He rose and ran a hand through his sable hair. “Do you want to know what happened to your painting?” he asked, waving in the direction of the barren wall. At her nod, he paced behind his desk. Rather than relaxing him, he became more agitated with each step. “I rushed to Washington when I learned you were in jail. In the workhouse. Whatever they wanted to call it, the end result was the same to me. You, my Zylphia, were locked up, and I couldn’t reach you.”

  He turned to face her, his eyes filled with torment, rage and regret. “Do you know what that does to a person? To a man? To be completely impotent to aid the one person you love most in this world?” His jaw clenched as tears tracked down her cheeks.

  He pushed his chair into the seating well of the desk and leaned against the back of it with his forearms atop the chair. “Do you know what it’s like to be advised by various women in Cameron House that I’d have to wait to see you upon your release? That I was looked at with suspicion simply because I was a man?” He cleared his throat as his eyes shone as though bright with tears.

  “They were cautious,” Zylphia protested. “They always are when women return from jail or a workhouse. Too many times, reporters and the like try to finagle their way into the house.” Her explanation trailed away when she realized it did little to soothe Teddy.

  “Then, even when I had you safely in our hotel room in Washington, you wanted nothing to do with me. You picked fights until I finally left, tired of arguing with you.” He watched her guilty blush and clenched his hands. “When all I wanted was to care for you.”

  “I’m sorry, Teddy,” Zylphia whispered.

  He waved away her apology. “After I vacated our hotel room in Washington, I went to a pub. I have no acquaintances there, so imagine my surprise when a man called out a greeting to me.” He speared her with an irate look. “One of the doctors who’d cared for you. He somehow knew who I was. He was most solicitous and concerned about your health.”

  Zylphia stilled as she watched her prowling husband. “How kind of him.”

  Teddy’s half-smile was one of self-mockery and regret. “Imagine my surprise to learn you’d betrayed me.” His ice-cold voice sent a shiver through her.

  “No!” Zylphia cried out, her voice thickened by tears.

  “How could you, Zee?” His gaze raked over her with contempt. “How could you put yourself in a position where you could be sent to jail when you knew you were pregnant with our child?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You promised.” He leaned forward. His cold gray eyes held a hot fury as he studied his wife. “You promised me, if you ever found yourself with child, you’d cease your rec
kless behavior. For your sake as well as our baby’s.” He exhaled a stuttering sigh. “Tell me you didn’t know you were expecting our child when you volunteered to picket.” He met her defeated gaze. “Tell me that, dammit.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered as her voice broke. “I suspected I was but hoped I was wrong.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I had to participate. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You think that’s a good-enough explanation?” he roared. “That you don’t expect me to understand? That that will somehow rid me of my anger and induce me to … to …” He broke off as he panted for breath.

  Teddy took a step backward until he was braced against the wall behind his desk. “Do you want to know what happened to your painting? I turned it into kindling in a fit of rage when I returned from DC.” He met her shocked gaze at the destruction of a cherished gift from before they were married.

  “You barred me from your room at Cameron House because you were miscarrying, and you never wanted me to know you’d lost our … a child. You denied me the opportunity to comfort you.”

  She gave a guilty nod as she glanced away. After a minute, she raised her gaze and met his irate one. Moments of silence stretched between them.

  “Leave, Zee. And don’t come back. Not until I ask for you. If you stay, I will say things to you that can never be unsaid.” He clamped his jaw shut as he saw her pale at the unspoken truth behind his words.

  “Teddy, please,” she said as she fought tears.

  “Get out, Zee. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear your voice. I don’t want anything to do with you. Not until this rage has passed.”

  He watched as she rose and stumbled once before she regained her balance and fled the room without a backward glance. When he heard the front door slam a few minutes later, he moved to the sideboard and poured himself a tumbler of whiskey. After one sip, he spun and flung it at the fireplace. He crumpled to the floor, as shattered as the crystal, with as little hope of being rendered whole again.