CHAPTER 20
THE AFTERNOON WAS DELIGHTFUL as I started my walk home from school. I paused to bask in the bright afternoon rays and titled my face to the sun, closing my eyes, happy to finally feel completely warm all the way to my toes. At that moment, I heard the nasally light-toned voice from my memories.
“You look well, my dear. But you should be careful with the sun. I would hate for you to lose any of your looks.” His voice sounded full of good cheer and joy, but my insides turned to ice. I lowered my head, turning to meet Cameron’s smiling face. My gaze scanned him quickly, cataloging any changes. Slightly thinner hair, droopier eyes, more wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. I did not speak, but stood still, thunderstruck.
“What, dear Clarissa, you will not speak to me? What will people say when they see us on the street, and you ignoring your old beau?”
My eyes flashed with anger, thankful for the ire to help hide the anguish washing over me as I continued to study his once-cherished face. I made myself stand even taller, watching him. “My name is Miss Sullivan, sir.” I began to cultivate the chilly facade of a society woman as a barrier between us.
“Oh, so we are to play that game, then, Miss Sullivan. I have had to be patient to find an opportunity to speak with you.” He continued to watch me, with slightly hostile honey-brown eyes. He seemed content to study me, taking in my appearance, as though drinking in the sight of me after a long drought.
“Sir, I am sure I am unaware of any reason you would have to speak with me,” I replied in my coldest tones, thankful for once I could mimic Jonas.
“What has happened to my Clarissa? Where is the vivacious, warm-blooded woman I knew? Who is this woman of ice?”
I continued to stare at him with scorn. “As I am sure you are well aware, I am not your anything. You ensured that a few years ago. I wish you a good day.” Hundreds of questions roiled through my bewildered mind, yet I clamped my lips together, forestalling any further inquiries. Cameron leaned toward me, gripped my arms, and continued to stare at me as though trying to determine how I had changed so greatly.
“Why are you acting this way with me? What is this about?” Cameron pleaded.
“Again, sir, I am no longer your concern. Please let go of my arm, and let me pass.” I was becoming angry as my icy veneer began to crack. “There is no other way I should act with you.”
I wrenched my arm free and stepped away from him. “Please desist in attempting to speak with me.” I turned and began to walk down the street, noting the curious stares of the women sitting on their front steps minding their children playing on the sidewalk.
When I reached the busy intersection of Blossom and Cambridge Streets, I glanced behind me, but he was gone. I sighed, my shoulders stooping for a moment before smiling at Richard McLeod. He walked with a purposeful stride down Blossom Street, away from the school.
“Hello, Miss Sullivan, good day to you,” Richard said. “I was hoping to find you at your school, only to arrive after you had left. May I walk a ways with you?” He proffered his elbow, and we began a slow stroll down Cambridge Street.
After a few blocks, at a snail’s pace, Richard leaned toward me and whispered with a rueful smile, “I am sorry to interrupt your reverie, Miss Sullivan, but I don’t know where we’re going.”
“I live on Union Square, in the South End.”
“Of course. Why don’t we take a streetcar?” At the quick shake of my head in denial, he said, “Let’s take the more scenic route then. I hear the Public Gardens are particularly lovely this time of year.”
“Sir, if I might ask, why did you come by the school today?”
“Well, Gabriel’s been in a right foul mood, and I worried part of it had to do with me.” He smiled. “Most of the time when Gabe gets fed up, it has to do with me. Though this time I realized it really had to do with you.”
I shook my head in confusion, certain Gabriel had no reason to feel upset with me. “You talk nonsense,” I whispered.
“Do I?” he asked. “I am at the workshop, carrying on like I do on my free afternoons, and you stop by with a rather handsome if snobby-looking woman, and now you won’t speak with Gabe,” Richard said. “Makes me wonder.”
“He’s the one who won’t visit me,” I protested, and then realized I had admitted too much.
“Well, isn’t that curious?” Richard mused with a quirk of his eyebrows. “I know for a fact he’s come by the school twice this week and hasn’t seen you. I thought for sure you weren’t the type to frighten off too easily after your visits to his workshop. But then you disappeared.”
“As you can see, I have clearly not disappeared,” I said, unable to hide my smile. My spirit lightened at this silly conversation after seeing Cameron again. It lifted further at the thought Gabriel had come by to see me and wanted to see me still. “I’ve had to leave school early for teas with my stepmother.”
“Well, I’ll let Gabe figure that out for himself. I shouldn’t be running interference anyway.”
After a moment’s pause, Richard looked down at me. I could see his eyes gleamed with curiosity. He had a similar way of studying me as his brother, although he was less intense.
“Who was the man you were talking with before I approached?”
“Someone who wanted to reacquaint himself with me. Although I have no matching desire.”
“Hmm…” Richard said. “He’s the one who’s been making inquiries at the smithies about you, isn’t he?”
“Why would he ask at other smithies about me?” I gasped. I hated the thought of being the object of gossip. Again.
“Seems no one will talk at your father’s place. Your father and Colin are rather fierce, and I don’t reckon many would want to get in a tussle with them.” Richard chuckled. “And this man wanted more information about you. Were you married? What you’ve been doing these past years? Innocent questions but not so innocent if you really listened to the man,” he said, with a slight frown. “Not that many would know such things. Only friends of Colin would know, and I wouldn’t talk with him.” He glowered at the thought.
“That was very kind of you, Mr. McLeod.”
“No, no kindness, when I was a boor the last time you saw me.” Regret shone in his eyes. Then Richard laughed, looking at me, assessing. “Don’t fret, Miss Sullivan. You handled yourself well without help from anyone. He seemed a bit too informal, if you ask me. No wonder you don’t mind Gabe,” he said with a quick smile.
“How is Mr. McLeod?” I asked, trying not to sound eager to hear news about him.
“Well, like I said, he’s moodier ’n usual for him. But, he’ll get over it. I almost suggested he write you another letter. Though he’s not much of a writer, more of a reader, you know? But, hopefully he won’t have to.”
“Can you ask him to come by tomorrow to see me?” I entreated.
“I sure could, Miss Sullivan, but I’m sure he’d rather hear it from you. Maybe you would like to write him a letter. I could deliver it myself.” Richard glanced at me with a slight twinkle in his eye. “That way he’d get it in time for tomorrow.”
“Oh, that would be lovely.”
We walked through the Public Gardens, though I paid little attention to the scenery. I considered Richard’s news, silently composing a letter in my mind to Gabriel.
A short time later, we arrived at the house. “Here we are,” I informed Richard. “Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”
“I thank you, Miss Sullivan, but I have been away from work too long already. However, if I may, I will stop by this evening to inquire after your health?”
“Yes, please do.” I smiled a good-bye, watching him walk down my street.
Taking a deep breath, I turned for the house and the conversation to come with Mrs. Smythe. Upon entering the parlor, I was shocked to see it set for another tea. I knew this must be important company, because the best china and the silver tea set were to be used.
“Mrs. Smythe?” I called out. �
��Who are we having for tea?” I was exhausted and could not imagine maintaining the charade of polite, meaningless conversation over a cup of tea.
“Oh, just an old friend of mine, dear. I am sure you will like her. She is the loveliest woman. Helped me through the rough times after my husband died. So refined, so genteel, a true lady.” She sighed in contentment, happily looking at the fancy china teacups and silver tea set laid out for her guest. “She will be here any moment. Will you ensure that the tea set has been polished, no unbecoming fingerprints on the silver?”
I sighed inwardly, swallowing back my retort that the silver tea set was only used on special occasions, never for mundane afternoon teas. It had not been used since my engagement two years ago, sparking a further reminder of Cameron today. I wondered who could be so important as to warrant the use of the slightly tarnished set. I scrubbed part of the blackened silver, turning the most tarnished side away from Mrs. Smythe’s seat in hopes she would not notice. I sat sullenly in an armless, low lady’s chair, trying to appear comfortable, glancing at the food, hopeful this guest liked to eat.
I heard a gentle knock at the front door while Mrs. Smythe and I sat demurely in the parlor, waiting to greet her guest. Though I remained in the warmth of the parlor, I longed to be outside, upstairs, anywhere but here.
I could hear the sounds of a strong voice admonishing Mary to be careful with her cloak. Once the woman entered the parlor, Mrs. Smythe rose eagerly to greet her, and they began chattering away, tittering with laughter, and my hopes that the societal norm of a short visit for tea were dashed. This was an old friend and confidante, and she would be here for a few hours. I glanced up to greet the newcomer, blanching white with shock.
“Miss Clarissa Sullivan, I would like you to meet my good friend, Mrs. Masterson.” Mrs. Smythe beamed at her friend.
“H-h-h-how do you do?” I stammered out. My mind reeled back to that day in Gabriel’s workshop.
“How lovely that you are able to come to the Sullivans for tea, Mrs. Masterson,” simpered Mrs. Smythe. “I am not sure you have heard of my news, but I am soon to experience a blessed event. In about six months.” She nearly preened as she spoke, patting her lap primly. She motioned for Mrs. Masterson to be seated and then sat. After pouring tea into cups already laced with sugar, she added a drop of milk to each before passing a cup to Mrs. Masterson, one to me and then settled back with her own cup.
“I had heard. Congratulations, dear Mrs. Sullivan. I had begun to worry that it would never happen. I know how you longed for a child in your first marriage but were not so blessed. How exciting, first the wedding a few months ago, now this! That took some time, didn’t it? It took quite some time, indeed, for him to finally stop mourning that dead wife of his, hmm?”
They giggled together over their tea cups while I gaped at them in shock, my cup arrested halfway to my mouth, unable to comprehend that they would speak like that with me present. I was thankful I had not taken a sip or I would have choked on it.
“I had always been taught that patience is a virtue,” Mrs. Smythe said.
“Yes, well patience is all well and good when you are young and attractive. At your age, you must expect a quicker response from the gentleman. Though of course, he’s not exactly a gentleman, is he?” Mrs. Masterson said. She reached out and picked up a small sandwich, daintily biting into a corner of it. She frowned as though finding it lacking.
I opened my mouth, feeling the need to defend both of my parents but was cut off by Mrs. Smythe.
“You are correct. He is not a gentleman in the purest sense of the word. His manners and way of speaking are a bit rough,” Mrs. Smythe simpered in her candy-cane-sweet voice. “But what can I expect from a man not born in this country? His children will never be truly genteel, as I fear they lacked the true sense of guidance and knowledge from birth about society that only one such as I could have given them. However, one must make do, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Smythe replied with a note of resignation in her tone.
Mrs. Masterson looked around the parlor, shuddering at the sight. “Well, dear, the first thing you must do is refurbish the house. It needs proper draperies, furnishings, wallpaper, everything. Now that you are mistress here, you will be able to make all of the necessary alterations. Do not allow that new husband of yours to deny you your proper furnishings. Men like to claim they do not have funds for the household, but they always do,” she intoned. “Most importantly, do not allow sentiment and misplaced nostalgia for the past and the artifacts once owned by the now deceased to prevent you from making the changes you feel are necessary.” Mrs. Masterson sniffed again as she looked around the room, her gaze finally alighting on me.
“Ah, Miss Sullivan, I had forgotten about you. Do I know you? You seem quite familiar to me.” She studied me for a few moments but never seemed able to determine where she had seen me before.
“No, Mrs. Masterson, I believe we have never been introduced before today,” I replied with an outward calm, although inside I seethed. How dare Mrs. Smythe want to replace all of Mama’s beautiful furnishings? How dare Mrs. Smythe think she could have raised us better?
“I am sure you are delighted to have a new stepmama,” Mrs. Masterson said, arching one eyebrow, watching me intently.
“Mrs. Smythe is a welcome addition to our family, I’m sure,” I replied.
“Mrs. Smythe? Mrs. Smythe? She is Mrs. Sullivan now, dear.” She glanced around the room as though looking for support. “Well, I never! You really need to learn how to address your elders. She is your stepmama and should be addressed as such,” she scolded me. “I am surprised your father hasn’t addressed your blatant disrespectfulness toward his wife.” She exchanged a long look with Mrs. Smythe.
Mrs. Smythe brought a handkerchief to her eyes, as though blotting a tear. “It has pained me that my stepchildren don’t think of me as their mama.” She let out a shaky sigh.
I stared at her. The only interest she had in me was to mold me into her idea of a vapid society woman. I squinted my eyes, unsure as to the objective of this tea.
“Well, Mrs. Sullivan, I suggest you have a long talk with your husband about the disrespect and insolence of his children,” Mrs. Masterson instructed.
I intended to wish them each a lovely day as I breezed out of the room. However, I quickly leaned back in my chair with fascination, expelling my pent-up breath as they continued to talk.
“Any news about your infuriating nephew?” Mrs. Smythe asked.
“Which one? They are all such horrid people. I will never understand why my sister married that awful McLeod and then had to die and leave them to me to raise,” she stated.
She picked up a dainty cookie, tapping it absently on the side of her plate to remove any crumbs, only succeeding in causing a cascade of crumbs to fall from the fragile sugar cookie. She picked up a napkin in distaste, wiping her hands.
“The only positive aspect I can see is that one of them is away in the army, thus I do not see him regularly.”
She took a long sip of tea, sighing again. “Richard, the middle one, had an incident with my dear son, Henry, nearly causing me the expense of having to call for a doctor. Could I get Richard to apologize? Impossible. He is such an ungrateful, overbearing oaf, working at a smithy of all places.
“Gabriel is no better,” she continued, “insisting that he would rather continue to work as a carpenter rather than train with my husband. You know what an asset he would be to the company. Can you imagine, wanting to work in manual labor rather than work in an office? However, I have never been able to reach them, not once. Never since their parents died.”
She and Mrs. Smythe soon turned the conversation toward people I did not know, and I excused myself from the room. I retreated to my bedroom.
I sat on the edge of my bed, puzzling out the afternoon tea conversation.
After a few minutes, I reminded myself that I needed to write a letter. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm myself.
/> May 17, 1900
Dear Mr. McLeod,
Richard visited me today at the school, a most welcome visit as he took my mind off of a surprise visit from my ghost. I had lingered at the schoolhouse today in hopes of seeing you, to no avail. I found my ghost to be unwelcome and would like for him to depart as mysteriously as he returned. However, I know life rarely proceeds as I desire.
Richard escorted me home, during which time he informed me of your recent visits to the school. I am sorry I have been absent. My father’s new wife has deemed it necessary for me to attend her afternoon teas. Please know I would rather have spent my time with you.
Sincerely,
Miss Clarissa Sullivan.
***
THAT EVENING, DURING SUPPER, I sat silently, listening to Colin recount a tale about a brawl at another smithy where a dandy had left worse for wear. I attempted to feign interest but found my mind wandering.
Partway through dinner, a faint knock sounded at the front door. I heard Mary answer, who then discreetly interrupted Da, quietly speaking with him about the visitor. Da nodded his assent for the visitor’s inclusion into the dining room. Colin paused in his storytelling, glancing toward the door and giving a hearty yell of welcome. He bounded out of his chair, clapping the newcomer on the back.
“Richard! Great to see you. Come in.” He spread his arms open, motioning him to enter the room. Richard stood tall, in dulled black pants almost turned gray from numerous washings, off-white shirt and faded black jacket. His icy-blue eyes scanned the room as he remained in the doorway waiting for an invitation to enter from Da, tapping his fingers on his right leg.
Da looked toward Richard questioningly, unsure why Richard would call. He then looked at me inquiringly, noticing for the first time how little I had eaten and my distracted air. “Richard,” he intoned, “what brings you by?” He waved to an empty chair at the table, inviting Richard to join us.
Richard sat gracefully, nodding to Da and extending his hand to Patrick. “How do you do? I am Richard McLeod.”
Banished Love Page 15
