I shook my head, unsure what to say.
“Of course it wasn’t,” he hissed, “but we work to survive. And we’re thankful for the work. And now we will hopefully thrive. But this isn’t how I had envisioned my life, man or not.” He glowered at me before glancing away.
“Gabriel,” I began.
“No, Clarissa, sometimes life isn’t fair. We can suffer terribly and think life will never be as we want it. But we must learn to play the hand we are dealt,” he whispered urgently, anger still in his voice. “You can try to change things for the betterment of your life, but you have to find contentment and happiness as you do it. You must be thankful for what you already have.”
“I, I…” I stammered. “I never meant to offend you, Gabriel. I just have this sense that there was more I was meant to do with my life than attend teas and knit.”
“Can’t you see you already do more?” Gabriel asked. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you. You wanted more out of your life, and you ensured you got it. But that is for you to realize. Only you can find contentment with your own life, Clarissa.”
His last sentence caused my thoughts to still.
“No, Clarissa,” he added, then sighed, the tension leaving him. “I may not understand all of your discontent. But it doesn’t mean I won’t try to support you.” He gently gripped my hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry we argued,” I whispered.
“I’m not. An argument’s good for a relationship. And my da used to say, ‘The best part was the making up,’” Gabriel said with a wicked smile causing me to blush. “Can you come to the museum with me tomorrow? I thought your Aunt Betsy would be a good chaperone.”
“I’ll meet you there at three,” I whispered.
***
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Aunt Betsy and I pulled up to the Boston Museum on Tremont Street. The large white brick building took up nearly half a city block, its four stories appearing more imposing due to the highly arched windows. We arrived a little after three. A carriage accident had backed up traffic and caused our late arrival. I began to help Aunt Betsy from the carriage but was eased out of the way by Gabriel.
“Let me, Clarissa,” he murmured. He gently picked up Aunt Betsy and had her standing on the street corner in a blink of an eye. “Easier than trying to make your way down those rickety carriage steps, don’t you think?” he said with a half smile and a quick wink. He offered me one arm, the other to Aunt Betsy, and we walked slowly toward the entrance.
We entered the museum, passing through brass doors that led into a large three-storied entranceway flooded with light from the enormous windows. Corinthian pillars rose to the elaborately decorated ornamental plaster ceiling. I glanced up, amazed at the grandeur of the place.
“What would you like to see?” Gabriel asked. “There’s the wax museum, the Egyptian mummies, the art galleries,” he said, rattling off a few options.
Aunt Betsy patted his arm, noticing an empty velvet-covered bench in the large hallway. “I think I will rest over there and allow the two of you to wander at your leisure. The stairs would be too much for me,” she said.
“But Aunt Betsy,” I objected, “don’t you want to see the museum?” I glanced at Gabriel, concerned.
She shared an amused glance with Gabriel before meeting my worried gaze. “Not today dear.” She patted my cheek before turning away toward the empty settee.
“Poor Aunt Betsy,” I murmured as I watched her depart. I heard Gabriel chuckle and was surprised at his lack of concern over her rheumatism. “How can you find this amusing?”
“Why do you think we suggested her as a chaperone in the first place?” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “She would allow us time to wander alone.” He grinned, seeming delighted with himself.
We made our way upstairs to look at the art exposition. We wandered from painting to painting, though I had trouble focusing on anything but the man walking beside me. He reached out to cover my hand with his. “Have you heard from your cousin?”
“Just a short note telling me about the wonders of New York City,” I replied, a hint of resentment in my tone. “And her excitement about traveling to Paris.”
“What don’t you like ’bout New York?”
“It’s too far away,” I complained, closing my eyes. “I know Aunt Betsy argues that we have trains now and travel is much easier than before, but it’s just too far away.”
I opened my eyes, expecting to see mocking amusement in his expression. Instead, I saw compassion and understanding.
“Distance is never easy,” Gabriel said in a low voice. “Having the grace to let go of someone we love to find their happiness, their destiny, even if it’s far from us, is the hardest,” he murmured. “At least, that’s what I’ve found to be most difficult.”
“But what if you aren’t convinced they are truly going to be happy? If they themselves don’t even know what makes them happy?”
Gabriel moved us on to another painting. “It takes longer for some to learn what makes them happy,” he said. “And it’s not for you or anyone else to decide.”
I blushed, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I know it’s not for me to decide, but it shouldn’t be for Jonas to decide either,” I argued.
“Is he really as terrible as you believe?” Gabriel asked, blatant curiosity in his voice. We had stopped in front of a painting of a cascading waterfall, the foliage lush and overgrown around the rocks. He now held one of my hands in his, palm up. With his other hand, he began to trace small circles in my palm, making it harder to concentrate.
“Yes,” I sighed. “He wants to change Savannah into his vision of an ideal woman.”
“Which would be?”
“An immaculately dressed, perfectly coiffed arm ornament who never says or does anything untoward. A woman who creates an inviting home for him, never challenges him, has none of her own thoughts or beliefs,” I replied with bitterness. Gabriel studied me as I spoke.
“Cleave unto thy husband,” Gabriel murmured. At my nod, he said, “No wonder she became irate with me when I challenged her that day at the workshop. I challenged her vision of her future. Well, at least Jonas chose the correct cousin. You would have broken that mold in a matter of minutes,” he said with amused pride lighting his eyes.
“I would never have agreed to marry him.”
“No, too much spirit.” Gabriel glanced around the room to the other couples and propelled me into motion again. Soon we stood in front of a painting of a distant mountain forest, the pink sunset in the background giving it a romantic hue.
“And what do you want?” Gabriel asked, breaking into my reverie. “What makes you happy?”
“Those aren’t simple questions,” I protested.
“No, they’re not,” he agreed. “And they might not be fair. But you seem convinced that you know what won’t make Savannah happy. I wonder if you know what will make you happy.” He awaited patiently my response.
“I want…” I paused, lost in thought. “I want to teach. I like having some sort of self- sufficiency. I want to have the freedom to voice my own opinion.” I paused, clearing my throat. “I want to marry, have children, have large boisterous parties, where everyone plays and ends up dirty.”
“What makes you happy?” he asked, leaning in toward me. I felt like we were in a protective cocoon, alone in this small room in the museum.
“A good story, a beautiful song, a sunny day.” Another pause. “Time spent with those I care about.”
“What more do you want?” he whispered, leaning in farther, his warm breath a caress on my neck.
“I dream of walking alone with you with no need for a chaperone,” I whispered. I met his stormy, intensely blue eyes filled with deep emotion.
“Clarissa.” He sighed a moment before he kissed me gently. I closed my eyes, gripped his shoulders and kissed him back. He clasped me tightly against him and kissed me with a fierce hunger, causing me to lose
all sense of time and space.
Too soon, he leaned away, kissing me one last time, almost chastely, before he broke contact. He pressed his forehead against mine, breathing rapidly. “Forgive me, darling Clarissa,” he gasped.
I touched his cheek, smiling fully. “There is nothing to forgive, Gabriel,” I murmured.
“I told you, making up was the best part of an argument,” Gabriel teased with an impish smile, leaning away from me, and turning toward the door to the small room. He held out his hand to me, and we started to walk sedately through the museum again, hand in hand.
I tried to gather my wits, but I found I could form no coherent thought. I simply wanted to be held by Gabriel again. He squeezed my hand as though echoing my sentiment. After another half hour of traipsing through the museum and looking at the gory mummies, we wandered to the entranceway to find Aunt Betsy.
“Aunt Betsy,” I called out, moving toward her. She sat on a bench to the side of the stairs at the base of a large Corinthian pillar. She seemed perfectly content to watch the other patrons as they passed her.
“It’s good to see a visit to the museum can put such color in your cheeks, dearest Clarissa,” she said, which caused me to blush and Gabriel to laugh.
“Let’s go for some tea,” Aunt Betsy said. “I have an idea for a project, and I need your help, Mr. McLeod.”
We departed the museum, making our way to the Oriental Tea Shop, whose hallmark, a whimsical steaming teakettle, blew steam night and day. The adjoining tearoom with marble-covered tabletops and red velvet chairs with mahogany wood bespoke a place of refined elegance in the midst of the bustling Scollay Square.
After we sat and ordered tea, Aunt Betsy described what she wanted.
“When I saw that glorious sideboard you created for Savannah, I decided you must craft one for me. However, I already have ornately carved sideboards. I am interested in a simpler refined piece in the Eastlake style.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Gabriel said, seeming to understand perfectly, although I did not understand what they meant. Gabriel reached into his jacket pocket, removing a piece of paper and a pencil. He quickly began to sketch as Aunt Betsy described her vision.
“Ideally I would like it to be smaller than Savannah’s, in walnut with rosewood or another wood inlay,” Aunt Betsy said.
Gabriel quickly finished his sketch of a simple sideboard, capturing Aunt Betsy’s vision.
“Oh, that will be perfect. I will be the envy of everyone in Quincy. I know I shouldn’t care about such things, but I do,” she admitted with a small smile.
“Now I must return home to Quincy. I had never thought I would be away for as long as I have. My Tobias is starting to fret at my absence. Mr. McLeod, I expect frequent updates, and I expect you to work closely with my niece on any concerns you might have. I have complete faith in her judgments.”
I smiled toward Gabriel, feeling a lightness of spirit as our fingertips brushed under the table. I knew his fortunes had turned for the better, and I began to dream of our future together.
CHAPTER 36
GABRIEL ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE a week after Aunt Betsy departed toward the end of July for his now regular evening visit. Tonight we sat in the far corner of the room near the piano, talking quietly. Da, Mrs. Smythe and Colin read on the opposite side of the room with Colin sporadically calling out headlines.
“Gabriel, what’s the matter? You seem distressed,” I murmured. I leaned toward him, wishing I could take his hand.
He met my gaze, a touch of desperation and sadness hidden in their depths. “Richard and I received disturbing news about Jeremy,” Gabriel said. “He is not on his way home due to illness. He’s too sick to travel. I fear for him,” he admitted, looking down at his clasped hands, gripping them tightly together as though to calm his internal panic.
I reached out, grasping his hands gently. “Gabriel,” I whispered. “I wish I had words with which to console you.”
“It’s comfort enough to be here with you, Clarissa. To be welcomed into your home and to see you every day…” He tried to smile. We shared a long look, hands jerking apart at the sound of a harsh knock at the front door.
I half listened as Colin called out about a polio survivor winning medals at the summer Olympics in Paris, France, before he quickly moved on to updates about the upcoming presidential election. I only paid him half a mind, focusing more on Gabriel. I sensed him stiffen, noting his frozen expression as he watched the new arrival enter the parlor. I glanced toward the door, eyes widening with alarm to watch Mrs. Masterson saunter into the room. She wore all black, the severity of the color highlighting the paleness of her skin and the piercing cobalt blue of her eyes. Mrs. Smythe glanced triumphantly toward Gabriel and me.
“Mrs. Masterson! How wonderful for you to visit us,” Mrs. Smythe simpered. Da looked disgruntled at the addition of an unknown guest but stood and bowed politely. He nudged Colin with his foot, who rose hastily to bow, haphazardly folding the newspaper. Gabriel remained seated, as though rooted in place.
“Mrs. Sullivan, thank you for receiving me,” Mrs. Masterson said. She scanned the room, taking in everyone present and the state of the room. “I see that no redecoration has taken place, dear,” she intoned, indicating her disapproval, sniffing in disdain as she sat perfunctorily in a worn lady’s chair.
She petted the fabric of the chair, expressing her distaste with a gentle grimace as she rubbed her fingers together. She had taken a chair that allowed her to hold a conversation with Da and Mrs. Smythe while at the same time permitting her to see and address Gabriel. My anxiety increased with each moment spent in the same room with her.
Mrs. Smythe and Mrs. Masterson began to speak about inconsequential matters such as the weather and the latest fashion, but Gabriel sat stiffly next to me. His tension continued to mount with every minute he spent in the room with her.
I looked at him with a worried expression. “If she bothers you so much, why don’t you leave?” I breathed, barely loud enough for him to hear, not wishing to be overheard.
“I refuse to leave you behind with both of them,” he whispered, never taking his eyes off his aunt. Gabriel and I continued to sit in apprehensive silence.
“I hear that your nephew’s business has improved since the start of this summer,” Mrs. Smythe said. She fanned herself gracefully, a light bead of sweat on her brow on this hot, humid evening. Colin, who had begun to read again, lowered his paper enough to watch the tableau. He glanced toward Gabriel, noted his expression and then focused on the two women.
A long sigh escaped Mrs. Masterson. “Yes, it appears that people are willing to risk their reputations to have furniture made by him. I will never understand mankind,” she said ruefully, shaking her head from side to side as though truly concerned for others.
“What sort of reputation does he have that others should worry about tarnishing theirs by associating with him?” Mrs. Smythe asked in an eager, carrying voice.
“Well, you know what they said happened with Old Mr. Smithers?” She and Mrs. Smythe exchanged long looks, and then Mrs. Smythe gasped, “No!”
Colin spoke up in a cheerful voice, folding the paper in front of him as he did. “Ah, what joy to be in the presence of ladies. I find myself confused how you can express so much by saying so little.” He smiled in an open, friendly manner to both of them.
Mrs. Smythe watched him warily, but Mrs. Masterson nearly preened under his flirtatious smile.
“I always enjoy a bit of gossip. Do you care to include me?” Colin sat with his legs crossed and looked the picture of a young idle society man.
“What a charming young man,” Mrs. Masterson simpered. “Why, you remind me of my Henry.” She sighed with pleasure. “I had thought you all uncivilized heathens, but now I realize you must be a true comfort to your stepmama.”
I nearly snorted at the last comment and had to act like I had a small coughing fit to cover it up. I glanced toward Gabriel, hoping to share a hidden smile
, yet he remained tense, waiting for the impending attack.
“Yes, I like to think of myself as a comfort to those present,” Colin agreed jovially, a huff of a laugh escaping. “So, what news do you bring, Mrs. Masterson?” he asked, leaning in, raising his eyebrows in expectation.
“I’m not sure this concerns you,” Mrs. Smythe said, appearing to have reconsidered her tactics.
“Nonsense, Rebecca, don’t be so greedy. We should share what we know,” Mrs. Masterson chided.
“Yes,” Colin agreed readily, “we’re all family here. Don’t keep all the interesting news just to yourselves.”
My attention turned to Da, who watched the three of them closely. He refrained from joining the conversation, but I knew he would be suspicious of Colin’s sudden, overt friendliness toward Mrs. Smythe. Da settled into his chair, as though unconcerned about their gossip while listening attentively.
Mrs. Masterson leaned forward, as if imparting a great secret. “Well, as everyone knows, there was question of wrongdoing when Mr. Smithers died.” Her voice lowered dramatically at the word died, and she raised her eyebrows as though it explained everything.
Da, who had watched the exchange between the women and his son with detached interest, sat up straighter. He looked from his wife to Mrs. Masterson, a sense of surprise, then shock, then anger flashing over his face. “And you would believe that of your own nephew? Then you don’t know how to judge character, ma’am. You have to be a bleeding fool to believe that, for even a second,” Da retorted, anger in his voice. I could tell he was boiling mad as his accent became stronger. Da took a calming breath before continuing, “If all ye wish to discuss is malicious gossip, I would advise ye to find somewhere else to go. An’ a more amenable audience.”
Colin had sat back in his chair, a look of disgust on his face as he stared at Mrs. Masterson. “I’m sure a sensible woman like yourself must be mistaken, ma’am,” Colin said.
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