She nodded and tugged on his arm, pulling him to sit next to her. She moved to sit cross-legged so she faced him. After swiping at her cheeks in irritation at the tears that continued to fall, she took a deep, stuttering breath. “Do you know why I said what I did to Lucas?”
He watched her with fathomless eyes.
“I … What I feel for you is too new. Too private to share with anyone else. Why should I tell him how I feel when I haven’t even told you?”
“Parthena, you don’t have to fabricate feelings,” he grumbled, his jaw ticking with irritation.
“No!” Parthena yelled, rising to her knees on the bed and clasping his face with her small hands. Her thumbs caressed his cheeks as she looked into his eyes. “I know it’s taken me too long to tell you how I feel. But you need to know that I feel so much more than consideration. Than desire.”
He arched away from her. “It doesn’t matter, Parthena.”
His cold dismissal acted as a fuse to her anger. She growled and climbed onto his lap. “It does matter. Please tell me that you’ll believe me.” She flushed at her beseeching tone.
He watched her with an arrested expression. “I’ve never known you to beg,” he whispered in confusion. “Not with me.”
She shook her head as though to clear her vision from unwanted tears. “Because nothing has ever mattered like this does. I love you, Morgan. I love you so much.” Her breath shattered after she said it. A sob escaped when he held himself rigid and continued to watch her with wary indecision.
“When I woke in Washington and found you there, you cared for me as though I were beloved. You held me. You listened. You never judged. You never scolded me for my impetuous actions. You mourned what I had lived through and said you’d support me if I felt compelled to protest again.” She bent forward and swiped her cheeks against his shirtfront. “I knew then I loved you,” she whispered. “I think I had for quite some time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice scratchy.
She continued to swipe her cheeks side to side against his shirtfront. “I know most people think I’m brave. And I am in certain instances. But when it comes to you …” She swallowed and met his gaze where hope fought disbelief. “If you didn’t feel the same, I … I …” She shook her head as tears coursed out. “There are no words to describe how I’d feel.”
“But I do love you, Parthena. What more did I have to do to show you?” he whispered against her ear, before backing away and meeting her gaze. “Why would you wait weeks to tell me after I admitted my feelings for you?”
“Only you, Morgan, have the ability to terrify me. What if you don’t love me as much as I love you?” She shook her head, showing him that she needed him to remain quiet. “I realized, as I sat in that chair all night long and waited for you, that I had to overcome my fear. That I was hurting you as much as I hurt myself.”
A tender smile bloomed, and he cupped her cheek.
She sobbed as she collapsed fully against his chest. “Don’t spend another night in that room. Stay with me. You belong with me.” She clung to him.
“Shh, … my little love, of course I’ll stay with you.” He kissed her head. “I thought you didn’t want me here.”
She pushed herself back, her tear-reddened gaze meeting his as she shook her head. “No, I want you. Even when I was too much of a fool to realize what I wanted, I wanted you.” She traced his brows and pushed his hair back. “Please, Morgan. Please.”
“Don’t beg, my love. I believe you,” he whispered, kissing her. “I love you and want no other.” He tugged her close, sighing with contentment to hold her once again in his arms.
* * *
Later at the end of February, Morgan sat in the family parlor as Lucas tinkered on the piano with Parthena while Genevieve rocked baby Lizzie in her arms. Morgan swore as he read the headlines, muttering his apologies.
“What has you so riled, Morgan?” Parthena asked as she turned on the stool to face her husband. Lucas nodded in agreement to the question but continued to play.
“Have you any idea what your state legislature has done?” He shook the paper at them. “They’re idiots!”
Lucas slammed his fingers on the piano keys and rose, marching to each door leading into the family room and shutting them. “Careful what you say, Morgan. They might be idiots, but plenty agree with Montana’s Extraordinary Session of the Legislature and what our legislature is trying to do.”
Genevieve gave Lucas a long look.
He nodded, his lips quirked in an ironic smile. “And, yes, I understand why you were hesitant to have so many servants.”
“They’re all spies on us, Lucas,” Genevieve murmured. “I hate that I can’t talk freely in my own home.”
Lucas approached a gramophone and set a record on it to play. “I know this will sound egotistical, but it’s one of me playing with Perry Hawke.”
Parthena waved away the music and focused on Morgan. “What does the paper say?” Her murmur was covered by Perry’s booming voice filling the room as he sang of lost love.
“Your legislature has just passed a Sedition Law. It’s a wordy law, as only government can make such things, but basically it states that, if you say or write anything against the government, any member of government, any action of government, you are acting in a treasonous manner and can be sent to jail for twenty years.”
“What?” Lucas asked. “But that’s insane. I know the Butte papers are in the pockets of the Company, but there is still the Bulletin. It says things all the time that are antigovernment and antiwar.”
Morgan held up the edition of the Anaconda Standard. “Well, they’ll risk being accused of sedition.” He scanned the article. “According to this fine paper, it rather proudly proclaims, ‘There is no freedom of speech any longer for the disloyal or pro-German. A man can talk all right if he talks right.’”
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was of Perry’s soaring voice and Lucas’s beautiful accompaniment.
“Talks right? Talks right?” Morgan growled as he dropped the paper onto a side table. “An essential aspect of living in this country has been the freedom to speak one’s dissent. Forgive me if I’m showing my ignorance, but that’s not the definition of freedom of speech I learned when I studied the Bill of Rights.”
Parthena snorted. “If you think most Americans have given a thought to their rights, you’re crazy. Most are so afraid of their shadows now that we’re at war that they’re willing to give up any and all of their rights for the mirage of security.”
Genevieve kissed Lizzie’s head. “I fear you are right, Parthena. We’ve lived among our German friends and neighbors for years, and now they are looked upon with suspicion. Too many allow fear to dictate how they act and what they will accept.”
“Although I agree with all of you, the fact remains that, as of this moment, we must guard what we say.” Lucas speared Genevieve and then Parthena with a quelling glance. “You are two outspoken sisters, and I do not wish to have either of you accused of sedition.”
“Or sent to prison.” Morgan watched his wife with blatant concern. “Perhaps now would be a good time to return to Massachusetts.”
Lucas sighed, crossing his arms over his belly. “I fear you believe that, if you escape to Boston, you’ll be spared living under such a law. However, you should be aware that Montana’s two senators are attempting to pass such a law in Congress. I fear that the success of the law here will embolden them. Everyone in the United States might well be living under such a law soon.”
Chapter 4
Boston, April 1918
Zylphia stood, staring out the window of her private study at the back of the house. She rarely spent time in her studio as she had tired of glaring at a blank canvas. She had painted little since her return from Washington in December, and her sketches were filled with disturbing images she did not care to bring to life. Her gaze distant, she wrapped her arms around her belly as she watched raindro
ps slide down the windowpane. After a moment, she closed her eyes, as though attempting to shut out the visions she saw. Heavy keys on a keychain rattled, and she shook, crumbling to the floor. She curled into herself and rocked, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as she moaned.
Hands reached out, touching her back, and she shrieked. “No! I will not bend! You will not force me this time!” Her voice, muffled by her position, emerged determined yet panicked. When the hands persisted in coaxing her to rise, she struck out, earning an “Oof” in protest.
“Shh, love, no one is forcing you to do anything,” Teddy soothed. He settled beside her on the floor and ran another hand over her quivering back. “You’re here, with me, in our home in Boston. You’re safe, Zee.” He continued to croon and whisper to her, running warm hands over her as her panic abated. “Shh, my love.”
Her shaking and crying continued, and he spoke to her throughout. “You’re safe, darling,” he chanted over and over. “Open your eyes, and see where you are.” He kissed her cheeks, caressed her head and warmed her trembling body with his.
Many minutes later she raised her head and looked at him, lying beside her on the floor. “Teddy?” she whispered. She unfurled herself and pushed herself in an ungainly manner into his embrace. “Hold me. Hold me closer.”
“Forever.” His arms closed around her, pulling her tight. “No one will hurt you here, Zee.” When her breathing had calmed, and it seemed she was so relaxed she was on the verge of falling asleep, Teddy stroked a hand over her head. “What frightened you?”
“I was standing at the window, unable to stop thinking about prison. About the workhouse. What happened there. The sounds. The smells. The treatment. And then I heard keys rattle.” She fought a shudder as she pushed herself tighter into Teddy’s embrace. “They always rattled the keys before they entered my cell to force-feed me.”
“Oh, Zee,” he sighed, kissing her head. “The maid must have rattled her keys by accident. I’ll speak with her. She was terrified when she ran to get me.”
“I’m sorry to be so feeble.” She moved to push out of his arms but found his hold implacable. “I can’t seem to get past these memories.”
“You suffered a trauma, Zee, not only to your body but to your mind and spirit as well. Never be embarrassed for taking the time you need to recover from it.” He caressed her cheek as she leaned away to meet his tender gaze. “You’ve helped me through my demons. Let me do the same for you.”
She sighed and settled once more against his chest. He held her until she rose to go upstairs to rest.
* * *
Teddy returned to his office to find his father-in-law, Aidan, awaiting him.
“I thought you’d forgotten our appointment,” Aidan said. He stilled when he noted Teddy’s somber mood.
“No, I was detained.” He sat and shook away an offer for a drink. “Zee was frightened, and I helped calm her.”
“She had another attack?”
“Another?” Teddy’s gaze sharpened.
“She had one a few days ago while visiting her mother. Delia was nearly hysterical at her inability to calm her. Thankfully Zee’s panic abated before the doctor arrived.”
“What provoked the one at your house?” He canted forward, his eyes gleaming with the need to better understand what tormented his wife.
“The cook decided to prepare bacon for a dish that evening, and the smell rose through one of the vents.” Aidan shrugged.
“They cooked bacon at the workhouse to entice them to eat,” Teddy whispered. He closed his eyes. “She told me a few days ago that she always feels guilty when she eats it now.”
Aidan grunted in dismay and shook his head. “I don’t know what to do for her, Teddy. The doctor wanted her to take laudanum, but Zee refuses.”
“She’s terrified of her dreams,” Teddy murmured. “I think she doesn’t want to spend any more time asleep than she already does.” He scratched at his head, his fingers unconsciously tracing the scars he received when he fought in the Great War for England. He firmed his jaw and met Aidan’s gaze. “She’s not crazy.” Teddy’s tone was implacable. “I will not have her whispered about, with those of so-called good society saying she should be sent away.”
Aidan nodded, his eyes flashing with anger at the suggestion. “I agree with you. Anyone with sense will understand she suffered a trauma while imprisoned.”
Teddy shook his head and sat with shoulders stooped in his office. “I fear that has only emboldened some to say that she is accustomed to such treatment and would relish returning to such an environment.” He met his father-in-law’s irate gaze. “I know the staff gossips. I can’t prevent their chatter. But I don’t know how to protect her.”
Aidan sighed, his business concerns forgotten as he considered his daughter. “The only way to help her through this is to continue to show her our love.”
Teddy shook his head. “I think it’s more than that for Zee. She must face her fears too.” He paused a moment and then rose. “Will you excuse me?”
He marched from his front office and up the stairs to Zylphia’s studio. Muted light entered through the tall windows on the rainy afternoon, and a blank canvas with a white palette sat ready for her, whenever she deigned to paint again. His gaze roamed the room, from the bookcase jammed full with trinkets and papers to the comfortable love seat and chair. He turned on a light as his gaze searched for a large black-covered book. He saw it on the floor by the love seat.
After he made himself comfortable, he opened it. The first pages of sketches were of Washington, DC, in the summer and fall. A father flying a kite with his young son. A man selling ices. A view of a memorial being built in the distance. He continued to flip through the pages, and his pace slowed as the tenor of the images transformed. Where those before had been light and whimsical, these were darker. “Demon dreams,” he whispered. One was of a snake approaching her as she lay on the concrete floor, her leg shackled so she couldn’t escape. He sat transfixed as he began to comprehend the depth of her fears.
“What are you doing?” Zylphia asked as she stood in the doorway to her studio.
“I’m snooping. I have no reason to hide what I’m doing.” He watched her with concern. “Why don’t you paint this?” He turned the book around to show her a specific drawing.
She shivered and held herself rigidly upright. “I have no need for the world to know of my inability to overcome what occurred.”
“There is no shame in this, Zee.” He flipped the page, sobering further at the image of her reaching for a baby but the infant always too far away from her for her to hold it. In the corner, a man sat with his arms crossed, glaring at her with contempt as he refused to render any aid. “Is this how you see me? How you still see me?”
Her eyes filled at his rasped question. “No.” She swiped at her cheeks.
He waited for her to say more, and, when she remained quiet, he cleared his throat. “Is this man me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She blocked the doorway when he slammed the sketchbook shut and rose. “Teddy, please listen.”
“You say that’s not how you see me but that the man is me. It can’t be both ways, Zee.” He looked at a spot over her shoulder, crowding her in an attempt to push past her.
However, she stood her ground and wouldn’t let him leave the room. “No, Teddy, it’s how I think you should see me. Not how you do see me,” she whispered.
His brows furrowed as he thought over her words, and then he shook his head. “What?”
“How can you forgive me when I can’t forgive myself?” she wailed. “I lost our child out of pride and stubbornness.”
He gripped her shoulders, his gray eyes lit with a deep passion. “Our baby died, Zee. We will never know why. I refuse to believe it was because you were in jail.” He took a deep breath. “There is just as much likelihood our baby would have died had you been here, safe in our house, in my arms.”
“If I’d eaten … If I’d not strugg
led …” she whispered. “I will never banish this guilt.”
“Oh, my love.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “I don’t know what to say to ease your torment.” He held her as she shuddered. “I hate that you see me like that. That you believe I should perceive you like that.”
She pushed away, meeting his gaze for a fleeting moment before ducking her head. “I don’t know what to do, Teddy. I thought time would make things better.” She swallowed as her throat seemed to thicken with tears. “But it’s not.”
He ran a hand over her head. “I would paint. Paint what you feel. The good. The beautiful. That which you think is shameful.” He met her gaze. “I would never think that of your art, but I think you need to express what you have inside, my darling.”
“I fear …” She shook her head as he waited patiently for her to speak. “I fear that, if I paint what troubles me, I’ll never be able to box away what I’m feeling.”
He looked at her with his gaze filled with love and understanding. “You can’t lock this away, Zee. You can see what this is doing to you. To us.” He waited a moment before whispering, “Try.” He kissed her on her forehead and slipped from the room.
* * *
Zylphia stood in front of the blank canvas, the brush in her hand immobile as she stared dazedly at it. She dipped the brush into the black oil paint on her palette and emptied her mind as her hand moved furiously, as though independent from the rest of her. She frowned as the image in her mind sprang to life on the canvas. Ignoring the paint that splattered her apron or the white sheet covering the floor, she maintained a ruthless focus.
Hours later she dropped her brush in diluted turpentine to clean it and scrubbed at her hands with a piece of clean linen. She studied the disjointed, troubling paintings that lined one wall of her studio. Each one a memory from her time in jail. “My fears brought to life,” she whispered as she walked toward one of them, studying it with a critical eye.
Abiding Love: Banished Saga, Book Eight Page 6
