A stark black chair sat in the middle of a room with the hint of a cell door in the distance. The background color was a gray-blue, with the only light shining in from the ajar door. She shivered as she examined it.
“Are you all right, Zee?” Teddy whispered.
She shrieked and then spun to face him. “What time is it? I’m sorry if I’ve neglected you.” She scrubbed at her hands in earnest as he strode toward her and kissed her on her cheek.
“I’m not.” His gaze flicked from one painting to the next. “You used your time well.” He frowned at the one of her lying on a cot, curled in the corner of a cell. “How are you?”
“Exhausted,” she whispered. Then she smiled. “But I feel a little better.”
“Good,” he said as he kissed her forehead. “Come. Sit and relax. I’ve saved dinner, and we can eat in here if you want.”
After Zylphia washed her hands again at the sink and stripped off her soiled apron, he smiled as she collapsed onto her love seat. He called out to the maid to deliver their supper on trays to her studio. “I didn’t think you could paint without more light,” he murmured as he turned on another lamp.
“I found I didn’t need the light this time. I just needed to set free what I needed to paint.” She flushed as she looked at her drying paintings. “I don’t want these shown, Teddy. These are for me only.”
He frowned. “Of course. You are in control of who sees your art, Zee. I will never interfere.”
She held out her hand and smiled as he clasped hers. “Except to encourage me to paint what I didn’t want to.”
He chuckled and agreed. After they ate their supper, she was on the verge of dozing on the settee. “Come, love. You should rest.”
“Thank you, Teddy.” She met his inquisitive stare. “Thank you for caring for me. For pushing me to improve. For not allowing me to wallow.”
He stroked her cheek. “You are not a wallower, darling.” His eyes glowed with deep emotions. “I know this will not heal all your pain, but I hope it will ease it.”
* * *
A week later, Zylphia poked her head into Teddy’s office. She smiled at him bent over a stack of papers, his hands raking through his disheveled hair as he considered a business venture. “May I disturb you?”
“Zee,” he whispered. “Yes, of course.” He motioned for her to enter, frowning as she paused before coming to sit in a chair before his desk.
“I’ve been painting a lot.” She paused at the humor lighting his eyes at her statement. She had painted for hours every day for the past week. “I think I nearly bought out all of the gray and black oil paint here in Boston.” She flushed as Teddy chuckled.
“You are doing what you need, Zee,” he said.
“It saddens me that you don’t have a painting for your office.” She saw the remorse in his gaze at the destroyed cherry blossom painting. She had gifted him the painting before they were married, and he had demolished it the previous fall in a fit of rage after returning from seeing her in Washington. “I painted something new for behind your desk.”
“Ah, Zee, that’s … very considerate of you,” he said as he failed to hide a wince. “I’m uncertain if your latest … masterpieces will match the decor of the room.” He frowned as she giggled at him.
“Please, Teddy. I want you to be as proud of the art I am doing now as of that which I did before the War. Before Washington.”
He sobered and nodded. “You know I am, darling. May I see the painting?”
She smiled. “Nothing can ever replace what was lost, but I hope you will find comfort in this.” She hopped up and opened the office door, pulling in a large painting, the white back visible to Teddy.
“I hope I will receive my fair share of black and gray,” he teased.
She flushed and shook her head. “No, my love. For you, I found inspiration in the Gardens.” She spun the painting around and smiled with delight as he gasped at the scene of the Public Gardens in springtime glory.
He moved around his desk, his eyes alit with joy. “Oh, Zee. It’s stunning.” He caressed her cheek before kissing her softly. “Thank you.”
“I’ve found color again,” she whispered. “I no longer see only black and gray.” Tears seeped out as she whispered that truth.
“Oh, Zee,” he murmured. He took the painting from her and set it at the foot of his desk. “I always knew you would.”
He held her as she cried, giving silent thanks for her inner strength and perseverance.
* * *
“Florence, I can make a pot of tea,” Zylphia said in exasperation as she gently pushed her very pregnant cousin and friend into a chair. She moved around Florence’s kitchen in the home Florence shared with her husband, Zylphia’s cousin, Richard McLeod, in Dorchester. They had a few hours before Florence’s five boys returned home from school. After the tea was steeping, she sat beside Florence, slicing the crumb cake she had brought with her.
“Don’t feel guilty about eating this,” Zylphia said. “I brought two others for the boys and Richard.”
Florence fought a smile as she took a bite of the cake.
“How are you feeling?”
Florence rubbed at her belly as she sat back in her chair, unable to hide an elated smile. “I am well. This is the worst part, besides the morning sickness in the beginning. But it’s also the best. Because I know that I’ll soon have my baby in my arms.”
Zylphia smiled. “I pray, every night, that you have a healthy baby.” She did not say “this time,” but the look she shared with Florence expressed that sentiment. Florence and Richard had lost a baby daughter four years ago at birth. “Fate wouldn’t be that cruel twice, Flo.”
“I have dreams, Zee,” she whispered. “I never tell Richard about them because I know he battles the same fears.” She reached out and gripped Zylphia’s hand. “But I see my daughter. So perfect. So still. With the cord wrapped around her neck again.” She blinked. “I don’t know if I could survive that a second time.”
Zylphia blinked and lost her battle fighting tears. “I … I …” She shrugged.
“There’s nothing to say to calm this type of fear, Zee. I know that. Only when I have my baby in my arms will I be fully at peace.” Florence let go of Zee’s hand and took a sip of tea.
“How is Richard?” Zylphia frowned as she thought about her second-oldest McLeod cousin who ran three blacksmith shops in Boston. A dedicated father and family man, he seemed delighted at the prospect of another child.
“Apprehensive. He watches me with thinly veiled terror every day. I know he spoke with your father and that he is trying to fill these days with joy, but he is finding it difficult.” She swiped at a tear on her cheek. “He remembers how much I mourned the last time.”
Zylphia’s frown turned into a glower. “He remembers how much he mourned, Flo. He was devastated at the loss of your daughter.” She saw acknowledgment of that truth in Florence’s gaze. “How much longer?”
Florence smiled as she tapped her belly. “Only another few weeks.” She tilted her head and looked at Zylphia. “You seem better, Zee. What’s changed?”
She flushed and played with the crumbs on her plate. “I … I painted.” She continued to look at the plate and took a deep breath as she fought deep emotions. “I hadn’t realized how much I needed to express what had happened to me. The fear. The rage. The sense of hopelessness. Of the powerlessness I felt every day I was in the workhouse or jail.” She sniffled.
After a moment, she shrugged in embarrassment as she looked at Florence. “I never would have painted if it hadn’t been for Teddy. Somehow he knew I needed to express myself in that way.”
Florence smiled. “He loves you, Zee. He’ll do what he needs to ensure you are healthy and happy again.” When Zee frowned, Florence did too. “What is it, Zee?”
“I … I don’t want to go back. To Washington,” she whispered, torment plain in her eyes. “I want to remain here. But I hate being perceived as a coward. As unabl
e or unwilling to continue to support the movement.”
Florence’s jaw firmed, and her eyes flashed. “Do you see me as unable or unwilling to support the cause because I am here in Boston and not in Washington? Do you think my belief, my dedication, any less than yours?” At Zylphia’s instinctual shake of her head in denial, Florence nodded. “Exactly. Anyone who would believe that or would say such a thing is a fool and is attempting to manipulate you into doing what they want. Not what is best for you.”
Florence gripped Zylphia’s hand. “Zee, you could never be seen as a coward. Only you would ever think of yourself in those terms. No one else would. You lived through events I don’t even want to contemplate.” Her eyes filled as she unwittingly envisioned Zylphia’s time while at the workhouse and jail. “Teddy will want you to stay.”
“He has said he wants me here, but he hasn’t said he loves me in so long,” she whispered.
Florence frowned. “He’s shown you his love in every way he knows how. His constancy. His belief that you will heal. His desire to see you paint again.”
Zylphia nodded and swiped at her cheeks. “Yes, but I find I need the words too, Flo.”
* * *
Teddy poked his head into Zylphia’s studio, smiling as he saw her reading letters. Stacks of new artwork lined the walls of the room, and they were a mixture of what she called her morose gray period and her joyful rebirth period. “May I?” he asked as he nodded toward the paintings.
She smiled her agreement before focusing again on her correspondence.
He moved forward and pulled the paintings away from the wall, battling anger and guilt at the ones expressing her fears about her treatment in jail. He battled an equal measure of hope with her colorful paintings, worried this was a momentary stage. “They are remarkable as always, Zee.”
“Perhaps, although I would like to see if we can visit friends in the country.”
He frowned. “You’ve never shown much interest in leaving the city in spring before. Why would you desire to leave Boston in April?”
She flushed as she pulled a lap rug over her on the cool afternoon. “I want to have a bonfire, and I do not believe that is appropriate for the alley behind our house.”
He watched her, slack-jawed a moment. “Why do you wish to burn them, Zee?”
She shrugged and looked toward a somber painting that peeked out from behind a muted painting of a willow tree in blossom, its wispy branches fluttering in the wind. “I needed to paint them. To remove such darkness from me.” Her gaze met his for a moment. “Some of it will always be there, Teddy. It isn’t fully gone. But most of it is.”
She glared at the black-and-gray paintings. “But I don’t want to be reminded of it daily. I don’t want this around me.” Her jaw clenched shut for a moment. “I refuse to have others see such paintings.”
“These could be your dark period. Like Goya’s,” Teddy mused. He gave her a chagrined look as she glared at him. “I do not mean to make light of what you desire.” He clasped her hand. “But I don’t want you to regret the destruction of your art.”
“I won’t. It will be a relief,” she whispered. “Can you arrange for us to go somewhere? To have a private fire in the woods? It will need to be soon before the weather turns warm.”
“Of course,” he murmured, kissing her hand. “How was your visit with Florence today?”
“Good. She is impatient to hold her baby in her arms, which I think is normal.” She saw the yearning in his gaze and forced a smile.
“Quite normal,” he murmured. “Who has written you?” He motioned to the letters sitting forgotten on her lap.
“Alice and Rowena. They both write that they would like me to return to Washington. They are eager for my aid in persuading senators to change their positions so that the Anthony Amendment is passed and sent to the states for ratification.” She frowned as he sobered further. “What is the matter, Teddy?”
“I enjoy our time together in Boston, and I will miss you when you are in Washington.” He shrugged. “I shouldn’t be selfish in hoping you would remain here.”
“Well, my date for returning is undecided. First, we must have that bonfire.” She frowned at his tepid smile and watched as he left her studio, deep in thought.
* * *
Parthena woke, her arms reaching for Morgan. She frowned to find his side of the bed cooled, and she sat up, her straw-blond hair cascading over her shoulders. “Morgan?” she called out. When she failed to hear him moving around in the adjacent bathroom or in his dressing room, she flopped backward with a sigh. She thought back to the two months of mornings she had spent with him in Butte, waking each day in his arms, and her heart ached at returning to a routine here in Boston. They had arrived home yesterday after the long trip across country. She smiled, thinking of the wondrous hours they had spent in their private train cabin.
“Serves me right,” she muttered as she curled onto her side, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bedcovers just yet. She closed her eyes, refusing to cry.
“What serves you right, sleeping beauty?” Morgan asked as he slipped into the room with a tray.
“Morgan!” she said, sitting up on her knees before flushing as she had forgotten about her nakedness. After tugging the sheet around her, she beamed at him. “I thought you’d abandoned me for work.”
He laughed, setting the tray on a table in the small sitting area in front of the fire. “I hope I’m astute enough to know when to postpone business. And I refused to have the staff bothering us, so I went for a tray.”
She reached her arms out for him, tugging him to the bed. She pushed his robe off, running her hands over his shoulders and back. “I woke up and missed you terribly.”
“Oh, Hennie,” he whispered. He kissed her, rolling her to her back. After running fingers through her tangled blond hair, he smiled. “I will have to return to work, love. I never want you to doubt your choice in me.”
She pushed at him until he toppled to his side so she could snuggle against him. “I will never doubt my choice of you. I thought such doubts were dispelled during our time in Butte.”
He flushed. “I want to provide as well for you as he does for your sister.” At her startled chuckle, he shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s something I can explain to you, but I know other men would understand.” He met her intelligent, accepting gaze. “I want to be worthy of you, always.”
“You are worthy simply because of who you are.” She looked over her shoulder at the large room. “I love this mansion, but you could sell it tomorrow, and we could move into a much smaller place, and my love for you would not lessen. I am not your mother, Morgan. I will not abandon you if we have financial problems. My love for you does not depend on money.” She gave a jaunty shrug. “I like to think, if we were in financial difficulties, that I’d find a way to help us earn money.”
He pulled her to him, holding her close. “I know you would. You’re intrepid and wonderful. I love you, darling Parthena.”
“I hate that our life will return to how it’s been now that we’re back,” she whispered against his shoulder, once she relaxed against him.
“It doesn’t have to. There’s no reason I must rush to meetings in the morning.” He ran a hand over her back as he urged her even closer. “I used to schedule morning meetings so that I didn’t feel like a fool for wanting to linger with you when you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Morgan!” She reared up, her gaze filled with shock and embarrassment. After staring at him a long moment, she blinked away tears. “I hate that we wasted so much time estranged. I don’t want to go back to that. I want us to be like we were after I was jailed in Washington. How we were in Butte. I love you and want time with you.”
“Life will intrude, Hennie. Yet I promise that I will make time for us. If you ever feel that I am neglecting you, you must promise me that you will tell me how you are feeling.” He took a deep breath. “Are you returning to Washington?”
Parthena
shivered. “No. I may return for a few short visits, but I will not return to work as I did last summer and fall. I have no need to be there.”
His hands on her back stilled. “I know the cause is as important to you now as it ever was.”
“Of course. But I refuse to suffer as I did.” She met his concerned gaze with one filled with impassioned righteousness. “I am determined to take pride in what I did and to find other ways to continue to contribute to the cause.”
She giggled as his stomach rumbled. “Come. Let’s have breakfast.” She paused from rising from the bed when he kept a firm hold on her hand.
“We are all right, Hennie?”
She balanced her hands on his shoulder and kissed him. “We’re much better than all right, my love. We are married and in love. And we have a fleet of servants at our beck and call who can bring us trays of food if we so desire to postpone leaving our rooms for a few days.” She smiled as he chuckled at her teasing.
* * *
Zylphia sat in the private family sitting room at her parents’ house, relaxing in front of the fire as her mother served tea. Her favorite room in her parents’ mansion was the glass-enclosed conservatory, but one of the windows was leaking, and the room was too cold on this gray April day. “When will the conservatory be repaired?” she asked as she took a sip of tea and settled into the settee.
“Sometime next week. The new window pane had to be specially ordered.” Delia shared a chagrined smile with her daughter. “Who would have thought, when we were living in cramped rooms in the back of the orphanage, that we would find this room not to our liking?” She and Zylphia had lived in the orphanage Delia ran in the North End until she had reunited with Aidan and then married him in 1903.
Zylphia laughed. “We are spoiled, but at least we know it. I’m accustomed to the light and beauty in that room in the afternoon.” She sighed. “Did you read in the papers today that the Red Baron died yesterday?”
Abiding Love: Banished Saga, Book Eight Page 7
