Abiding Love: Banished Saga, Book Eight

by Flightner, Ramona

  * * *

  Clarissa sat on the settee in Jeremy and Savannah’s front living room and listened as her family discussed the day’s events. The older children were in the backyard, playing with Araminta and Melinda, while her son Little Colin—now three months past his second birthday—played on the floor at her feet with wooden toy animals his father had made. Jeremy and Savannah’s house was a short distance from the home Clarissa shared with Gabriel.

  “Can you believe that Mr. Caine tried to strong-arm me into selling my shop again?” her older brother Colin complained. He had moved to Missoula with her in 1901 and now owned his own blacksmith shop. At forty-two, he remained unmarried, although many women in town had vied for his attention. However, he was content to spend his time with friends and family. “That man can’t take no for an answer.”

  “How many times is it now that you’ve turned him down?” asked Gabriel.

  “Must be close to six.” Colin groaned as he stretched his arms overhead and then scratched his head. “I have no idea why he’s so keen on purchasing it.”

  “You run a good business and make a tidy profit,” Clarissa said. “Who wouldn’t want a business like that?”

  “Yes, but he’d buy it and beggar it within a year, like he did his own blacksmith shop.” Colin sighed. “Thankfully he can’t compel me to sell.”

  Gabriel, the eldest McLeod brother at forty-three, winked at his wife, Clarissa. More gray peppered his black hair, but he remained lean and strong from his work as a finish carpenter. Jeremy, the youngest McLeod brother, was married to Savannah, Clarissa’s and Colin’s cousin. The middle McLeod brother, Richard, lived in Boston with his wife, Florence, and their six children—the latest, a daughter, born just a week earlier.

  When the conversation lulled, Jeremy asked, “What are those crates in my office? Are we stocking up already for next year?” He watched Savannah with a teasing glint in his eyes, but she sat next to Clarissa in a despondent haze and failed to respond.

  Clarissa smiled and shook her head. “Why would we need to stock up?”

  Gabriel laughed. “Because, at the end of the year, we can no longer purchase whiskey or any other alcohol in this fine state. You can’t have forgotten that your temperance friends were successful.”

  “Of course not. I forgot the start date,” she said with a light flush on her cheeks. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jeremy. The crates are not filled with that sort of contraband.”

  “But it is contraband?” Colin said, perking up in his chair at the thought.

  She laughed. “Of course not. Well, they’re filled with banned books we had to remove from the library. A list was released from the Council of Defense of the books that could no longer be in circulation in schools or libraries. Order Number 3 from the COD.”

  Jeremy’s brows flew up in surprise. “All those books were banned?”

  Clarissa fisted her hand, tapping it on her thigh as she flushed in indignation. “No, not all of them. However, Hester thought it best to remove all books with a German author or theme as we have patronesses who can be overzealous. The council did recommend any books by a German, in German or about Germany to be removed.”

  “Bloody Mrs. Bouchard,” Colin muttered.

  “And vindictive Mrs. Vaughan,” Gabriel muttered. “They’d love to find a reason to expel you again and to take over the running of the library.” He bent down and picked up his young son named after his wife’s brother, bouncing him on one knee and earning a giggle. “And the council likes to stick in its nose too. I still can’t believe they passed a measure on March 15 outlawing parades.”

  Colin shook his head. “You know it was directed at Butte and their huge Saint Patrick’s Day Parade.” They all nodded and frowned as they considered the council and its growing power.

  “We know you loathe the Bouchards for an entirely personal reason,” Jeremy teased Colin as he changed the subject.

  “How would you feel if another man were courting your woman?” Colin growled out.

  “Considering you’ve never spoken to her about your feelings, I fail to see why you are so upset.” Clarissa met Colin’s irate glare, although concern and compassion filled her gaze. “As for the books, Jeremy, I was hoping we could store them somewhere here as your house is much larger than mine.”

  Jeremy looked at Savannah, who stared into space. “Savannah?” He frowned when she jerked at her name, finally focusing on her family surrounding her. “Would you object?”

  She looked around the room at her family’s inquisitive stares and shook her head. “No, I have no objection. If you would excuse me?” She rose, and her footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.

  “What’s wrong, Jeremy?” Clarissa asked. “She’s been out of sorts for a few weeks.”

  Jeremy sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have no idea. When I ask her, she acts affronted that I believe anything is amiss.” He rubbed at his face. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Clarissa looked toward the stairway and frowned. “Give her time. Well, a little time. And then, if she still won’t speak about what is bothering her, push her. Savannah is too good at keeping her hurts buttoned up.”

  Excited voices and racing feet sounded down the long hallway from the kitchen, and the conversation turned to that of the children, their school day and their hopes for summer vacation.

  * * *

  When Araminta saw that the children were ensconced with their parents, she slipped out the back. She had arrived in Missoula in 1903 with Savannah, Jeremy and Melinda and remained with the McLeod family, working to care for their children. An orphan, Araminta had no family except for the McLeods, and, although she loved her role as an honorary aunt, she ached for something more. She walked as quickly as her lame leg allowed, making her way to her small rented rooms on the other side of the river near downtown Missoula. Upon arrival, she fought a smile to find Bartholomew Bouchard waiting on the porch.

  Nephew to Mrs. Bouchard, Bartholomew had proven a steadfast friend in the past year. He also had a penchant for outlandishly colored suits, and tonight’s was tame by recent standards. Rather than the puce or pumpkin-colored waistcoat worn the previous week, the cranberry tone seemed muted and dull.

  “What a lovely sight, you walking with the evening sun casting its warming rays upon you!” Bartholomew called out as he jogged from the porch.

  She rolled her eyes at his praise but was unable to fight a blush. “Hello, Mr. Bouchard. I hadn’t expected to see you this evening.”

  “But you hoped you would,” he said. “Come. Walk with me.” At his coaxing, he led her away from her home on a slow walk around deserted side streets. “It’s the dinner hour, and we have the town to ourselves.”

  She shook her head. “How you can make that sound illicit is beyond me.”

  “We’ve been friends for nearly a year now, Miss Araminta,” Bartholomew said. “We’ve walked this same route more times than I can count. Even in the middle of winter, when we were bundled up like explorers to the South Pole.” He sighed with relief when he saw her smile. “How was your day?”

  “Wonderful. I spent it with the children, and it was filled with adventure and mishaps.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine being content caring for other people’s children. It’s difficult enough when they’re your own.”

  Araminta turned to study him intently. “Do you have your own that you are so familiar with the work and dedication that such care entails?”

  He flushed. “I wouldn’t be walking with you on this fine evening if I did, would I?”

  She frowned at his ambiguous answer. “That’s not an answer. Did you have a family?”

  He smiled enigmatically and frowned. “My past isn’t something I am proud of, Miss Araminta. Although I can assure you, there is nothing that would bring shame or ridicule upon you.”

  She frowned at his evasive and puzzling answer. “I would be shocked if there
were. You are a fine, upstanding member of our town.”

  He shrugged and allowed his attention to be drawn to the library. “I’m surprised the lights are still on. I thought it closed hours ago.”

  Araminta bit back further questions and focused on the library. “I believe a rearranging of the book catalog was undertaken today.”

  Bartholomew studied her a moment, his gaze intent. “You mean, they rid the library of the banned German books?” At Araminta’s nod, he smiled. “Good. My aunts will be pleased such an important undertaking has been accomplished. Such dangerous material should not be allowed to circulate among the impressionable minds of our children nor our citizenry.”

  Araminta began to speak and then acted as though she had a slight cough. She waved away his words of concern.

  “I’m certain you agree with me. The Council of Defense is acting in accordance with the desires of the state legislature and the governor. We must ensure that we are safe from any and all interference from Germany and its people.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “I’m certain the council has our best interests at heart.”

  He beamed at her ready agreement. “I like when we are in agreement on all things.”

  “No two people can be in agreement about all things,” Araminta whispered.

  “Perhaps not but, on the essential issues facing us as a country, I believe it is imperative there be agreement on what truly matters.”

  Araminta frowned as they approached her home. “Thank you for the lovely walk, Mr. Bouchard.”

  He raised her hand and kissed it. “I’d hoped by now you’d call me Bartholomew.” He traced a finger over her cheek. “Or Bart.” His eyes gleamed as he watched her luminous, yet shocked gaze. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he leaned forward and kissed her softly on her lips. “I hope you have a wonderful evening, Miss Araminta.” He stroked her cheek again before backing away.

  Araminta leaned against the wooden pillar holding up the porch roof and watched him as he strode toward downtown. When he faded from sight, she traced her lips, unable to fight a smile before turning to enter her rooms.

  * * *

  The following day, Araminta worked in Clarissa’s kitchen while the older children were at school. She chopped vegetables and wrestled with the meal plan. Clarissa and Gabriel lived in a craftsman-style house with a living room, dining room and kitchen on the main floor, and the bedrooms upstairs. They had a wide front porch and a backyard for the children to play in.

  “What has you glowering?” Clarissa asked.

  “Did he go down for his nap?” Araminta asked.

  Clarissa chuckled. “He’s not at all like his namesake yet. Little Colin is a very docile boy, and he loves his naps. Colin, his uncle, is the exact opposite!” She watched as Araminta studiously avoided looking at Clarissa or reacting to any discussion about Colin. “Why are you glaring at the vegetables?”

  “I’m sick of the dietary recommendations. Today’s Wheatless Wednesday, and all I want to bake is bread.” She pointed at the paltry vegetables and the bag of rice on the counter. “Wouldn’t a loaf of bread be delicious with dinner?”

  Clarissa laughed. “It would. But I refuse to have my neighbors informing the council or anyone else that they smelled bread or a cake or cookies being baked today in my house.”

  “I hardly believe baking bread could be construed as an act of sedition,” Araminta whispered.

  “Maybe not but they’d still find a reason to berate you in the papers and make you feel like a traitor for not following the ‘recommendations.’” Clarissa smiled. “Besides, no matter what you make, it’s delicious.” She watched as Araminta continued to move around the kitchen, her agitation mounting. “What is truly bothering you, Minta?”

  “I have a friend.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bouchard.” At Araminta’s shocked expression, Clarissa laughed. “You can’t expect to have kept secret his attention, nor your frequent walks, in a town the size of Missoula. Besides, many in the family take an interest in your welfare, Minta.”

  Araminta sat on a chair across from Clarissa at the kitchen table. “We went for a walk last night and passed by the library. The lights were still on.”

  Clarissa frowned. “I wonder why Hester needed to work so late.” She focused on Araminta. “But that’s not what bothers you.”

  Araminta shook her head. “Ba—Mr. Bouchard approved of you removing those books. He expected me to agree with him.”

  Clarissa narrowed her eyes as Araminta fiddled with a carrot peel on the tabletop. “Do you agree with him?”

  Araminta huffed out a breath and shrugged her shoulders. “A part of me does. I mean, if a German spy plane really was near Helena last fall, we must be cautious.” She furrowed her brows as she finally met Clarissa’s gaze. “And yet why would a German plane be in Montana? I fear that newspaper writer was simply trying to scare all of us and arouse our anti-German sentiment.”

  Clarissa smiled and nodded. “There is no reason for a German plane to be in Massachusetts, never mind Montana. However, I fear too few of our citizenry are willing to overcome their irrational fears and use logic during a time of war and uncertainty.”

  Araminta sighed. “That is what concerns me, Clarissa. The fear-mongering. The book-burning parties I read about in the Daily Missoulian. The joy people are taking in denying German pastors from speaking to their church members in their own language. It seems cruel.” She bit her lip. “I was disappointed in myself for not speaking up last night. For allowing Mr. Bouchard to believe I agreed with him.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Clarissa asked.

  “I’m terrified of being seen as unpatriotic. You’ve read what they’ve done to those convicted of sedition.”

  Clarissa paused for a moment, her gaze distant and troubled. The stories of those who had been convicted and sent to jail for twenty years had made headlines in the state’s newspapers. “Our politicians and leaders have failed us. They’ve silenced any possibility of civil discord with the threat of sedition and jail time, thus stripping us of our freedoms to openly discuss our concerns and disagreements. I’ve never believed in forced patriotism, and yet my silence is an implicit acknowledgment that I agree with the current law.”

  Araminta watched Clarissa with confusion. “You sound disappointed in yourself.”

  “If you must know, I am. I like to believe myself strong-willed and outspoken for what I believe in. And yet, the minute I am threatened with jail time, all I can think about is missing out on my children’s lives.” She smiled sadly at Araminta. “I’m not strong, like I envisioned, and that shames me.”

  * * *

  Gabriel entered the bedroom he shared with Clarissa, smiling to find her sitting in her rocking chair, humming to herself. “Hello, my darling,” he whispered. At her inquisitive stare, he nodded. “The children are abed, after three bedtime stories and a promise to play hide-and-seek tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Little Billy should become a lawyer for his negotiating prowess.”

  He frowned when Clarissa failed to take her customary joy in his report about the bedtime routine for the children. He slipped off his shoes, then pulled down his suspenders. He perched on the edge of the bed and waited for Clarissa to speak. After many minutes, when she remained silent and in her own mind, he tugged at her arm and pulled her toward him.

  “Come, love,” he whispered, settling her on her side on the bed with him facing her. He traced a hand through her long brown hair, now shot with silver. “What bothers you?”

  She shook her head and pushed herself into his chest, sighing with pleasure as his arms closed around her. The tension eased from her the longer he held her, his long fingers stroking her back.

  “I know you are deserving of your sleep after a long day. But please share your worries with me, Rissa. I would support you in everything if I could.” He kissed her head as she shuddered.

  “I admitted to myself today that I’m a coward, and I find that hard to live with,”
she whispered against his shoulder.

  He laughed, causing her to tense again. “How can you possibly consider yourself a coward? You’ve braved childbirth five times. You survived a horrible attack in Boston and demanded a full life with me, when others would have meekly accepted a half-life with Cameron. You champion a woman’s right to vote and worked endlessly for success here in Montana in 1914.” He swiped a palm over her wet cheeks. “Help me to understand how you could possibly consider yourself less than magnificent and strong and brave?”

  A pent-up sob burst forth, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her as her emotions flowed. “Don’t cry so, my darling. I hate to see you this sad.”

  She talked in stutters, and he focused with intense concentration to understand her.

  “I didn’t have the courage to insist the banned books remain in the library. I haven’t had the courage to speak out against the Sedition Law. I’ve remained quiet as those around us are accused and brought before the committee.” She used his shirt to dry her face.

  “Rissa, you know as well as I do that speaking out means, at bare minimum, a fine, or, at worst, twenty years in the state penitentiary. Twenty years! You saved the books so they weren’t destroyed. Other schools and libraries across the state have taken pleasure in burning them.” He moved so that he could meet her teary gaze. “We must continue with our quiet acts of defiance. We must help those we can.”

  “I’m ashamed because I think of myself first.” She sniffled and took a deep breath as her sobs quieted. She traced a finger over his beloved jaw. “I think of you. Of our family. And I remain quiet.”

  “I think many of us feel the same. However, there is little we can do, Rissa,” Gabriel murmured.