Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine

by Flightner, Ramona

  Billy leaned up on his elbows, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Will you?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Of course. I think your father and Uncle Colin would enjoy it too. Besides, your parents shouldn’t have to pay for a new window at such regular intervals.”

  Billy jumped up and raced away to the kitchen to inform his mother of his uncle’s promise, leaving Jeremy sitting on the floor. He placed the toys in the nearby toy box and rose, joining Gabriel and Colin at the table. Colin held his daughter, four-month-old Lily, in his arms, and he rocked her to and fro while she slept soundly.

  “Hi, Jer,” Colin said with a broad smile.

  “She’s impervious to Billy’s hollering,” Jeremy said with wonder.

  Gabriel shrugged his shoulders, as his son’s excited voice could be heard in the kitchen. “I don’t want to dim his spirit.”

  “No,” Colin agreed, as he kissed Lily’s forehead. “And it’s good for Lily to be around the family. She’ll sleep through anything.” He laughed as a crash sounded in the kitchen, and his daughter continued her slumber. He looked at Jeremy. “I thought you wouldn’t come tonight.”

  Jeremy flushed and looked away. “I considered returning home. But then I desired company.” He frowned as he saw his brother and Colin exchange glances. “It’s not like I’m a hermit.”

  Gabriel scratched his head and then shrugged. “But that’s exactly what you are, Jer. Unless we have gatherings at your home, you rarely venture out. It’s only when we force our company on you that you deign to see us outside of work.” There was no recrimination in his voice, merely concern for his youngest brother. “I won’t lie and say I know what you’ve gone through. I don’t. I have no idea.”

  Colin shook his head and fought a shudder. “I pray I never do.”

  Gabriel gave a small grunt of agreement. “But I know Savannah would have wanted you to have more of a life. She wouldn’t have wanted you to spend all your free time in your study. Staring at the picture of the three of you, remembering how you lost her and Melly.”

  Jeremy looked at his brother and then at Colin. He waited for the rage to fill him. The rage that had saved him throughout the past months. However, today, he only felt an overwhelming fatigue. “I know,” he whispered after a long moment. “I … I’m aware of what you’re saying.” He cleared his throat, as he heard the children and women laughing in the kitchen. “But I … I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take that risk again.”

  Gabriel sighed with relief. “The fact you’re here tonight is a huge step, Jer.” He broke off what more he would have said as the kitchen door swung open, and Clarissa entered, carrying a heavy platter of food. He leaped to his feet to carry it for her, kissing her on her cheek.

  Breandan tottered out after Billy, nearly tripping in his desire to keep up with his older cousin. When he saw his father, he lit up and said, “Da!”

  Jeremy laughed, picking up his son and holding him close for a moment. When Breandan began to squirm, Jeremy kissed his son’s head and set him down again. Before releasing Breandan, Jeremy said, “You can run around for another few minutes, but then it’s time for dinner.”

  Breandan smiled and kissed his father’s cheek before racing away from him to run into the living room.

  Jeremy sat and watched his son play with his cousins, as the conversations continued to flow around him. Although the ache of missing Savannah and Melly was ever present, tonight it was not as acute. He let out a deep breath before focusing on his brother and cousin, finding joy in a simple meal with his family.

  * * *

  Later that evening Jeremy left his brother’s noisy home for his own quiet house to sit in his office, staring at the painting Zylphia had given him before he left Boston in November 1918. He studied the carefree, handsome man with one arm wrapped around a radiant Savannah and the other cradling baby Breandan. Even though he had just lost his beloved daughter, Melinda, the health of his wife, Savannah, and birth of their son had brought him momentary peace.

  He looked at the man in the painting as though he were a foreigner. At the joy, the hope, the faith in the future in his expression. “Who are you?” he whispered, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the painting.

  After a moment, he rose and paced away, glancing with unseeing eyes as he looked out the front window. Unbidden, the memory of the woman he had run into today invaded his thoughts. He bowed his head as he fought guilt at even noticing another woman.

  “Still ruminating,” Gabriel murmured from the doorway. Jeremy usually left his office door open to listen for Breandan’s call, should he waken.

  Jeremy shrugged and motioned for Gabriel to enter. “I’d think Clarissa would tire of having her husband abandon his house with such regular frequency.”

  Gabriel’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but his voice remained calm. “I’m not abandoning my home. She understands my need to ensure you are well. She’d do the same for Colin or Patrick.” He waited to see if Jeremy would say anything further. When Jeremy looked away, Gabriel moved into the room. “I’m surprised you opted not to replace Nora.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “We’re doing well enough.” Nora had departed with sudden haste in early March to marry a man she had recently met. The last Jeremy had heard, she was in Butte. He shot a look at his brother. “And, yes, I know it’s because Clarissa and Araminta are generous and help me.”

  Gabriel nodded. “You know they’ll always do everything they can. As will I.” He paused and frowned as Jeremy stood stock-still, as though waiting for a blow. “What’s the matter, Jer?”

  Jeremy shook his head and continued to stare out the window with his back to his brother. When Gabriel remained quiet, Jeremy said in a whisper-soft voice, “I noticed a woman today.” He turned around and saw the shock in Gabriel’s gaze.

  After a few minutes of silence, Gabriel murmured, “And?”

  “And I feel horribly guilty.” Jeremy sighed and looked at the painting over the fireplace. “I can’t imagine ever having with another what I had with Savannah.”

  Gabriel frowned. “I don’t know how you could.” He spoke slowly, as though he were choosing his words carefully. “However, that doesn’t mean what you could have in the future couldn’t be wonderful. Or fulfilling.”

  Jeremy sighed and sat down. “How do you do it?” When his brother stared at him blankly, Jeremy said, “I wanted you to push me until I was compelled to fight you. Instead …” He leaned his head against the high back of his chair.

  Gabriel grinned. “You might have felt better afterward, but Clarissa would have been upset if we fought, and I don’t want her to have any reason to be against my visits to see you.” He sobered. “She loves you too, Jer.”

  Jeremy nodded and flushed. “Won’t she be disappointed in me when she realizes I’m interested in another?”

  His eldest brother shook his head. “No. I’ve discussed with her what Savannah wrote you in that letter. She knows that Savannah encouraged you to find another. To love again.” He watched as his youngest brother fought tears. “You’ll never love again as you loved Savannah, Jeremy. You’re not the same man. But you can love again.”

  “I want Breandan to have a mother. To have a good woman to help raise him.” He swiped at his eyes and battled his deep emotions.

  Murmuring his agreement, Gabriel said, “Of course. But I also want you to find the comfort and joy of having a woman you can trust, Jer.” He waited a moment before smiling. “Tell me about the woman from today.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ll see her again. I don’t even know her name.” He fought a smile, but his eyes lit at the memory. “I wasn’t paying attention and barreled into her as I turned to leave the workshop. She fell backward, and I hauled her upright.” He spoke in a soft voice. “She’s nothing like Savannah. Plump and shy, although she made sure that I knew she was a Miss.” He shook his head and shrugged as he looked at his brother. “I shouldn’t make anything of it, as I doubt I’ll s
ee her again.”

  “And if you do?”

  Jeremy smiled. “I have her hairpin to return to her.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “Be sure to get her name next time.”

  Jeremy nodded his agreement, while he fought guilt that his thoughts were filled with a woman other than Savannah for the first time in seventeen years.

  * * *

  Eleanor Bouchard closed the door to her small room and stood against it, in case her mother decided she had forgotten a minute detail to tell her about the family who she continued to loathe, even after nearly two decades. “Why can’t she leave the McLeods alone?” Eleanor muttered as she pulled at the pins in her tidy chignon. Her black hair tumbled over her shoulders to her waist, and she breathed a sigh of relief to have it free. She longed to cut it short, as she’d seen in magazines, but knew her mother would take to her bed for a month if she saw her daughter with a boyish haircut.

  She grinned to herself. “Perhaps I should to spare myself and the townsfolk of her company.” She rubbed at her temples as her mother’s imperious voice bellowed through the house, commanding Eleanor’s father to do something. Eleanor knew, whatever her mother wanted, her mother would browbeat her father into doing.

  Eleanor moved to her tiny vanity and removed her earrings, bracelet, and necklace. They were gifts from another time, when she was a sought-after young woman and had hopes of marriage. When her parents thought they could advance the family with an advantageous marriage. She closed her eyes as her mother’s presumptuous voice echoed through her mind, as though standing behind her. Why must you always be a disappointment, Eleanor? A failure? Haven’t you learned anything from me?

  Eleanor held her hands to her brows and massaged her temples. She breathed in deeply and then exhaled, as she attempted to banish her mother’s damaging words. However, ever since Eleanor had moved home a few months ago, she could not fully block her mother’s harmful diatribes. Eleanor had thought that her time in Seattle would help inure herself to her mother’s frequent verbal attacks.

  While in Seattle, Eleanor had enjoyed her independence and had begun to free herself of the poison of her mother’s words, while still having the support of her cousin, Veronica Vaughan, who had moved to Seattle too. Now at thirty-seven, Eleanor had thought she was strong enough and mature enough to ignore her mother. “Oh, how naive I was,” she muttered to herself.

  “Yes, dear, you were very naive to believe you would find a man in Seattle who would marry you and help the family,” her mother said, as she pushed into her room. “I should have known it would be too much to ask for you to find a successful man on your own. And a fantasy to believe that you had already made an advantageous match.”

  Eleanor sighed, closing her eyes a moment before she dropped her hands and sat with impeccable posture, as she waited for her mother’s criticisms to begin.

  “Look at you, dear,” her mother said, her voice laced with pitying dismay. “Why would any man want a plump, freckled, mousy woman?” She exhaled, as though attempting to dispel pent-up anger. “I hate to admit this. You know how much this pains me as I am forced to say it.” She placed her hands on her rotund hips, covered by chartreuse silk. “You need to emulate those McLeod women, devil take them.”

  Eleanor gaped at her mother. “What? You despise them.”

  “I do. But they’re all married. I wouldn’t be surprised if the eldest McLeod daughter isn’t well on her way to marrying someone as we speak!” She swiped at her forehead, as though she were about to faint. When she saw Eleanor staring at her, Mrs. Bouchard ceased with her histrionics and glared at her daughter. “I thought you’d do something of use in Seattle all those years! Instead my sister’s daughter is the one who found a man in Seattle to marry her. Not you.”

  Eleanor dug her fingernails into her palms, while she took another calming breath. “I did do something important. I was a schoolteacher.” She paused. “And Veronica isn’t as content as you proclaim.” Eleanor and Veronica remained close after living together in Seattle for a time, their bond only strengthened by their desire to escape their mothers’ wraths. Eleanor knew she was one of the few who understood the realities of Veronica’s marriage.

  Mrs. Bouchard raised both hands in frustration and roamed the two paces from the door to the vanity and back. “A teacher. Why would I want a teacher? Victoria knows to be more selective, as I have instructed her. Why can’t you be more like your younger sister?” She glowered at her eldest daughter, ignoring Eleanor’s comment about Veronica, who was unhappily married. Unfortunately for the Vaughan and the Bouchard families, Veronica had not married a wealthy man, and financial difficulties strained their marriage. “This family needs a man with money and influence. Don’t you know your father is on the verge of ruin? It’s why you had to come home!”

  “I honestly don’t understand why you insisted I return to Missoula. I earned a good wage and had a satisfying life in Seattle.” She bit her tongue as her argument was met with a quelling stare. Any concern for the life she had left behind in Seattle was always downplayed in comparison to the financial threats the family faced, due to the slowing Montana economy and the trouble brewing at her uncle’s bank and at her father’s sawmills.

  Her mother waved her hand, as though to quiet her. “Your salary was a pittance in comparison to what we need, and you should concern yourself with what your family needs, not you. I had hoped I’d raised you to not be such a selfish girl.” She sighed as she beheld her daughter. “Although I should have realized it was too much to hope for that you’d become refined and accomplished while living in a city. Instead you are bookish and meek and unappealing to a man.”

  Eleanor tilted her chin up. “I am bookish, and I am meek. I loathe gossip and the pursuit of wealth.” She met her mother’s affronted glare without flinching as she dared to openly criticized her mother. “I wear clothes that suit me, not you. I will never yearn for flashy fabrics or bright colors.”

  “Mark my words,” Mrs. Bouchard breathed, “you will rue the day you ever criticized me for wanting only the best for you.” She spun on her heel and marched from her eldest daughter’s room, slamming the door after her.

  “You’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you,” Eleanor muttered, closing her eyes as she fought tears. “I will not cry. I will not,” she vowed. After a moment she rose and moved to her bed, where she curled on her side with a pillow tugged to her chest. She fought against giving any credence to the words spewed by her mother.

  Rather than focus anymore on her mother, Eleanor thought about the handsome stranger with the striking green eyes and black hair and imagined seeing him again.

  * * *

  In mid-April, Jeremy ducked into the library to see Clarissa and to wait for the children. He had finished early with his project and wanted to spend time with Breandan and his nieces and nephews. He saw Clarissa busy with patrons and smiled at her. Rather than wait in line, as though a patron, he ducked into a quieter area of the library, amid tall stacks of books. He walked down one aisle and turned down the next, stopping short at the sight of a woman who looked familiar.

  He doffed his hat and fought a smile, as he whispered, “Excuse me, Miss?” His smile widened as she gasped at the sight of him. “I promise not to knock you to the ground this time.” He frowned as she stared at him, like a frightened rabbit. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss … ?”

  “I’m waiting for my mother,” she said and then flushed as she blurted out unsolicited information. “She’s a proud patron of the library.”

  Jeremy tilted his head to one side as he thought through her answer. “Would she be Mrs. Vaughan or Mrs. Bouchard?”

  Her unease seemed to evaporate as she noted the subtle censure in his voice. “Would it matter?” She stood tall, although she was a good half-foot shorter than Jeremy. Taking a deep breath, her bosom heaved, slightly straining the silver buttons lining the front of her muted eggplant-colored dress.

  Jeremy shook his head. “No
.” He paused as he looked deeply into her hazel eyes. “I’ve never believed we should be judged by our families.”

  Her eyes widened at his statement, and she shook her head, as though in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean. We are always affected by our relations. By their actions.”

  He shrugged. “Yes, they affect us. But my opinion of you won’t lessen because of who your mother or cousin or aunt is.”

  She flushed and looked as though she were about to defend her family, before freezing with a horrified look on her face. “Go,” she hissed at him, pushing at his shoulders. “Go! I can’t let her find me with you. It would be too …” She shook her head when the carrying voice of Mrs. Bouchard sounded throughout the first floor of the library.

  “You think I’m beneath you?” Jeremy asked in shock.

  “You don’t understand. Please,” she implored, her gaze filled with panic and dread. “I know you don’t know me and have no regard for me, but please.”

  He nodded and took a step away. A second later he spun back to her, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. “I might not know you, miss, but I want to.” He smiled at her and moved into the next stack of books, just as her mother rounded the corner.

  He stood there, listening to her mother’s one-sided conversation.

  “Could you not hear me calling for you, Eleanor?” Mrs. Bouchard asked in that carrying voice of hers, which she considered her library whisper.

  Jeremy usually found her loud voice grating, but today he was thankful, for it allowed him to listen in.

  “It’s bad enough you waste your time here among books, rather than attempting to do something of any use with your life. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a secret assignation with an admirer.” She chuckled, and it sounded almost cruel. “Although we know you’ll never have another admirer. Women like you do not inspire admiration.” She continued to chatter as she marshaled her daughter away from Jeremy.