Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine

by Flightner, Ramona

  Jeremy remained silent for a long time as he stared into the fire. Just as Martin was about to rise to go upstairs, Jeremy whispered, “I can’t imagine marrying again unless I can love like I loved Savannah.”

  Martin gripped his shoulder. “Then refuse to compromise. Life is too short to compromise on something as vital as your happiness.” He left Jeremy in deep contemplation.

  * * *

  Lucas slipped into his bedroom, pausing to kiss a slumbering Lizzie on her forehead as she slept on the cot near the far wall. He stripped out of his clothes, tugged on a nightshirt, and crawled under the covers. Wrapping an arm around his wife, he nuzzled his face into the curve of her shoulder and sighed with contentment. “Heaven,” he murmured.

  “Are you finally to bed?” Genevieve whispered in a sleep-slurred voice.

  “Yes,” he said, then kissed her neck. His arm tightened around her waist, and he traced a pattern on her belly. “I missed you.”

  “I always miss you,” she murmured. “How is Jeremy?”

  “Guilt-ridden for feeling an attraction to another woman,” Lucas said. “I hope my father will talk some sense into him.”

  Genevieve squirmed until she faced her husband. She cupped his cheeks, her palms scraping against his five-o’clock shadow and then into his light-brown hair. “Your father is a wonderful man, and I’m thankful for all the time we’ve had with him since he moved to Butte.” Her throat thickened with tears as she looked at her husband. She traced a finger over his cheek and then his brow. “But I’d hate to ever need his counsel the way Jeremy does.”

  Lucas nodded. “Losing Savannah …” He broke off as he thought about the time he had spent in Boston, when he believed he was there to console his sister on the loss of her daughter. He never imagined he would lose Savannah too. “I can’t imagine living through such a loss. I wouldn’t survive without you, Vivie.”

  A tear coursed down her cheek, and she leaned forward to rest her head against his chest. “I don’t know how I would without you either. But I’d find a way for Lizzie’s sake.” She whispered, “I don’t know if I’d be able to love again though.”

  Lucas stroked a hand down her back. “Do you … fault Jeremy for wanting to?”

  She pushed herself up so she could look into her husband’s eyes. “Do you, Lucas?”

  The hands on her back gripped her tight for a moment before relaxing. “A part I’m not proud of does,” he admitted. “I wish … I wish I didn’t feel that way, but I do.” He sighed. “I resented Eleanor so much tonight. When she held Breandan and cooed at him, I wanted to scream that it should be Savannah who had that right.” He sniffled and ducked his head to hide the shame in his gaze. “I … I fear I wasn’t as welcoming as I could have been.”

  Genevieve made a tsking noise. “You had her playing on the ground with you and Billy the moment she arrived. She would never have known you were feeling uncharitable toward her.”

  His arms tightened around Genevieve. “I miss Sav so much. And I’m ashamed I’d ever begrudge Jeremy a moment of happiness.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Talk with him. Explain how you feel. He’ll know something is wrong, as he’s quite astute. I think he’d rather have you speak with him than wonder about your sudden rancor.”

  He sighed and held her close. “Thank you, Vivie. I don’t know what I would do without your counsel. Without your love.”

  She snuggled into his embrace. “I hope neither of us ever has to know such a reality.” She followed him into sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Patrick Sullivan, the eldest Sullivan sibling at forty-eight, ambled to downtown Missoula after enjoying breakfast with his family. Although he lived in Butte with Uncle Martin and cousin Lucas Russell nearby, he always enjoyed his time away from that bustling mining city set a mile high in the wilds of the Montana Rockies. And, if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he looked forward to an escape from Butte with far too much eagerness.

  He tightened the scarf around his neck as the mid-April chill lingered. Low-lying clouds clung to the mountains, hiding everything but the lowest hills from view. Horse-drawn wagons and motorized cars struggled in side streets, and he silently thanked his wife for insisting he wear two pairs of socks before venturing forth in his well-worn pair of boots. After nearly six years of marriage, her unwavering thoughtfulness eased an ache in his heart.

  He turned down Main Street, intent on easing Fiona’s burden if he could. However, he’d need help. Patrick poked his head into Gabriel and Jeremy’s workshop, sighing in relief to find them working. Although a weekend, he had suspected the brothers would be here, as they worked on their many commissions. He had hoped to find them for a private word. “Gabe?” he called out.

  Gabriel set aside a planer to look at the door. He motioned for Patrick to shut it, keeping more of the heat inside on the cool April day. “Pat! What brings you by? Are you finally moving to Missoula and need our help decorating your new home?” He sobered when Patrick failed to tease him back, as was customary. “What’s the matter?”

  Jeremy set down his chisel, grabbed the ceramic jug of water, and moved to the area of the workshop where they had their customary chats. Ronan rolled over his wheelchair, and they formed an informal circle.

  Patrick ran a hand through his gray hair with chestnut-colored strands mixed in. “I have a problem, and I’m trying to shield Fee from it.” He paused and firmed his shoulders. “Mrs. Smythe has been making overtures again.”

  “Overtures?” Gabriel asked, one eyebrow raised at the mention of the Sullivan siblings’ stepmother—the woman who had married their widowed father for his money and then spent all she had inherited within months of her husband’s death. She had sent her young daughter, Melinda, to an orphanage, rather than burden herself with the cost of raising her only child. None of the Sullivan siblings had a single tender emotion for their former stepmother.

  Jeremy swore under his breath, his green eyes gleaming with distaste. Soon after Colin had rescued Melinda from the Boston orphanage in 1903, Jeremy and Savannah had adopted Melinda, ensuring she had a loving home and protecting her from the emotional neglect of her birth mother. After Melinda’s death in 1918, Jeremy had believed he would never have a reason to hear Mrs. Smythe’s name again.

  Patrick looked at Jeremy. “She won’t try anything against you, Jer. She believes there’s nothing you have that she would want because you weren’t the one who truly wronged her.”

  Ronan stared at Patrick with a perplexed expression. “How does she work that out? She’s the one who tricked you into sleeping with her when you weren’t fully awake, thus getting pregnant. Then, when her daughter was an unwanted expense, she sent her to an orphanage. How did you wrong her?”

  Patrick flushed at Ronan’s succinct summary of his seedy interaction with his stepmother. “I’ve rebuffed all her advances to me. And she remains irate that she was unsuccessful in kidnapping Rose a few years ago for Samuel.” He let out a deep breath at the memory of the day he’d raced home after Fiona had been locked in a closet by Mrs. Smythe, as she attempted to kidnap Rose to give to Samuel Sanders, the hated cousin of the McLeod brothers. “Fee still has nightmares about that.”

  “Do you fear Mrs. Smythe will try something like that again?” Gabriel asked.

  Rising to pace the area in front of the door, Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know. She seems unhinged, when I have the misfortune of speaking with her.” He rubbed at his brow. “What should I do?”

  Jeremy rose and gripped his shoulder. “You must speak with Fee. You aren’t home for most of the day. And, if there is any chance Mrs. Smythe is considering snatching one of the children, Fee must be aware of the danger.”

  Patrick slowly nodded in agreement. “I fear the police will believe I’m a paranoid, raving lunatic, much as they did when Rose was kidnapped,” Patrick murmured. “It’s why I’ve not discussed it with them.”

  “You know as well as we do that they were bought off by
Henry. By Samuel,” Gabriel said, referring to his cousin from Boston, who went by both names. “I doubt he’s truly feeling fatherly toward Rose and has little interest in her now.”

  “That’s what I tell myself to keep calm,” Patrick murmured, glowering as he thought about the man he had considered friend when he had first arrived in Butte. Little had Patrick realized that the man known as Samuel Sanders in Butte, also known as Henry Masterson from Boston, had befriended Patrick to learn information about his McLeod family members. Patrick took a deep breath to dispel his deeply buried rage at Samuel’s abuse of Fiona, where Samuel then abandoned her, pregnant and alone. “I hope you are correct.”

  “Why didn’t you discuss this with Colin and Clarissa?” Jeremy asked. “They loath her as much as anyone.”

  Patrick shrugged again and shook his head. “I hate bringing up the past when they have found joy.”

  Gabriel made a sound of disgust. “That’s not fair to either of them, Pat. I know Clarissa will be deeply disappointed at being denied the opportunity to support you.”

  “As will Colin,” Ronan murmured.

  Patrick ceased his pacing and sat down again. “I’ve missed living near family. Even though Butte isn’t that far away, it’s far enough.”

  “You have Lucas,” Jeremy said with a smile, as he thought about his brother-in-law and his family.

  “Have you ever considered leaving that godforsaken city and joining your family here?” Ronan asked. “I’m certain you could find work with an architect rather than to continue working for one of the copper companies.”

  Patrick fought a hopeful smile. “I’ve long admired the work of the architect A. J. Gibson. Although I doubt he’d take me on. It’s been too long since I worked as an architect.”

  “Dare to dream, Pat,” Gabriel said, as he rose and squeezed his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “You’ve earned that right, and you know you’ll have our support.”

  Jeremy nodded. “And we would prefer having you nearby, so we could protect Fee and the children in any way we could.”

  Patrick nodded, his gaze distant but hopeful, as he considered rekindling his dream.

  * * *

  That afternoon Jeremy left the workshop early to head home to find his brother-in-law. He had sensed the evening before that all was not as Lucas would have it appear, and Jeremy wanted to ensure that his congenial relationship with his brother-in-law was not in jeopardy. He walked the short distance down Higgins Avenue, past the fancy entrance to the Florence Hotel. The Missoula Mercantile was not as busy as usual on this cloudy, cool April day, and a few of the store clerks lingered outside, smoking a cigarette. After crossing the bridge over the muddy and swollen river, he strode down the street to approach his house.

  As he ascended the steps, he paused at the sound of piano music filtering from the rear sitting room—a room he rarely entered as it had been Savannah’s. He had remembered Lucas threatening to have a piano delivered, so he could continue to practice for his summer tour he planned with Perry Hawke. Jeremy closed his eyes as the lyrical music flowed over him, his breath catching at its beauty.

  He thought with regret of the gramophone he rarely played, sitting to one side of his desk in his study. Savannah had often joined him to listen to recordings of her brother and other artists, and Jeremy had stopped the custom after her death. Taking a deep breath, he moved with quiet steps to the back of the house, peering around the doorjamb to watch his brother-in-law perform.

  After a few moments, Lucas paused, muttering to himself, and then played again. Jeremy poked his head a bit farther into the room but was unable to discern any difference in this rendition versus the previous.

  Lucas sighed, and his fingers stilled on the keyboard. “You might as well come in,” he muttered, humor lacing his tone. “Your shoes make a squeaking noise on the floorboards.”

  Jeremy looked down and frowned. “Do they? I never noticed.”

  He shrugged. “I tend to be sound-sensitive.” He spun to face Jeremy. “What is it? You look half pleased and half as though you saw a ghost.”

  Jeremy cleared his throat and blinked away tears. “Savannah and I used to listen to your music all the time. I haven’t put on the gramophone since her … death. I realized how much pleasure I’d robbed myself of. How much little Breandan has missed.” He leaned against the doorframe. “And I was filled with joy that music had come to my house again, even if a piano had to be stuffed into the back sitting room.”

  Lucas laughed. “I did warn you it could happen. I can’t have Perry outshining me.”

  Rolling his eyes, Jeremy shook his head. “As though that would ever happen. I’m sure you’ll each give the other a run for his money and then bask in the adoration of your fans.”

  Lucas laughed. “As long as Genevieve and Lizzie are with me, I don’t really care about all that.” He sobered as he stared at Jeremy. “Forgive me.”

  Cocking his head to one side, Jeremy frowned as amusement glint his green eyes. “For what? For filling my home with beautiful music again?”

  Lucas chuckled. “No, never for that.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “For being upset you had a friend at Patrick’s party last night. For being angry you would not mourn Sav forever.” His amber eyes shone with shame and regret.

  Jeremy stuttered in a breath. “I … I never meant to like Eleanor. Like I said to your father, I’ll never see her again if that is your wish.”

  “No!” Lucas cried out, then rose and gripped Jeremy’s shoulders. “No. I will not lie and say a part of me did not resent her presence. Resented her playing with Billy and Little Colin. That I wasn’t bitter when she held Breandan.” His eyes shone with grief. “I wished it were Sav. I hate all that Sav is missing.”

  Jeremy’s shoulders sagged. “I know. So do I. But she’s never coming back, Lucas.”

  Lucas pulled him into an embrace, his strong arms wrapped around him. “I know. Last night was the first time I had to fully admit that she is gone. That she will never walk through a door again, as though she’s been on a long trip.” He leaned away from Jeremy and swiped at his eyes.

  Jeremy looked behind him and then pushed Lucas into the sitting room before kicking away a doorstop and shutting the door. “I don’t know if I’m ready, but I want to try.” He ran a hand through his ebony hair. “At least I think I do.” After a long pause, he whispered, “Sav wanted me to.”

  “What?” Lucas asked.

  “She left me a letter. Asking me to love again.” Jeremy’s green eyes shone with pride and determination. “I want to honor her request.”

  Lucas clutched a hand to his heart, before stumbling back a step to collapse onto his piano bench. “That sounds like Sav. She was generous, especially with her love. And she loved you to distraction.” He rubbed at his hair before piercing Jeremy with a fierce stare. “Don’t pursue Eleanor simply because you want to honor Sav. Do it because you truly like the woman. Otherwise it’s a disservice to you and to her. And to Sav’s memory.”

  Jeremy nodded. “I know. I can’t tell you where this will lead.” He paused as his throat clenched, and his words stopped suddenly.

  Lucas smiled at the man he considered brother. “How can you? None of us know where anything will lead.” He rose and pulled Jeremy close for a moment, before slapping him on the back. “Remember. No matter what, you are my brother, and I support you.”

  “Thank you, Lucas.”

  * * *

  Fiona bustled around the room she, Patrick, and their children shared in Jeremy’s house. She glanced at the crib and cot to the side of the room, smiling with relief to find both children asleep. She hummed as she twirled, Lucas’s music playing in her mind. Dancing in a circle, she closed her eyes as she swayed in a small area in the room. When arms wrapped around her and tugged her close, she swallowed a shriek, and her eyes flew open. “Patrick,” she breathed, as she relaxed against him.

  “I missed you, my love,” he murmured against her ear. He rocked th
em slowly around the room, matching the pace of their dance to her humming. “I love your voice. You could give that Perry Hawke a run for his money.”

  “Don’t be daft.” She laughed with pleasure and a hint of Ireland in her voice. She sang a lilting song of love, as she rested her head against his shoulder.

  “That’s not one of Lucas’s,” he said in a soft voice, kissing her forehead.

  “No, ’tis one my mum used to sing when she was happy.” She sang a few more lines and then hummed some more. She sighed with contentment as they swayed in place.

  “She taught you beautiful songs.” He eased her back to stare into her luminous cognac-colored eyes. “I must speak with you.” When she frowned, he swiped a finger down her cheek. He led her to their bed, where she gripped his hand.

  “What is it, Patrick?”

  “I … I’ve kept something from you, and I realize now that was wrong. Forgive me.” He let out a deep breath. “I wanted to protect you because I hate the thought of anything harming you ever again. However, I realize my silence might cause you greater harm.” He gripped her hand. “Mrs. Smythe is back in Butte. I don’t know where she went for the past year or so. But she’s back.”

  Fiona paled, the pleased flush from having danced with her husband fading as she stared at him with unveiled panic. “She can’t have Rose. She can’t have Sean!” She stilled as he held her hands in a firm, but gentle grip.

  “No, she can’t. And she won’t.” He stared deeply into her eyes, his calm and measured strength reassuring her. “I wanted to spare informing you that she was in Butte, but I realized I was wrong. Gabriel and Jeremy helped me to see that.” He ran his hands through her red-gold hair, slipping from its pins. “I would protect you from every worry if I could.”