“But you could have bought cheaper stock in the early 1900s and made quite a profit today.”
“Quite true,” Aidan said. He watched Morgan with reluctant admiration at his business acumen. “You have a shrewd mind for business.”
“Thank you. It’s what I excel at.”
Aidan nodded, idly swirling the last few drops of whiskey in his crystal tumbler. “Why is it you are allowed to enjoy what you excel at, but your wife isn’t?” He pinned Morgan with a fierce stare. “Seems rather unjust to me.”
Morgan stiffened. “I hardly believe the two are related.”
“I believe they are. You allow yourself the right to pursue your interests, yet you deny your wife the same privilege.” He glared at Morgan to prevent him from interrupting him. “I’m sure you justify it with the belief that she only tinkers away at what she does and that ultimately what she does has no real bearing on the world. In contrast, what you do is important. It is a man’s job and earns good money.”
Morgan glared at him, unintentionally nodding his agreement at Aidan’s statement.
“If you go through life believing that the only things worthy of your notice or interest are those that will bring you a profit, you will end your life a pauper. You will have forfeited the opportunity to know beauty, joy, and wonder. No amount of money can buy those things.” He paused as he watched the ease seep away that Morgan had attained during their discussion of business. “Your wife brings joy to herself and to others when she plays the piano. It is not a passing fancy. It is her life’s passion.”
“You will never understand, Mr. McLeod, how wrong you are,” Morgan replied. “She plays merely to annoy her father and me.”
Aidan shook his head in stupefaction. “You are poorer than I’d imagined.”
“I have more wealth than you could ever dream of,” Morgan growled as he rose, glaring down at Aidan.
Aidan’s gaze was filled with pity as he shook his head in resignation. “You’re unable to hear what I am saying. Your wealth means nothing when it fails to appreciate the beauty gifted to you freely every day.” Aidan rose, walking to the door. He tilted his head to the side and nodded when he failed to hear piano music. “I bid you good afternoon, Mr. Wheeler. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Parthena sat on the window seat, the heavy curtain billowing gently with the breeze, but mainly obscuring her from the room as she curled on her side staring at the ocean. Her fingers tapped out patterns on the windowsill as though touching piano keys, and she shook her head as she hit a wrong note. She froze as the door opened.
“Parthena?” her husband called out in his deep voice, followed by his scent—a mixture of sandalwood, cedar, and sweat. He approached the seating area of the room and sighed. The tinny sound of metal cufflinks landing on a ceramic plate sounded, then two thunks followed as he removed his shoes. Any further indication of him undressing stilled.
She shrieked as he sat next to her on the window seat, his hip warming the side of her thigh. “There you are,” he said with a wry smile.
She looked at him, her eyes wide as she tensed her muscles in anticipation of fleeing. “I wanted a few moments to myself.”
“After you played the piano,” he said, a challenge in his expression daring her to lie to him.
“I can’t be what you desire, Morgan,” she said, cringing at the defeat she heard in her voice.
He gripped her thigh, his implacable hold preventing her from moving away from him but not causing true pain. “You intentionally go against all my wishes. You know I despise the piano.”
“For no good reason!” She struggled to free herself from him, and he leaned closer, backing her into a corner of the window seat.
“Do you really believe I want my wife, a Wheeler, consorting with the likes of artists and musicians? We are patrons of the arts but not the spectacle itself.” His eyes flashed with displeasure. “I’d hoped your fascination with that musician had passed by now.”
“He’s my friend. He understands my need to play. To perform,” she whispered.
“Yes, to perform. If I thought you played simply because you felt compelled to play, that would be one thing. However, I learned today from an associate that you are planning to perform at a concert this fall. Tell me that he was wrong, Parthena.” When she flushed and looked away, he gripped her arms and gave her a shake. “Tell me he was wrong!”
“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t! I want to perform. I want to show my talent. I … Oh, how would you ever understand? You who have the soul of an accountant could never understand the desire to fill the world with beauty.”
He flinched as though she had struck him, and his hold on her eased. “Have you continued to see him? To practice with him?” Morgan breathed heavily as though he’d just run up a flight of stairs as he awaited her answer.
“Of course I have,” she said. She dashed away a tear from her cheek.
“And have you slept with him again? Is that why you are content for me to remain in the sitting room?”
Parthena shook her head. “I’ve been true to my vows, Morgan. I’ve only played the piano with him.”
He released her arms and gripped his hands together. “I want you to cease practicing with him. I never want you to speak to him again.”
“Or what, Morgan?” Parthena asked.
“I want to know that my child is mine, dammit,” he snarled. “I have that right.”
“Oh,” Parthena gasped. “I’d never … I wouldn’t …”
“You’d never think to foist his bastard off on me? Are you saying you’re that honorable?” He caught her hand as she raised it to slap him. “I once would never have thought to ask you that question, Hennie, but now I can’t help but torture myself every night with it.”
“Promise me that you won’t hurt him.”
He sighed as she saw the desperation in her gaze.
“I never said I’d hurt him. I want your promise, as my wife, as an honorable woman, that you will cease your association with him. That you will forgo your infatuation with him.” He met her devastated gaze. “I refuse to share you, Parthena.”
“I will play the piano at home. I will attend suffragist meetings. I will see my friends,” she declared.
“Fine,” he conceded. “However, you will never bring shame on the Wheeler name. You will always act with decorum.”
Parthena blinked away tears. “I have to see him one more time. To say things to him so that he knows our association is at an end.”
“It ended the moment you married me, Hennie. I thought you understood that. I refuse to lose the good standing of my family name due to your obsession with those better left in the merchant class.” When she nodded her agreement, he smiled. She gasped as he lifted her up and carried her to their bed. “Now, kiss me, wife,” he rasped as he leaned over her.
“Morgan,” she protested.
“Kiss me and show me that you’ve missed me,” he demanded.
She turned aside her face as tears poured from her eyes.
He swore and rolled away, pillowing his head on his elbow. He stared at the cream-colored ceiling and gritted his teeth. “I spoke to you of honor, Hennie. I must also maintain mine. I will never force you.” He rose and stalked from the room.
Zylphia ascended the steps to the Chinese Tea House situated on the coast behind the Marble House. Sunlight glinted off the sparkling blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean while waves crashed against rocks on nearby cliffs. Birds chirped from the peaks of the tea house roof which shone a bright green in the midafternoon light. On each wall of the tea house, glass doors were flung open in an attempt to catch the afternoon breeze. The tea house had been built the previous year by Alva Vanderbilt Belmont for smaller events on the Marble House grounds. Zylphia smiled as she envisioned the lively party that occurred the previous year to celebrate its opening.
Zylphia turned toward Parthena and smiled. “If it’s this hot here, imagine how stifling it is in Boston,” she murmured.
“I can only imagine how miserable Rowena is, being forced to remain there.”
Parthena swallowed a snicker. “Even among suffragists, we talk about the weather.”
Zylphia laughed, and they moved farther into the room. The sense of grandeur was enhanced by the large vaulted roof with wooden beams along the ceiling. Ball-shaped chandeliers hung from the beams, while dark paneling lined the walls. A large oval table with fine china was set in the middle of the room. On a sideboard, a buffet of tea-time delicacies and bowls of fruit lay awaiting the adjournment of the meeting.
“It’s too bad we never really eat at these things,” Parthena whispered as they found seats next to Sophie and Delia.
Zylphia nodded her agreement before extracting a pencil and small pad of paper from her purse. Soon the meeting began after introductions were made.
The chairwoman, a Mrs. Aires, spoke. “I am thankful to Mrs. Belmont for allowing us to meet here today even though she was called away on family duties. I can think of no better place to meet than this.” She cleared her throat and looked at her list in front of her. “I have an agenda, but the real purpose of our meeting is quite simple. We have, assembled in this room, women who are struggling to see our measures succeed in two states, New York and Massachusetts. I would like us to work together to ensure that each state has success. To pool our resources and our expertise.”
She glanced at the women around the table. “Miss McLeod. I understand you were an integral part of Miss Paul’s march in Washington, DC. I know you are planning a similar march in Boston in October. What insight can you give us?”
Zylphia paused for a moment before speaking. “I would recommend that there be sufficient police presence to prevent the sort of violence that occurred in Washington. I’ve also recommended to our march committee that we follow Miss Paul’s example and have the parade resemble a pageant as they are quite popular. Floats, bands, and songs keep the crowd engaged.”
A woman halfway down the table from Zylphia spoke up. “There is no doubt in my mind the Antis will try something that day. When we have our march in New York, I know they will attempt to disrupt our message.”
“We can do nothing about those whose intent is to tarnish the grandeur of the moment,” Sophie said in her scratchy, authoritative voice. “Although irritating, we must ignore their antics and fulfill our purpose of the day.” She paused to glance around the table at every woman present. “Which is to show the members of our respective states that women desire the vote and can be trusted with it. If we react to each attack from someone opposing us, we will diminish the validity of our appeal.”
“I agree,” Delia said. “We must hold our heads high, walk with a purpose, and not respond to whatever the Antis do.”
Zylphia tapped her pencil against her paper. “I agree, of course, with Mrs. Chickering and Mrs. McLeod. However, I also believe we should have women or men in the crowd who are selling our pamphlets and attempting to sway the onlookers’ way of thinking.”
The chairwoman nodded. “Although peddling our pamphlets and selling paraphernalia is important as it raises money for the cause, it can’t be the purpose behind our march. The reason must always be to promote our vision. We do not want another disastrous parade like the one in Washington, DC. Although it swayed public opinion for a time, I do not believe it led to any lasting change in voter’s convictions.”
“The most effective manner to sway the voters would be to have an influential politician speak favorably about suffragism,” Parthena said. “In Boston, too few are willing to espouse the notion.”
“It is much the same in New York,” Mrs. Aires said. “Besides the march, that is the task ahead of us. We must speak with our elected officials and persuade them to publicly support universal enfranchisement. Among us, I’m certain we know many of the men in our state legislatures. I suggest we have them dine with us and broach the topic of universal suffrage with them.”
Sophie harrumphed. “I doubt the men who are against suffrage would care to dine with women known to be for the enfranchisement of all.” She glowered at the table. “The task is much more difficult than inviting recalcitrant men to our tables and showing them the way. They are used to their place in society. They relish their role in the world as they perceive it. We are wishing to set it topsy-turvy with our notion we have the same right to vote as they do. Let’s not be naive in believing this is simply a matter of having our chefs outdo themselves for an evening.”
A pinched-face woman frowned at Sophie, her mouth turned down in a perpetual frown. “I think you do a disservice to our chairwoman by insinuating that she believes this is an easy undertaking. She was merely suggesting we act with the class and decorum we are known for.”
Sophie bit back a smirk. “Class and decorum will win us no battles. Hard work and plain speaking will. For some of these men, we’ll have to bludgeon them with the truth of our words. Repeatedly. Talking around the rosebushes won’t help.”
Mrs. Aires held up a hand before further caustic words could be exchanged between Sophie and any others sitting at the table. “We aid no one if we argue among ourselves.”
The conversation turned from discussing the march to discussing which legislators would be most amenable to a suffragist intervention. Zylphia laid a hand on Sophie’s arm as the older woman became increasingly agitated. Finally the chairwoman decided enough discussion had been accomplished for one day, and the women rose to speak with others at different areas of the table. After a few moments Sophie rose with an intense look at Zylphia and Parthena. “If you’d like a ride home, I’m leaving.”
Zylphia said a hasty good-bye to a few of the members and followed Sophie, Parthena, and her mother down the steps. She paused to take in the grandeur of the Marble House from the back lawn, its white marble limned by the late afternoon sun. She jolted from her reverie and trotted to catch up to her party when she heard Sophie muttering about “dawdlers.” They wandered along a side path to the front of the house and the waiting driver of their car.
“Home,” Sophie barked. Parthena sat in the front while Zylphia and her mother sat with Sophie in the back. “I thought this meeting would be of substance,” Sophie growled.
Zylphia smiled and shook her head, looking at the grandeur of other large houses and mansions as they made their slow progression down Bellevue Avenue. “You can’t expect everyone to agree with you, Sophie. Most are hopeful that their quiet defiance will lead to real change.”
“Quiet defiance, my foot. We need decisive action. We do not need to seem as though we are pandering for consideration.”
Delia laughed. “I can see why my daughter likes you so much, Mrs. Chickering. You are a force to be reckoned with, and you do not abide simpering fools.”
“It’s why I’m close to all the McLeod women. They have the good sense to be women of substance.” Sophie shared a smile with Delia.
The car turned into the long driveway to the home Sophie had rented for the summer. She had managed to rent one on the ocean side of the avenue. The long driveway and tall hedge obscured the home from the eyes of curious onlookers. The white three-story villa with a blue slate mansard roof had a small garden in front. However, the large lawn leading to the cliffs and the side gardens—concealed from those not welcomed as guests—were the hidden treasures of the house.
Zylphia breathed a sigh of contentment as she beheld the house. “Thank you for inviting us to join you this summer, Sophie. I can’t think of a more wondrous place to pass the summer months.”
Upon entering the house, Parthena, Delia, and Sophie ascended the inner stairs with the purpose of resting before changing for dinner. Zylphia wandered through the house and out to the back lawn. She meandered toward the cliffs, her mind filled with the voices of the women from the meeting. As she turned onto the cliff walk, she ambled down the graveled path. She came to a sudden halt as she approached a boulder.
No longer in the present, her mind was filled with Teddy, attempting to aid
her after she had twisted her ankle. The cryptic conversation they had had while he walked her home. His quiet chivalry and dedication to her from the very beginning. A seagull shrieking brought her back to the present, and she felt the rock. It was heated warm by the sun, not cool to the touch as when she had met Teddy on an overcast day where the sun had been shrouded.
She sat on the rock, which she now thought of as Teddy’s rock, and clung to the hope that he lived. That he would return to her. She stiffened her shoulders at the prospect of returning to the house and preparing for dinner. Living in the past or her hoped-for future would not bring him home any sooner, nor would it ease her torment. She rose, patting the rock once before she strolled back to the house with no apparent concerns.
Morgan sat on the opposite side of the parlor, watching as his wife interacted with the women present. He stifled a groan as Aidan sat next to him.
“I’ll take from that reception to my arrival that you would prefer to remain alone,” Aidan said with a sardonic lifting of one eyebrow.
Morgan motioned for him to remain sitting. “I am thankful for Mrs. Chickering’s hospitality. It is a wonderful respite from Boston’s heat.”
Aidan chuckled. “I never thought you’d be brought so low as to have to discuss the weather, Wheeler. What happened between you and your wife since we last spoke? She looks distraught tonight, although she’s attempting to hide it.”
Morgan’s jaw tightened, and he shifted in his chair. “I hardly believe that you have any right to question me about my marriage. Or my wife.”
“I may have no right, but I only have your best interests at heart. I’m a remarkably good listener, and my advice has been known to bring succor at times,” Aidan said.
Morgan chuffed out a laugh. “It’s good to see you’re as humble as they say.”
Aidan laughed fully, catching the eye of Delia and winking. “I find it’s easier to know one’s strengths and acknowledge them, rather than trying to hide behind some facade society deems appropriate.” He sat with his hands crossed over his belly, as though in perfect harmony.
Unrelenting Love: Banished Saga, Book Five Page 10