Rebecca turned to Matilda. “Well, I never, Matilda. I thought you had raised her to be more respectful of her hostess.”
“The loss of her daughter continues to haunt her.”
“I would think she’d have recovered after six months.”
“It’s approaching seven months, and I see no end to her grief,” Matilda said with a sigh. “I had hoped that today she was beginning to show signs of recovery. She seems to believe she is the only woman who has lost a child. I understand her sorrow, but I cannot countenance such behavior.”
“I would think Mr. Montgomery would aid her in seeing the error in her ways.”
“I believe he tries, in his way. However, she is reluctant to be persuaded to his manner of thinking.” Matilda shook her head. “She has become fanciful in her grief, believing that her daughter lived and was taken from her.”
Mrs. Sullivan smirked. “As if that husband of hers would act in such a way. Her behavior’s been indulged too long, Matilda. You need to take care with her.”
“I fear she has been influenced by Clarissa’s radical beliefs about women.”
Mrs. Sullivan gasped. “Never say such a thing. Although I know it pains Sean to have her so far away, I’m glad not to have to listen to her spouting her suffragist nonsense nor live with the turmoil she brought to our daily lives. I can’t imagine what that man in Montana sees in her.”
“And yet you wanted her to marry Mr. Wright.”
“You know he would have been like Mr. Montgomery. A steady, strong hand to steer her in the proper direction. I fear that Mr. McLeod will only continue to encourage her radical ideas and she will become wilder.” Mrs. Sullivan shuddered.
“Any word about Mr. Wright?”
“I had tea with his mother recently. He has remained in Montana and is enamored of a Mrs. Bouchard’s daughter. He has chosen to remain to be near her.”
“Do you believe the proximity to Clarissa has anything to do with his desire to remain in Montana?” Matilda took a sip of tea and watched Mrs. Sullivan over her teacup.
“I should think not. She is a married woman now, and her dowry, or what she would have received had she married an acceptable man, has been donated to charity.”
“To charity? Any idea to which one?”
“I can’t remember the name, but to the women opposing the vote. Isn’t it such a wonderful irony? Her defiance has led to the group she despised receiving a generous donation in the amount of her dowry.” Mrs. Sullivan cackled with malicious glee. “Mrs. Wright, Cameron’s mother, is a member of that group and took great joy in telling me the tale.”
“I do feel badly for Sean. I know how he doted on his only daughter by Agnes.” Matilda exhaled a long breath. “It’s a bit how Martin dotes on Savannah. For some reason, he believes that Jonas is overprotective of her.”
“Martin’s just being a concerned father. Sean was the same with Clarissa. In the end fathers must learn their daughters will do what they like without their permission.”
“Hmm … you may be right,” Matilda said. “Although why Martin would ever suspect Jonas of anything remotely nefarious is ludicrous.” Matilda shook her head in consternation.
“For some fathers, no man will ever be good enough for their daughters. Even with such an estimable man as Mr. Montgomery, your husband finds fault. I’m sure, with time, Mr. Montgomery’s true character will be seen, and Martin will have no cause for concern.”
***
SAVANNAH STUMBLED ON the cobblestone as she looked for the New England Home for Little Wanderers. She stood on a street corner with her back to an alley dimly lit in the afternoon sun. Across the street, three- and four-story brick buildings gleamed in the bright sunlight. Businesses from bakeries to locksmiths to cobblers to grocers lined the first floors of the street. The sounds of a baby crying, a heated argument in Italian and the faint strains of a violin solo drifted down from nearby upper-story windows. The smell of freshly baked bread competed with the scent of horse manure and other rubbish in the street.
“Excuse me,” she said to a stout woman dressed in black. “Could you …”
“No Inglesi,” the woman said in a thick accent as she bustled past Savannah.
Savannah glanced up and down Salem Street in the predominantly Italian North End of Boston, a street she had already traversed three times to no avail.
“What am I to do?” Savannah whispered to herself. She blinked away tears as she realized she would be unable to communicate with most of those walking past her.
“Ma’am?” a deep voice said. “Ma’am?”
Now a gentle hand to her arm.
“Are you lost?”
Savannah turned to find a tall, familiar-looking black-haired gentleman watching her with concern. “I know you, don’t I?” Savannah whispered.
“You are Mrs. McLeod’s cousin,” he said. “Clarissa’s cousin.” At her continued silence, he said, “I’m Jeremy McLeod. We met at your parents’ house last year.”
“Of course,” Savannah said. “Forgive me for not remembering right away.”
“Are you lost?” At her quick shake of her head in denial, Jeremy watched her with curiosity. “Are you searching for something?”
Savannah’s eyes filled with tears, and she began to shake. “Yes, something very dear to me.”
“Come. Let’s find a place where you can rest for a moment.” He gripped her arm and led her through a maze of narrow streets until he reached a small alley. At one of the entryways, he extracted a key, opened the door and ushered her inside.
“Oh, but this isn’t proper,” Savannah protested.
“I highly doubt fainting in the middle of a street would be proper either, ma’am,” Jeremy said. “Flo! We have company.” He continued to propel her down a darkened hallway.
Savannah blinked when she saw the sparse yet clean living area. Jeremy pulled out a scarred chair from the table and gently helped Savannah into it. “Sit before you fall down,” he muttered. “Flo, can you make tea?” He paced away toward the back window area, watching Savannah closely.
“Hello, Mrs. Montgomery,” Florence said. “I never thought to see you in my home.”
“I’m sorry, but have we met?” Savannah asked, as her eyes quickly roamed the room and its contents. Her eyes lit on the shelves filled with books, and she seemed to come out of a dazed stupor. “Florence. You were Clarissa’s friend. You were at my parents’ house last spring.” She then turned haunted sky-blue eyes to Jeremy. “And you are Gabriel’s brother.”
Jeremy nodded as he watched her from across the table.
“You have another brother,” Savannah said.
“Yes, Richard. My husband. He will be home soon from the forge,” Florence said, unable to hide the connubial contentment from her voice. She set a mug of tea in front of Savannah. “Richard, Jeremy and I live here in the home they used to share with Gabriel.”
“Do you think Clarissa is as happy as you?” Savannah whispered after she took a sip of sweetened tea. Florence blushed and nodded.
“I should hope so. If not, Gabe’s a damn fool,” Jeremy said as he joined them at the table.
“Don’t you know how Clarissa is?” Florence asked.
“I can’t remember if I’ve heard from her lately,” Savannah said. She saw Jeremy and Florence exchange a concerned glance.
“What do you mean? Either you received a letter or not,” Jeremy said.
“But that’s just it. I might have received a letter. And I might have responded. But I can’t remember,” Savannah said in a soft, anguished voice. “Until recently there’s so much I can’t remember.”
“Ma’am, what is it that brought you to the North End? I would think you’d have little cause to leave the Back Bay and its exalted environs,” Jeremy said.
“I hate the Back Bay,” Savannah muttered, then blushed.
Florence raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me for speaking out of turn.”
“There’s no one here to care how you speak, ma’am,” Jeremy said, still watching her intently.
“I have no right to burden you with my problems,” Savannah said as she set down her mug. She massaged her wrist absently. “Please forgive my thoughtlessness.”
“There’s none to forgive,” Florence said. “And if there is some way we could help you, I like to think you’d turn to us.”
“I couldn’t,” Savannah protested.
“You’re Clarissa’s cousin. Thus, you are our cousin.” Jeremy paused. “You’d be the first cousin I’d care to claim in a while.”
Savannah burst into tears, burying her face in her palms as her shoulders heaved. “I’m so sorry. This is unseemly,” Savannah gasped out.
“Quit your nonsense and have a good cry,” Florence ordered as she moved to sit next to Savannah and embrace her. Florence continued to pat her back and hum soothing noises as Savannah sobbed. “That’s it. Get it all out. You’ll feel better for it.”
“Flo, I’m home!” Richard yelled as the front door slammed shut. When he entered the room, he noted his brother’s worried expression and the crying woman in Florence’s arms. “What’s the matter?”
“Mrs. Montgomery is under duress,” Jeremy said.
“Clarissa’s uppity cousin has called here for help? Not likely,” Richard said with a half laugh. Savannah turned a tear-streaked face toward him as she hiccupped out a sob, and he immediately sobered.
“You’re Savannah,” Richard said. He studied her, from her tousled hair, her gaunt appearance, all the way to her disheveled, outdated clothes. “What happened?” He pulled up a chair to sit next to her, with Florence on Savannah’s other side.
At Savannah’s silence, Richard looked from Florence to Jeremy. “Why is she here in our kitchen, crying, rather than in her fancy house in the Back Bay or her father’s shop in the South End?”
“Because they don’t believe me!” Savannah cried out as fresh tears poured down her cheeks.
Richard grasped her hand gently and looked into her eyes. “Well, why don’t you tell us, and we’ll see what we think?”
“You’ll think I’m crazy too. Threaten to send me away,” Savannah rasped. She shuddered as she recalled all that Jonas had warned.
“You may find us more charitable than your husband,” Jeremy said.
After a long pause, where Savannah gripped Richard’s hand tightly, she whispered, “He stole my baby.”
“What?” Florence and Richard asked at the same time.
“Jonas. My husband. He had the doctor give me something during the delivery to put me to sleep. When I woke, he told me the baby had died,” Savannah said, as tears streamed down her cheeks again. “I had trouble sleeping. There was always a baby in my dreams, wailing, desperate for me to find her. Jonas had me see another doctor, and I was given a sleeping potion.”
She took a trembling breath. “Finally, a few weeks ago, my aunt Betsy visited and brought me to Quincy. She threw away my sleeping potion, and it was as though a fog had lifted. Jonas had kept me drugged all that time.”
“How long?” Jeremy demanded in a hard voice as he rose from his chair.
“Six months,” Savannah said. “Six months I lost with my baby. I knew I was missing something every time I remembered the birth, and finally, when I heard my maid talking with my aunt, I realized that I had heard the baby cry. She wasn’t a stillbirth. She had lived.”
“Why do such a thing?” Florence asked.
“Jonas wanted a son. Anything else was a failure,” Savannah said. She rubbed at her cheeks and the errant tears that continued to fall.
“You think he brought the baby to the Home?” Richard asked as he looked up to watch Jeremy pacing the small space by the sink.
“I don’t know! But I have to find her. She has to know that she is wanted and loved,” Savannah said on a sob.
“You aren’t mad,” Florence said fiercely. “I believe you. Richard and Jeremy believe you.”
“You do?”
“Of course. Remember? We know Clarissa. And we know the type of man your husband is,” Richard said.
“Any friend of Cameron’s is, by association, a bastard,” Jeremy growled.
“And we’ll help you,” Florence said with a glare to Jeremy for his language.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Savannah said. “Everyone else, everyone except Aunt Betsy, thinks I’m unhinged after the loss of my little girl.” She released Richard’s hand and scrubbed her face. Finally she raised her eyes to meet Jeremy’s gaze. He studied her guardedly.
“Well, I imagine you are,” Florence said with a soft smile. “But I don’t believe you’re mad. You just need to find your baby girl. What day was she born?” Florence asked as she filled Savannah’s mug.
“November 14.”
“We can start tomorrow at the Home and go from there,” Jeremy said.
Savannah nodded, gripping the mug to the point she thought she might crack it. “I will try to meet you.”
“Will your husband allow you to leave again so soon?” Jeremy asked, provoking a startled look from Savannah at his perceptiveness.
“I’ll find a way,” she whispered.
“The Home is not a terrible place, but I would rather your baby be with you,” Florence murmured. Richard clasped Florence’s hand, smiling tenderly at her.
Savannah rose to leave. “Thank you. Thank you more than I can ever express.”
***
AFTER SAVANNAH DEPARTED, Jeremy continued to pace the small living area.
“Well, Jer?” Richard asked as he sank into the couch. Florence settled next to him. At Jeremy’s glare and stubborn silence, Richard sighed. “You’re more like Gabriel than you like to admit.”
“I am nothing like Gabe.”
“But you are. You’ve taken an interest in a woman who is far above you. And worse, beyond unavailable. She’s married, Jer,” Richard said with urgency in his voice.
“What makes you think I’m interested in her?”
“You’re prowling around like a caged animal. You couldn’t keep your eyes off her. And you are protective of her, though you want us to think the opposite.”
“I have nothing to offer her. And I’m nothing like Gabriel,” Jeremy said, bitterness and fatigue leeching into his voice.
“Jer, at some point, you have to let go of what happened in the Philippines,” Richard urged.
Jeremy shook his head as he paced again. “You don’t know of what you speak, Rich, or you’d never say such things. You have no idea …” He broke off as he spun to stare outside the darkened window.
“I know you killed men. That you did things you are not proud of,” Richard said as Jeremy turned to look at him.
“How?”
“How else were you to survive?” They shared a long look. “And I cannot regret what you had to do to survive, Jer. It brought you back to us.” He rose and walked toward him, clasping him gently on the shoulder.
Jeremy met Richard’s eyes. “If I can help Sav … Mrs. Montgomery find her baby, I will have done something good. Something I can think about in the middle of the night that doesn’t cause me shame.”
“You’ve already done so much. Think of what you did for Clarissa, helping her with Cameron. That may have seemed small to you, but it meant a great deal to her.”
Florence joined them. “I think you believe that, no matter what you do now, nothing will ever rectify what you did in the Philippines. Am I correct?” Florence asked.
Jeremy glared at her for a moment before nodding tersely.
“You may not wish to speak to us about what happened, but you need to speak with someone,” Florence urged.
“I did once. I spoke with Clarissa,” Jeremy whispered.
“You did?” Richard asked. “And how did she respond?”
“How do you think? With compassion and caring,” Jeremy said.
“Why do you think we’d react differently?” Richard ask
ed, attempting and failing to hide his frustration that his brother would not speak with him about his war wounds.
“Because you knew me before. You both knew me before.” Jeremy paused. “You would never have thought that I would turn into such a man.”
“We all have darkness inside us, Jeremy,” Florence whispered. “It’s whether or not you let the darkness rule you.”
“I can’t seem to find the light,” Jeremy murmured. He patted Richard on the shoulder and left the sitting room.
“Richard,” Florence said. He reached for her, holding her close. “Richard, he will recover.”
“Will he?” Richard asked, hopelessness and despair evident in his tone. “He’s been home for over a year. I don’t know what to do for him.”
“Maybe it’s not what, but who. Savannah may be just what he needs.”
***
SAVANNAH SLIPPED into the large four-storied brick corner-lot mansion with its mansard roof on Marlborough Street in the Back Bay. Formal gardens in the front bloomed with peonies and a bleeding heart wept in its patch of shade. She sent a pleading look to the butler as he closed the black walnut door for her, the sound of the closing door echoing through the large foyer and down the long hallway. An incandescent green vase on the entryway table held a large bouquet of white peonies, already starting to close as dusk approached.
Although she had hoped otherwise, she knew the butler would inform Jonas of her absence. After handing the butler her light wrap, she slipped up the carpeted front staircase to her bedroom on the second floor.
After changing into an appropriate evening gown that matched her mood, one of black silk with lace at the neck and cuffs, she sat at her vanity as her maid, Mary, placed the finishing touches on her hair. “Are you all right, Mrs. Montgomery?” Mary whispered.
“Fine,” Savannah whispered back. She knew she was in the privacy of her bedroom, but she feared Jonas could have a spy nearby. “They believed me.”
“Who, Missus?”
“My friends,” Savannah said, nearly breaking down into tears to realize she had friends.
“That is good, Missus,” Mary said.
Undaunted Love (PART ONE): Banished Saga, Book 3 Page 2