Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7

by Ramona Flightner

  “Of course you should. I consider you my son. You are a part of my family. I can see the damage the discord is provoking between you. I know it isn’t all one-sided.” Aidan watched him intently. “Have you ever considered granting her what she desires?”

  Teddy raised bruised eyes to his father-in-law. “Why can’t she understand that what she’s asking of me is as hard as what’s been taken from her?” he rasped. “I’ve lived in this country for years, but it’s not mine. Not completely. For God’s sake, I fought in a war for England.” He stroked fingers over his injured hand.

  “Have you ever expressed yourself to her as you have to me?” Aidan asked, deep compassion in his eyes.

  “Of course. She wasn’t receptive. She’s never receptive lately.” He sat with stooped shoulders. “I fear she finds more camaraderie, more purpose, in her life in Washington than she ever would with a life with me.”

  Aidan sputtered out a laugh. “I must disagree with you.”

  Teddy speared her father with an intense glare. “When’s the last time she painted? When’s the last time she visited her friends here in Boston? She only seems invigorated when talking about Washington or when she’s heading out the door to catch her train.” He clamped his jaw shut. “No life here would entice her.”

  Aidan sighed. “If you were to have children …”

  “I know you believe that is a viable option, and we’ve discussed this before. But she’d resent they were American where she wasn’t,” Teddy snapped. He flushed and ran a hand through his hair. “Forgive me.”

  “I fear you speak the truth. Zylphia is unable to see anything other than her own disappointments clearly at the moment. My hope is that you continue to reach out to her.” Aidan’s unwavering gaze held support and an entreaty.

  Teddy sighed and nodded. “I have no desire to live my life in a constant state of discord, Aidan. At some point, something will need to change or everything will.”

  “I fail to understand why you must return to Washington so soon,” Delia murmured as she watched her daughter pace the back sunroom. Many of the plants had died due to a blight, and she’d yet to replace them. Thus the room appeared more barren and less exotic than in the past.

  “There is much work to be done, and I want to continue to be one of the Silent Sentinels.” Zylphia roamed the room, only stopping when her mother gripped her hand and pulled her to sit beside her on the wicker settee.

  “I know that’s hogwash.” She speared her daughter with a look, daring her to contradict her. “You’ve written, most eloquently, of how much you hate being a Sentinel. Of the heat, the rain, the cold, the abuse.”

  “I should never have written such words during a moment of weakness.” Zylphia flushed at having her own words repeated to her.

  “There’s no shame in not enjoying every task put to us, dearest. You should take pride in the fact you act as a Sentinel even though it’s not your favorite activity.” Delia tapped her daughter’s hand. “And I know you would relish leading by example.

  “However, you have to realize that running from Teddy won’t help your relationship. You must face what is happening between you and find a way out of this stalemate.” She frowned as her daughter’s expression became more mutinous.

  “He’s the one who needs to see my side. He doesn’t understand how I feel!” She freed her arm from her mother’s gentle grasp and wrapped it around her stomach.

  Delia sighed, earning a glare from her daughter. She raised an amused eyebrow as she met Zylphia’s disgruntled glare. “I think you are being as narrow-minded as Teddy. Probably more so.”

  Zylphia’s anger faded as she looked at her mother. “Why should I lose my citizenship simply because I fell in love with a man from England and married him? It’s unfair!”

  Delia grabbed Zylphia by the elbows, preventing her from rising. “Yes, it’s patently unfair. You know it. All women know it. But making your husband suffer for it is just as cruel. It’s not his fault that he wants to remain a citizen of Britain. Have you ever, even once, truly listened to him about how he feels?”

  Zylphia battled tears as she met her mother’s irate gaze. “How can you be angry at me when an injustice has been done to me?”

  “You’re acting like a child. This is your life. Your marriage. Your future. Quit acting as though, if you throw a big-enough tantrum, you’ll get your way. You know that’s not true. Nor is it fair to you or to Teddy.” Delia paused a moment as she emphasized her son-in-law’s name. “Quit trying to bully your husband into your way of thinking.” She shook her head as she beheld her daughter with frank disappointment. “I thought you more than this, Zee.”

  Zylphia began to cry. “Don’t you understand? I’ll never vote here. After all I’ve done and everything I’ve worked for, I’ll never vote!”

  Delia gripped her daughter’s chin. “You can’t vote now. But you can ruin your marriage now. You’d best decide what you want before it’s too late.”

  Sophronia Chickering raised an eyebrow as her rear sitting room door flew open to an unheralded guest. She waved away her beleaguered butler and motioned for Zylphia to sit across from her. “It’s about time you decided to visit me,” she said in her scratchy voice. She ran one hand over her steel-gray at-home dress, while gripping her cane with the other and frowned as she watched Zylphia.

  “I leave in a few hours and wanted to see you before I depart.” Zylphia fidgeted with her dangling pearl earring, jolting when Sophie thunked her cane on the floor.

  Sophie harrumphed when Zylphia finally raised her eyes and met her friend and mentor’s gaze. “I receive frequent updates from Alice as I am a regular donor. I fear the reality of her picketing is much worse than she has described by the looks of you.”

  Zylphia flushed and shook her head. “I wish you would journey to Washington to see firsthand all that we are accomplishing. It’s invigorating.”

  “At my age, I have no desire for such travels. They are best left to the young.”

  Zylphia smiled. “You’re not that old, Sophie.”

  Sophie sniffed but could not hide she was pleased at Zylphia’s comment. “I’m near eighty. I constantly harass Alice that she must succeed with greater haste as I’d like to vote before I die.” She waved away Zylphia’s protestations about her future demise and studied Zylphia to the point she squirmed on the settee. “Therefore, it is your life in Boston that causes you to appear deflated and defeated.”

  “Teddy and I still have differing opinions.” Zylphia looked away at a painting she’d gifted Sophie the previous year of the cliffs near the house Sophie had rented in Newport, Rhode Island. Zylphia’s gaze glazed over as though imagining a long distant scene on the Cliff Walk in Newport where she first spoke with Teddy.

  Sophie pointed at that painting. “I’d hope you’d recall those memories to help you rediscover why you became enamored of your husband. You’ve managed to convince yourself he’s unworthy of you in some way.” Sophie speared Zylphia with a severe glare from her piercing aquamarine-blue eyes. “Which is patently false.”

  “All we seem to do is fight,” she whispered. “I returned home for a visit with the aim of making peace. Instead I fell into our most recent pattern with my goal of causing pain.”

  Sophie tsked. “That’s not like you, Zee. You’ve always been passionate and firm in your sense of right and wrong. But you’ve also been able to listen to another’s opinion, even if you didn’t like it. I don’t understand why you react before there’s anything to fault him for.”

  “There’s plenty to fault him for, and you know it!” Zylphia hissed. “He barely tolerates my involvement in the cause. He writes curt letters. He …” At Sophie’s chuckle, she glared at her.

  “You can’t come up with more than two rather weak excuses for your anger, besides the one you didn’t bother to name.” Sophie settled into her chair, setting aside her cane. “You have a fine revolutionary spirit, Zee. But not everything or everyone can be converted to your
way of thinking by force. Or by sheer will.” She gripped Zylphia’s clenched hand. “Sometimes you have to accept that those closest to us will never agree with ideals that are precious to us. It doesn’t mean that we, or they, are lacking. Or less deserving of love.”

  Zylphia sniffled. “If your husband hadn’t supported you, how would you feel?”

  Sophie squinted as though imagining what Zylphia asked. “I don’t know. I am a much different woman now than the woman who married many years ago. I imagine I would have felt betrayed at first. Then emboldened to prove him wrong. I hope I’d have loved him enough to search for common ground between us.” She smiled at Zylphia. “And I know I would have continued to sway him to my way of thinking.”

  She sobered as Zylphia sat in a dazed stupor. “However, I like to think I wouldn’t have risked my marriage with constant bickering. Or with meaningless flirtations that could be misconstrued.”

  Zylphia flinched. “Rowena wrote you?” She pinched the bridge of her nose in resignation. “I never meant for anything more than flirtation. He imagined more to it than there was.”

  “As most men do, darling. I’m sure your mother taught you that.”

  “And failed,” Zylphia said with a humorless chuckle. “I’ve been miserable. He helped me feel desirable after all the fighting.”

  Sophie shook her head in disappointment. “Be very careful, darling Zee. For your momentary need to feel attractive could lead you to further estrangement from your husband. No man is above jealousy when even his own wife admits to a flirtation.” She sighed. “I’d advise you to remember how you felt when you found his letters from the nurse.”

  Zylphia bristled. “That is an entirely different matter.” When Sophie merely raised an eyebrow at her and waited, Zylphia deflated, her anger seeping out as quickly as it had erupted. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “I suspected as much. However, now that you’re facing a great challenge, rather than turning to the one person you claim to love above all others, you are forsaking that love and acting like a brainless half-wit.”

  “It’s not a claim,” Zylphia ground out. She ran a hand over her face. “I don’t know how to show him.”

  “Zee, dearest, you fear looking weak by admitting you need Teddy. By admitting you want him more than you want your citizenship back. All this posturing and prancing about has earned you little except exasperation and heartache. You’ve backed yourself into a corner, and you must act like the adult you are and accept that you’ve been a fool.”

  The tea shop bustled with midafternoon business as Zylphia sat, sipping lemonade on a stifling hot day in late May, having just returned to Washington, DC. She absently massaged her wrist as she perused a newspaper, frowning as she read about the plans for a selective service and the government’s use of semantics rather than simply calling it a draft.

  “What bothers you, Mrs. Goff?”

  Her head jerked up, and she glared at Octavius Hooper as he sat in the unoccupied chair across from her. His tan linen suit was well-suited to the weather, and he appeared a man of leisure.

  “I never invited you to join me.” She motioned for him to skedaddle, but he laughed.

  He smiled at the waitress, ordering sweet iced tea, before focusing on Zylphia again. “You can’t imagine that I believe for one moment you aren’t interested in me.” He smiled indulgently at her. “I enjoyed our conversations at Cameron House and was disappointed when you said they must cease.”

  “Whether in Cameron House or out, there is no reason for us to speak. Unless you have pressing business for the cause?” She raised an eyebrow as her hands played with the edge of the newspaper.

  His eyes focused on her hands, and he frowned. “What happened to your wrist?”

  She glowered at him. “It’s none of your concern,” she sputtered as he traced the light bruising in the shape of fingers along her wrist.

  “Did your husband do this?” Octavius asked, but Zylphia remained silent. “You deserve better than that.”

  “And you have no idea what you are referring to.” Zylphia moved her arms so that her hands were under the table where he could no longer touch her. “Why are you here?”

  “I saw you sitting here, looking lonely, and wanted to speak with you. I’ve missed you.” When she glared at him, he sighed. “I’d hoped you missed me.”

  “Mr. Hooper, I have no idea why you believed your presence would aid me if I were lonely.” She stared at him impassively. “We are not friends. We are barely acquaintances. I would prefer it if you would cease pestering me.”

  He took a long sip of his tea and studied her. “There may well come a day when you need my friendship, Mrs. Goff.”

  “Perhaps. However, you would do well to remember that I am a respectable married woman, and I have no interest in any dalliance.” Her blue eyes blazed with annoyance as she glared at him.

  “Is that true? Even though your husband leaves marks on you?” His chin jerked down as though to indicate her wrist.

  “You barely know me. You have no idea that I have a horrific temper and that I can provoke a saint to near madness. My husband did not hurt me. He prevented me from hurting him.” She flushed at her words.

  He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, you become more intriguing the more I learn about you. I hate that we can’t even be friends.”

  She sighed in frustration, shaking her head. “There is no such thing as friendship between a married woman and a single man. It’s unseemly, and I will not shame myself nor cause my husband the worry if he were to hear vicious gossip.”

  “Which this town seems to thrive on,” Octavius murmured. He took the last sip of his iced tea and rose. “In that case, I wish you a good day, Mrs. Goff.” He strode from the room, slipping outside.

  Zylphia watched as Rowena passed him, her head inching higher with indignation at the sight of him.

  Rowena burst into the tea parlor and took the seat just vacated by Octavius. “Was that man here bothering you again?” At Zylphia’s resigned shrug, Rowena frowned. “I wish you could do something more, other than tell him you don’t want him to speak with you.”

  “It’s my own fault, Ro. I encouraged him by flirting with him. The only one who could set him straight is Teddy. And I don’t want him to hear of my foolishness.” She flushed as she ducked her head.

  Rowena studied her and ordered a lemonade from the waitress. When they were alone again, she leaned forward and whispered, “I have the sense things did not go as you’d hoped in Boston?”

  Zylphia shrugged again. “He was guarded when I entered his office, and that made me angry, and then we started fighting.” Zylphia folded and unfolded a napkin. “I can’t seem to have a conversation with him anymore.”

  Rowena smiled absently at the waitress as her lemonade was delivered and took a sip. “How sad. You two always seemed to communicate, even when you weren’t speaking. I could sense it across a ballroom.”

  “Why did you write Sophie about Mr. Hooper?”

  Rowena flinched. “She wrote me, concerned about you. She’d seen Teddy and was worried by how withdrawn he had become.”

  Zylphia rubbed at her wrist. “I shouldn’t have left Boston before speaking with Teddy again.” She sighed. “Sophie helped me see what a fool I’ve been, but I didn’t have the courage to face him after I had acted so horribly.”

  “You will have to at some point, Zee.”

  Zylphia shook her head as though to clear it of melancholy thoughts. “What do we have planned for today?”

  Rowena opened and closed her mouth as though biting back her words of protest at the abrupt change in conversation. “More picketing. More letter-writing. More of the same.” She swiped at moisture on the outside of her drinking glass. “Your leadership among the picketers has been sorely missed. Morale has dropped since you’ve been away.”

  Zylphia nodded. “Well, at least I know I’m good at something.”

  Rowena leaned forward again
and whispered, “I fear I may have to curtail my activities soon. I wouldn’t want to bring any unwanted notoriety to the Suffragist or the cause.”

  Zylphia laughed. “You bring notoriety? You live a life more boring than that of a church mouse.”

  “If it’s found out that one of the principle writers is half-German, it could be portrayed in a very negative light. You know what the CPI would do with that.” She shared a long look with Zylphia as they thought about the Commission for Public Information and their publicity machine.

  “Well, I say we should worry about that when it becomes a problem. For now, I hope you continue to write articles that motivate more and more to join the cause.”

  Rowena’s worried gaze met Zylphia’s. “You know as well as I do that something drastic has to happen to sway the president and thus congress.”

  Zylphia nodded and did not bother with a false smile of bravado. “I know. I only hope I’m ready for it when that something occurs.”

  Chapter 4

  Butte, Montana, June 8, 1917

  Patrick Sullivan woke with a start at an insistent banging on his front door. He grabbed his pants from the floor, stumbling down the hallway as he tugged them on. The door flew open as he stifled a curse, his head tangled in his shirt. “What?” he barked, holding up a hand to his wife, Fiona, to keep her behind him.

  The messenger had recovered some of his breath from his mad dash across town while waiting for Patrick to dress and answer the door. “You’re needed at the Granite Mountain Mine. Fire.”

  Patrick froze, his hand fisting around his longish locks of chestnut-brown hair shot with gray rather than combing them into place. “How many?”