He shrugged nonchalantly. “I would, especially if they had a successful farm or ranch. It would save a lot of time, money and lawyer fees.”
Araminta gaped at him and those around the table who nodded at his reasoning. “But you’re ruining someone’s life.”
Mrs. Bouchard snickered. “They shouldn’t have been stupid enough to speak out against the war effort. We don’t need those with treasonous thoughts in this country.”
“Everyone must be a patriot,” Araminta murmured, her brows furrowing.
Mrs. Bouchard beamed at her. “Exactly. I’m delighted our Bartholomew has found such an intelligent woman who is a hard worker.”
“I’d do it for a good business,” said Vernon Vaughan, Bartholomew’s cousin. “It would reduce startup costs, and the business would already have a good reputation in the community.”
Araminta watched as Bartholomew nodded, a calculating look in his eyes. She gripped his hand on his lap and whispered, “Remember your promise.”
He looked down at her and nodded. “As long as you remember yours.”
She paled and broke away from his penetrating gaze, looking at her plate of unpalatable food. She feigned a smile when his aunts prattled about the wedding in October and the important out-of-state guests coming for the event.
“Of course those wretched McLeods must be invited as they are perceived as important members of Missoula society,” Mrs. Vaughan muttered. “If I had my way, they wouldn’t be allowed near a church after what they did to my darling daughter, Veronica.”
“Now, sister, you know Veronica is doing quite well for herself in Seattle,” Mrs. Bouchard soothed.
“She should be married with a gaggle of children,” Mrs. Vaughan boomed. “Those meddling McLeods ruined everything for her.” She pointed her fork in Bartholomew’s and Araminta’s direction. “I won’t countenance them interfering in your nuptials.”
“Of course not,” Araminta murmured. “There’s no reason for them to.”
Her soothing voice went unheard by the mostly deaf Mrs. Vaughan, and her complaints about the McLeods continued until Mrs. Bouchard turned the topic to the wedding feast. Araminta allowed the conversation to flow over her as she conceded all decisions to Bartholomew and his aunts.
After dinner, Bartholomew walked her home. She attempted a brisk pace, but he held her back with his slower gait. “Araminta, I need you to ensure that everything will go as planned for the wedding.”
She fought a grimace and smiled. “Of course it will. I will meet you at the altar and bind myself to you.”
He growled and pushed her into a shadowed alley. “You don’t have to sound so eager,” he said, pressing against her. “What have I done to earn such animosity from you? I’m willing to provide you with my name, my home, my future.” He raked his gaze over her forlorn expression. “My love.”
She blinked as she fought tears. “I have given you my word, Bartholomew. Don’t ask for more than that.” She stilled as he kissed her, accepting his kiss but not reacting to it.
“Why will you no longer respond to me? What must I do to earn your passion?” He looked into her eyes before stepping away. “Will he always be between us?”
“You know the answer to that question,” she said, pushing past him and onto the main street. She reluctantly linked her arm through his as he matched her rapid pace through town. “You knew the price of my agreement to your bargain.”
He shook his head. “I never realized it would be so severe.”
Chapter 13
With the hint of autumn in the air in early September, Gabriel and Clarissa opted to warm themselves by a fire in their living room rather than sit on their front porch. Gabriel relaxed in his comfortable chair in the living room with Clarissa near him on the settee while the children sat at the dining room table working on their ledgers. A sweet silence pervaded after the children’s grumbling about wasting precious daylight had abated, and Gabriel glanced in their direction to see them focused on their homework. He winked at Clarissa, who smiled as though they were coconspirators. Their youngest had just gone to sleep upstairs.
He knew Clarissa feigned contentment, but her ongoing conflict with Colin was wearing her out. Colin refused any overtures from her, did not answer his front door and turned his back on her when she visited his blacksmith shop. Although Gabriel understood Colin’s initial right to his anger, his ire at his brother-in-law steadily grew as his wife’s silent suffering increased.
Gabriel focused on the newspaper again. He stilled, his momentary contentedness dissipating. “Damn,” he whispered. He glanced in his children’s direction and sighed with relief that it appeared they had not heard him.
Clarissa set aside her book and focused on him. “What is it?”
“Have you read this evening’s paper?”
“If you mean, have I seen that Jeanette Rankin is running for the Senate, yes, I have.” She smiled at her husband. “I hope she wins. I’ll have to see what I can do to canvass for her here in Missoula.”
“I wouldn’t think winning in Missoula would be her greatest concern.” He shook his head and lowered his voice further. “They’re expanding the draft.”
She stilled, and her breath caught.
“To include men up to age forty-five.”
“No, … I … Not you.” She blinked rapidly and grabbed his hand. “You can’t register. I can’t lose you.”
“And I can’t be accused of being a slacker or of being in favor of sedition. I won’t go to jail, Rissa.” His eyes wild with anger, fear and remorse met hers. “I have to register.” He traced her cheek and waited until she nodded.
“All of you, all who I thought safe because you were too old to be drafted, are now in danger,” she whispered.
“Patrick and Sebastian are safe. They’re old enough.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “I just turned forty-four, so I’m considered young enough. I’ll be considered in Class II with a temporary deferment because I have dependents under age sixteen. But, if they need me, they will draft me.”
“Colin,” she choked. “They’ll draft him right away.”
His eyes mirrored her sorrow. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Registration day is September 14. The Council of Defense has issued Order Number 14, stating that the saloons can be closed that day to ease the burden of registration.”
Clarissa attempted a laugh, but it came out as a stifled sob. “I’d think they’d open more bars, so that men could have a drink before and after registering.”
“Shh, love. You wouldn’t want anyone to hear such talk,” Gabriel whispered.
“I hate that all I can do is pray that this horrible war ends. That there’s nothing more I can do.” She turned her head and kissed his palm cupping her cheek.
“I hope simply a show of strength will cause the Germans to realize we are only just beginning to send men over to France. That this will provoke them to want a cease-fire.” He sighed. “I know that sounds idealistic, but I have to hope, after four years of war, they’re tired of it.”
“Men seem to relish it,” Clarissa said, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.
“Not all men, darling,” Gabriel murmured. “What did you learn in your letters today?”
“Savannah enjoyed Newport after they shunned society there. And I had a long letter from Zee. She and Teddy appear to be fully reconciled, and she sounds happy for the first time in over a year. Did you know that one of the main reasons Teddy was reluctant to become an American citizen was that he was afraid the Americans would draft him? Even with his injuries?”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows at that. “I doubt we would have, but I can see why he wouldn’t want to make a drastic change until the war was over.”
Clarissa nodded. “Amelia wrote and attempted to be her usual cheerful self.” She frowned as she met her husband’s worried gaze. “She hasn’t had word from Nicholas in weeks, and she’s terrified something’s happened to him.” Clarissa glanced at her chil
dren. “I feel so guilty to be thankful they’re too young to be involved in this war.”
“I don’t. I’m damned grateful.” He leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss before rising. “Who needs help?” he called out as he approached their eldest children. He laughed at something Billy said before pulling up a chair and tugging Billy onto his lap. At eight, Billy was almost too big to sit on his lap, but Gabriel relished these moments with his children. Generally Clarissa helped them with their homework, but tonight he would do what he could.
“No, Billy, love, the Pythagorean theorem is not related to the extinction of the dinosaurs.” He winked at his eldest, Geraldine, who was attempting to use the theorem.
“But, Papa, it sounds like a dinosaur name.” Billy squirmed on Gabriel’s lap and turned frustrated eyes up to his father.
Gabriel bit his lip and furrowed his brows to hide a laugh and smile, as he knew this was important to his son. “I know it does, Billy, but not everything has to do with dinosaurs.”
“Can we visit Uncle Colin? He told the best stories about dinosaurs and the beasts that roam the forests.” Billy’s eyes shone with anticipation, as though he were about to hop down and don his shoes for the short trip to his uncle’s house.
“No more talk of beasts, Billy, or your sisters won’t sleep tonight,” Clarissa called out from the living room. She shared an amused glance with Gabriel as Billy was the one who suffered from nightmares, not his sisters. “And your uncle remains too occupied for a visit.”
Billy stared at his parents, and his shoulders stooped as he curled into his father’s hold. “I hate not seeing Uncle Colin.”
Gabriel kissed his head. “I know, Billy. I know.”
* * *
Gabriel joined the line of men who waited to register for the draft, or the Selective Service, as President Wilson liked to call it. Gabriel peered around the stout man in front of him and saw four tables set up against a wall with women seated behind them, filling out a card full of information for each man seated across the desk from her. An American flag hung on one wall, while Montana’s state flag hung on the other. Bright sunlight shone in through the bank of windows behind the women at the desks.
He inched forward, his hat in his hands. Most men smiled and appeared excited to be called up to register. He wondered how much of that was an act to assuage the eagle eyes of all watching the steady flow of men in and out of the room. No one wanted to be accused of not fully supporting the war effort.
Finally it was his turn. He rattled off his full name, date of birth and permanent address.
The woman ticked the White box for his race. “Where were you born?” the woman asked as she peered at him over her glasses.
“Boston, Massachusetts.” He frowned as she X’d the Native-Born US Citizen box.
“Your occupation and employer?”
“Cabinetmaker. Self-employed.” He gave her his business address on Main Street.
“Name your two nearest relatives and where they live.”
He paused as he momentarily envisioned Clarissa and Jeremy receiving word of his demise and then shook his head as he gave their names and addresses. He frowned as the form was thrust at him to sign. He glanced at the other half of the form that the registrar had to fill out about him, pausing before he signed his side. He saw he’d been declared tall, with a medium build and gray hair and brown eyes. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I have blue eyes.”
She glowered at him, yanking the form back to correct that detail. “If you believe eye color will determine if you are drafted, you’re crazy.” She nodded at him to sign, and he did.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured as he rose. He stilled when he saw Colin in the line. Gabriel’s jaw clenched as he moved past the waiting men. Rather than returning to his workshop, he leaned against the building outside. A few cars rumbled by on the street, although the majority of the traffic remained horse-and-buggy and horse-drawn wagons.
After nearly twenty minutes, Colin emerged.
“Colin.” Gabriel frowned as Colin stiffened at his voice. “Wait.”
“There’s nothing for us to say,” Colin said with his back to him.
Gabriel grabbed his arm and spun Colin to face him. He flushed as curious men eyed them as they entered and exited the building. “Come to my workshop, so we can talk privately.”
After a long moment, Colin nodded and walked beside Gabriel. Once at the workshop, Gabriel waved to Ronan, who worked on a pair of shoes. Gabriel shut the front door behind him and faced the man he considered his brother. He watched as Colin stood with aloof detachment, ignoring Ronan.
Gabriel had owned and worked in this workshop since his arrival in Missoula in 1901. Along Main Street, the shop had a large door with a window on either side. Upon entering the shop, Ronan’s cobbling business was to the right with a staircase along the back end of that wall that led to a storage area over the workshop. Before it was a storage area, Gabriel had lived there with Clarissa for the first years of their marriage. Throughout the workshop, there were workbenches, small stacks of lumber and pieces of furniture in varying stages of completion. Gabriel ignored everything around him and focused on his brother-in-law.
“Why are you acting like this?” Gabriel demanded. He saw a momentary glint of anger in Colin’s eyes before he stared at Gabriel impassively. “Do you not care what your silence is doing to your sister?”
“I write Melinda. I enjoy hearing about her adventures in Newport and Boston.”
Gabriel growled and took a menacing step toward Colin. “Dammit, you know I meant Rissa.”
Colin’s icy gaze bore into Gabriel. “Why should I care how she feels? How she fares? I already know the depths of her disdain.”
Gabriel sighed and gripped the back of his neck. “Who did you put on your form?” He saw understanding glint in Colin’s gaze.
“Patrick and Lucas.”
The fight left Gabriel as suddenly as it had erupted, and he collapsed onto a chair. “Why won’t you speak with her? Allow her to apologize?”
Colin’s eyes glowed with anger, and his icy disregard cracked as he stared at his beloved brother-in-law. “Forgive her? Forgive her for thinking I would ever harm Ari? Or any woman? Or should I suddenly forget that she thought I’d be a danger to her children too?” His breath emerged in agitated pants. “Am I still barred from your house?”
“Colin, it’s not that simple,” Gabriel said, his tone world-weary. “Minta …”
Colin waved at Gabriel to quiet him as he was about to say more. “And even if I were inclined to forgive, how could I ever pardon the fact that Clarissa has worked to keep me separated from Ari? I can’t visit Ari at her home. I can’t speak with Ari at your home because you’ve barred me. You’ve formed a little oasis to keep me out. You tell me, Gabe, how you’d feel if someone had come between you and Clarissa the way my own sister has come between me and Ari?” His jaw ticked. “You’d hate her as you hate Mrs. Smythe.”
Gabriel blanched. “You can’t, … not like that.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Col. Our hands are tied. Araminta …”
Colin’s eyes flashed with an agonizingly deep pain at her full name. “She will be lost to me soon. Because her fear is stronger than her courage. And I will always resent you and Clarissa for not challenging her. For allowing her to feed that fear. For granting her a safe harbor rather than forcing her to face me.” He spun and stormed out of the workshop, slamming the wooden door behind him.
Gabriel sat with his head in his hands. “I wish I had Old Man Pickens here for advice.”
Ronan’s wheelchair squeaked as it rolled toward Gabriel. He stopped when he sat in front of his despondent friend. “He doesn’t understand the half of it, does he?”
Gabriel shook his head. “I know what Rissa accused him of was despicable. And she regretted it almost immediately.” He gripped his hands together and took a deep breath, his voice emerging graveled and tear-thickened. “But no one, no man, ca
n ever understand the depths of her terror. And that she can be thrust back into her memories at any moment.” He raised tormented eyes to meet Ronan’s concerned gaze. “I would ease her of that burden if I could. But I can’t.” He let out a deep breath. “And I hate that Cameron’s attack continues to affect her, even now.”
Ronan nodded and shifted forward to pat Gabriel on the knee. “Colin will come to understand. You must believe that.”
Gabriel shook his head. “For that to happen, she needs to do something for him and Araminta. Only then will there be any hope for a reconciliation.”
* * *
Dear Clarissa and Gabe,
Thank you for your recent letter. It helps to know that you are sending letters and prayers for Nickie too. I hear from him infrequently, although I received three letters in two days. It seems there was a mix-up in France, and his letters home were delayed. Thankfully he is doing well and has yet to see any real fighting.
The general he is under has recognized his talent as a logger and has sent him to work in forests near the Front. He says he is working hard to ensure that there is enough lumber and materials for those fighting on the Front, and doesn’t have time to be bored, unlike the men who spend long hours on the Front, whiling away time. I can sense a yearning in him to do more for the war effort, but I will continue to pray that his work in the forest will keep him out of any battles and that the War will end soon.
I can only imagine how difficult it was for you when Gabriel registered for the draft. I never thought I would be thankful that Sebastian is no longer such a young man as he nears fifty. Let us hope this was a mere formality and that there is no reason for Gabriel, Colin or any of the other men to head to that horrible conflict.
I wish we could attend Araminta’s wedding, but it is too difficult to leave the sawmill right now. We hope to travel to Missoula sometime soon, and we shall celebrate her marriage then.
Your friend,
Abiding Love: Banished Saga, Book Eight Page 25