Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga Book Two Read online

  Copyright © 2014 by Ramona Flightner. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Ramona Flightner/Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  P.O. Box 187

  Boston, MA 02128

  www.ramonaflightner.com

  Cover design by Derek Murphy

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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  Reclaimed Love/ Ramona Flightner. — 1st ed.

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9860502-3-7

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9860502-4-4

  RECLAIMED

  LOVE

  RAMONA FLIGHTNER

  Mum,

  You ensured I never went to bed

  Without a bedtime story.

  Thank you for your boundless

  Enthusiasm for the ones I create.

  CHAPTER 1

  Boston, March 1900

  “WHAT DID YOU THINK would happen, my girl?” Sophronia Chickering asked, raising an eyebrow. “You gallivant about unchaperoned, spend time with him alone in his warehouse allowing God-knows-what liberties to be taken to your person. How did you expect your father to react?”

  I blushed a rosy red at her comments. I had decided to visit Sophie, my opinionated friend and fellow suffragette, for tea rather than return home after school. We sat in her upstairs parlor with white wainscoting and soothing yellow wallpaper in her house on Beacon Hill overlooking the Boston Common.

  “I knew he would be upset,” I said with a long sigh. “I never expected him to act in a way that would lead to Gabriel’s banishment.” I stared at the sole painting of a mountain glen over the fireplace, wishing the bucolic scene would infuse me with a similar sense of peace.

  “He’s a man. You can only imagine what he envisioned. You must try to see things from others’ perspectives, Clarissa. It will help you outmaneuver them in the future.” Sophie sat with impeccable posture, her shoulders back and feet crossed at the ankles tucked under her chair. Her gray hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon while her cobalt-blue silk dress with its lace collar highlighted the mischief in her aquamarine eyes.

  “Sophie, Gabriel always acted as a gentleman,” I protested. “Nothing happened.”

  “Well, I can see you enjoyed yourself. Clearly something occurred or you wouldn’t be uncomfortable,” Sophie said with a gentle cackle as my cheeks continued to redden. “Besides, for my part, I hope a little something did happen to keep the fires of your romance fanned during his absence. I fear it may be a long one.”

  “I don’t know how I will bear it,” I whispered. “I need him to come home now.”

  “When men are off adventuring, they rarely think of returning. You must continue to write him to remind him of what he left behind.”

  “I will, never fear.”

  “How is your stepmother, my girl?”

  “The same. Insufferable. Overbearing. Insisting that I am home more because of the upcoming birth of my brother or sister.” I punched at a small settee pillow in frustration.

  “Have you learned what you needed from her?”

  “There is nothing she knows that I could possibly benefit from learning.”

  “Oh, but there is,” Sophie countered. “How to manipulate people to see your version of events. How to act in such a way that people do what you want them to. How to ingratiate yourself to someone even if you loathe them.”

  “So—”

  She held up her hand toward me to forestall any argument. “No. Listen, Clarissa. She would have you learn how to brew a pot of tea properly and laugh at a pleasant volume to stroke a man’s ego. However, the true lessons you need to learn are subtler. Start paying attention and learn from a master.” She harrumphed once, although I could not tell if it was with displeasure or not.

  “Why would I want to do any of those things? It’s what I most dislike about her.”

  “Because, as you must realize by now, your life will not follow the simple path you had envisioned for yourself as a child. You should learn all your lessons, the good and the bad. Sometimes the bad ones can be the most enjoyable.” Sophie smiled at me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “And as for your Gabriel, I’d dream of my return to him.”

  ***

  I DEPARTED SOPHIE’S with few options to avoid increased interactions with Mrs. Smythe, my meddlesome stepmother of a year. I resolutely refused to call her Mrs. Sullivan when I thought of her, although I tried to remember to address her by her appropriate name when I spoke of her or with her. I had received too many blistering lectures on treating her with respect to wish to receive another. My cousin Savannah had yet to return from her prolonged honeymoon, but I decided to walk to her parents’ linen store, Russell’s, to visit with my late mama’s sister, Aunt Matilda.

  As I entered the store, the memory of the stormy day when I had stumbled into and onto Gabriel flitted through my mind. I remembered the agony of watching him tumble off the ladder, of falling on top of him, the amused glimmer in his eyes from the beginning when he watched me. I recalled his deep voice as we had spoken later while he rested, recovering from the head wound I had caused. I took a shuddering breath, trying not to focus too much on him and the past for fear of weeping.

  I glanced toward the main area of the fine linen store, hopeful to speak with Uncle Martin. Instead, my cousin Lucas stood behind the glass-encased counter with his back toward me. He called out, “Be with you in a moment.” He folded a cloth, placing it in one of the many shelves behind the counter.

  “Lucas,” I said, “who is here today?”

  “Clarissa, it’s been too long since you called.” He came out from behind the counter to clasp my arm. “Savannah is still away with Jonas, but Mother is sipping tea by herself. You just missed the grandparents.”

  He raised an eyebrow and winked at me as my eyes widened, my only outward reaction to Lucas’s news and my near encounter with our grandparents. I turned to smile at Aunt Matilda as she entered the storefront.

  “Clarissa,” she said with a sniff of disdain. “You’ve decided to come for tea?” She walked toward me, gripped my elbow and hauled me out of the storefront. I waved a good-bye toward Lucas with my free hand. Aunt Matilda dragged me through the back hallway reserved for family, passing the closed door to Uncle’s study and the darkened formal parlor. We moved without speaking, climbing the newly carpeted stairs to the second-floor family parlor.

  She released me upon entering the upstairs parlor filled with stuffy formal furniture, and I saw a fresh tea tray had just been delivered. Faint light entered the front windows, the light and view now partially blocked by the construction of the elevated streetcar line. “I’m sorry to interrupt if you were expecting someone else for tea,” I said.

  Aunt Matilda gave a small humph of disgust and sat elegantly on her favorite lady’s chair. I chose th
e uncomfortable rococo camelback settee because it reminded me of Savannah. After a few moments of awkward silence, during which Aunt Matilda failed to serve me tea, she expelled a pent-up breath of air.

  “Clarissa,” Aunt Matilda hissed, “what could you possibly be thinking?”

  I watched her, uncertain as to the thrust of her argument and the cause of her displeasure. I shrugged my shoulders by way of acknowledgment.

  “I would think you would have learned by now that different groups do not mix,” she seethed.

  I squinted at her, hoping I had misunderstood her.

  “You heard me, Clarissa,” Aunt Matilda continued. “Why do you think the Italians live together in the North End? The Irish in South Boston? The Chinese in Chinatown?”

  She raised her eyebrows at me as though expecting a response. When I failed to respond, she flushed with anger.

  “Like marries like. Like associates with like. It’s the way of the world. It’s how it has been and how it will continue to be. You will marry a man of your class, not a poor laborer.” By now her bosom heaved with her proclamations.

  “Aunt Matilda,” I began after a long pause, carefully choosing my words. “Why are you upset now? Gabriel is far away in the West.”

  “You have rained shame and infamy on the family again. Why can you never act with grace and decorum as Savannah does?”

  “Aunt Matilda, please,” I whispered.

  “Please what, Clarissa? Please forgive you for your unsupportable fascination with a disgraced laborer? Please forgive you for the shame you have brought to our family name? Do you realize we are once again the talk of the town? Tell me, which one of those should you be forgiven for?”

  I stared into her irate eyes as my own anger began to simmer. “What would you have me do, Aunt Matilda? Marry a man I do not love? Consign myself to a life of tedium and monotony for the sake of the family’s reputation?”

  “I expect you to act as your mother would have taught you. With decorum and an acknowledgment of societal rules.”

  “Don’t bring my mama into this. She would have wanted me to marry for love, just as she did. Just as you did,” I retorted, my cheeks reddened with anger.

  Aunt Matilda sat back in her chair, lips pursed, glaring at me, as though biting back bitter words. “How—” Aunt Matilda abruptly stopped as the parlor door flew open.

  “There she is!” Uncle Martin called out, striding toward the settee. I barely had time to stand before he enfolded me in his strong arms. When he released me, he beamed down at me, his brown eyes glowing with pleasure. “I thought you’d never come to visit,” he reproached me, gripping my hand. “Will you stay for supper, regale us with school stories?”

  “I’d love to,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  “I am not sure that is wise, Martin. I wouldn’t want to vex Mrs. Sullivan when she is in such a delicate state,” Aunt Matilda said.

  “Well, not tonight then, Clarissa, but another day soon,” Uncle Martin said after sharing a long glance with Aunt Matilda. “Let me see you out.”

  I smiled toward Aunt Matilda, her rigid stance forestalling any attempt at an embrace. Uncle Martin shook his head, sighing in exasperation as we descended the stairs. “I haven’t seen her this angry in years.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

  “It’s not your fault. She is very upset by recent visits from your grandparents.”

  “Uncle…”

  “There’s no need to say anything to me.” We shared a meaningful look. He leaned forward, kissing my forehead. “We will have you over again soon for supper.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Martin,” I murmured.

  I walked as though in a trance from Russell’s linen store toward my home on Union Park in the South End. The late summer air was filled with the smells of a long, hot summer, and I longed for a heavy rain to wash away the stench of horse dung and refuse. I strolled along tree-shaded streets and attempted to focus on the cloudless day, the children laughing in a nearby park, and the birds flying freely above me. However, my mind continued to return to the scene with Aunt Matilda. Why was it crucial to her that I improve the family name by marrying well?

  I thought of Gabriel. Proud, loyal, kind Gabriel. I had never thought to meet such a man, and yet I had. I paused on my walk home as I remembered his gentle embraces, his soft kisses. His desire to understand me as I was, not as he wished I were. The amusement mixed with tenderness and love he always had in his eyes when he watched me.

  His banishment from my life two months ago had been the worst period of my life. I had previously thought Cameron’s abandonment of me at the altar or my mama’s death more than I could bear, but now I knew better. Now I knew what it was to live with my heart elsewhere. Now I knew what it was like to live in daily fear that what I had experienced with Gabriel was an illusion. A lovely dream. I had not heard from him since he had left, and his silence frightened me. Every day I did not hear from him, my faith in our future diminished. Why didn’t he write?

  CHAPTER 2

  THE LURCHING, WHISTLING HALT to the train’s forward momentum jerked Gabriel McLeod from a dazed stupor. Hissing steam obstructed his view of Butte, Montana, but he had glimpsed enough from the mountain pass as the train traveled down the winding tracks to know this town was unlike any place he could have imagined. Happy to stand after the long train ride, he stood, gathered his belongings and clambered down the steps after Matthew Donovan.

  “Why did you ever convince me to come to this barren wasteland?” Gabriel asked Matthew. He arched his long back, stretching muscles cramped from the journey. A faint breeze ruffled his ebony hair.

  “Ronan told me the first impression of Butte is the worst. You’ll love it here!” Matthew said as he moved into the waiting crowd. His shorter stature allowed him to navigate the mingling crowd with nimble grace.

  “Ronan must be blind,” Gabriel muttered as he glanced around, trying to locate a porter. He followed Matthew’s serpentine pattern through the people milling about, keeping Matthew’s tan-colored bowler hat in sight. “Matthew, do you see him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I just hope he was able to secure us a place to stay,” Gabriel said.

  “At least our trunks made it just fine,” Matthew said as he and Gabriel walked off toward their luggage stacked near the redbrick wall of the platform under a heavy awning. Gabriel peered into a nearby door and saw a large, well-lit waiting area filled with sturdy benches.

  “I hope we don’t have to spend much time waiting in there,” Gabriel said.

  “We won’t. Ronan’ll be here soon. You’ll see,” Matthew said, his pale blue eyes lit with excitement. He picked up a discarded newspaper and fanned himself as he leaned against the wall. “I never thought it would be so hot high in the mountains.”

  “I meet you in a hotel in Chicago, and, the next thing I know, you’re dragging me into this godforsaken part of the country,” Gabriel said. “I should have insisted we travel to San Francisco.” He hailed an approaching porter for help and only mustered a half smile as the middle-aged man neared.

  “Welcome to Butte, America!” The porter grunted as he helped Matthew and Gabriel lift their heavy trunks onto his carriage. His black suspenders stretched taut over his protruding potbelly, and he moved with an offbeat gait.

  “You seem out of sorts, young man,” the porter said Gabriel’s way. He spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the boardwalk, leaving a chickareed-colored splat on the ground. “Where’re ye headed?”

  “I think downtown,” Gabriel replied after a long pause.

  “Well, seeing as you’re in downtown, you might want to rethink that,” the porter replied with a chuckle. They moved through the waiting room and out to the front of the station into the bright sunlight. “In this city, all good places are up.” He pointed toward the hill, causing Gabriel to turn and stare at the steep streets. They seemed to go up and up for as far as the eye could see.

  “This is an upside-down ki
nd of place, young man. Uptown is our downtown.” The porter chuckled. He glanced at Gabriel. “Now, if you’ve come here for mining, I fear you’ll find it difficult work for someone so tall. Although the Swedes seem able to adjust just fine.” He spat again, barely missing Gabriel’s shoe.

  Gabriel scowled at the man. “We’re newly arrived and uncertain where to go. A friend was to meet us, but he hasn’t arrived. We are undecided if we should wait for him here or find a place to board for the night.”

  “I’d find a place to board. If he’s on his shift, he’s hours yet ’til he’s free. Leave his name with me, and, if he comes looking for you, I’ll send him in the right direction,” the porter said. Gabriel glanced toward Matthew to find him nodding in agreement. “Now, if you was to ask me, I’d recommend a few nights at a hotel near the train depot. Take the time to find where you’ll be working and then find lodging near your mine. It’s best to live near where you work. The days are long, and the weather can be vicious.”

  Gabriel grunted as he looked around at the early September sunshine.

  “You look doubtful now, son. But you’ll know what I mean come November. If you last that long.” The porter chuckled once more to himself. “Now, am I to take this to the Northwestern Hotel?”

  “Is it affordable?”

  “Not so much as a boardinghouse, but it’s better than a hotel in Uptown. At the McDermott, you’d pay a right pretty penny.”

  “We are much obliged for your help, sir,” Gabriel said.

  “You’re welcome, son. My name’s Jedediah Maloney. Jed to my friends. You seem like a good-enough sort. I see your type all the time,” he said. “As for him, he’s all starry-eyed now. Just wait ’til he has to go down the cage the first time.” He shook his head ruefully at Matthew’s wide-eyed wonder.

  They traveled to the nearby hotel with Gabriel helping to push the heavy cart. Gabriel grunted a few times as his side of the cart became lodged in a rut in the unpaved road. He had to exert extra force to propel the cart forward rather than heave its contents to one side and risk the trunks tumbling into the street. A raised boardwalk lined each side of the street, with carts, horses and electric streetcars vying for space. Spindly electric poles sprouted up in front of every other building, with electrical wires connected to each structure. A light strung from sturdy electrical wires hung at every intersection. Gabriel thought the lampposts of Boston were more practical but soon focused on pushing the cart to the nearby hotel.