Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four Page 12

  “Melinda?” Patrick asked in confusion. “I thought she was in an orphanage?”

  “Oh, she was. For a few weeks back in 1903. We refused to allow her to be raised there. We adopted her, formally, five years ago.”

  “I see,” Patrick said, his gaze raking over Melinda, from her yellow curls, blue eyes, pale skin to her lanky frame and polished black shoes. He cleared his throat. “I’m your brother. Patrick.”

  She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, startling him. He patted her on her shoulders a few times before she backed away. “I’m so excited to have another brother! Can you tell good stories like Colin? Do you like to—”

  “Melly, don’t overwhelm your brother the first moment you meet him,” Savannah said, her eyes alit with droll humor. “Come along. I’m sure there’s plenty to do in the kitchen, and we want to help Minta and Rissa.”

  “Don’t tell me Rissa’s in the kitchen?” Patrick burst out.

  All of them, including Billy on the rocker, laughed.

  “Yes, she is,” Savannah said. “You’d be surprised, Patrick. After twelve years of marriage, she’s become a proficient cook. Well, except for pies.” Savannah winked at Billy.

  Colin arrived with a wagon, Ronan and an elderly man beside him. “Patrick and Jer, get over here and help,” Colin bellowed as he jumped down.

  Colin extracted Ronan’s wheelchair from the back, put it on the porch, and Patrick and Jeremy carried Ronan the short distance and up the few stairs. Then they turned toward the wagon. “That’s Mr. A.J. Pickens. He’s one of Clarissa’s oldest friends here. He’s a bit ornery, but you’ll come to love him like we do.”

  They helped him down, and Patrick gasped as Mr. A.J.’s cane found his shin.

  “That’s for leavin’ my Missy to think ye were dead an’ buried all these years. Ye darn fool.” He shook his head in consternation and thunked his way up the walk, heaving himself up the stairs.

  “See? He likes you already,” Colin said with a laugh. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Patrick entered Colin’s house to find the children playing, the adults laughing and telling stories. He stood in the entranceway of the living room, marveling at such simple, essential human interactions.

  “Just because you’ve been gone for years doesn’t mean you don’t belong in there, arguing like the rest of them.” A man’s deep voice rumbled behind him.

  Patrick jolted and met a distantly familiar, amused gaze. “Gabriel McLeod.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Patrick.”

  Gabriel pushed Patrick inside, and soon he found himself in the midst of all the conversations. He found, when he was with Ronan and Mr. A.J., Patrick’s input wasn’t much required, and he could simply enjoy their banter and ridiculous sense of humor. He watched as the women set the table, moving from the kitchen to the dining room, all while keeping an eye on the children. He watched Jeremy tease Savannah and noticed Gabriel settle into the living room, away from Clarissa.

  “I know yer her big brother,” Mr. A.J. said in his attempt at a whisper after he watched Patrick’s gaze dart around the room. “But don’t interferee.” He evidently enjoyed drawing out the EE sound of the word.

  “Interfere?”

  “He probably means both interfere and referee,” Ronan muttered. “He has a way of making up words that are ridiculous but wholly appropriate.”

  “Ah, there she is,” Mr. A.J. said in his wispy way. “Pester, ’bout time ye showed up.”

  Ronan leaned in and whispered to Patrick. “Hester Loken is the new librarian here. She’s been in Missoula over six months, but we still consider her new. She and Rissa had some mighty battles, but they’ve made their peace. For some reason Mr. A.J. likes her and has insisted she be adopted into our little group.”

  “And just in time,” Savannah said as she moved toward Hester and gave her a hug. “Let’s wash up and settle for dinner.”

  Hester brushed at her red hair, her fair skin sprinkled with freckles. Pale blue eyes watched the chaotic scene with trepidation, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth indicative of either frequent frowning or smiling. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed Savannah into the kitchen, her navy skirt and starched cream-colored shirt oddly formal in the informal family gathering.

  Soon Savannah herded the children to the kitchen to wash their hands, and they sat, adults and children, crammed around Colin’s dining room table. Colin speared Clarissa with a glare before she could mutter an “I told you so” about the tight quarters. Savannah and Melinda giggled. Patrick stole surreptitious glances at Melinda, which made her squirm in her seat next to Savannah.

  “How are things in Butte, Patrick?” Gabriel asked. He laid his arm along the back of Clarissa’s chair, and she straightened to avoid any contact with him.

  Patrick watched the interaction with confusion before answering, “Difficult. The Company, Amalgamated Copper, does not want anything to do with Socialists or the IWW. The Company believes this new card system they’ve created will help weed out miners they perceive as troublemakers.” He shook his head as he considered the Industrial Workers of the World, their link to Socialist and anarchist beliefs, and their goal of altering capitalism to favor the worker with wage democracy.

  “But you’re not convinced,” Jeremy said with an amused glance toward Gabriel and Ronan.

  “I think it’s not nearly as simple as they make it out to be.”

  “It never is, young man,” Mr. Pickens wheezed. “’Specially when those like the IWW are involved.”

  “Do you remember when they came to Missoula?” Savannah asked with a shake of her head.

  Patrick furrowed his brow inquisitively.

  Savannah opened her mouth, as though she were to speak, and then settled into her chair and nodded to Mr. A.J.

  “When those Wobblies steamed into town, they filled the wind with more hot air ’n woulda been needed to fire one o’ Colin’s bellows for a day. Never seen the likes of our good mayor so puffed up! An’ all they was doin’ was standin’ on a street corner, proclaimin’ their right to be there.”

  Mr. A.J. thumped his hand on the table, rattling the silverware and china, as there wasn’t enough room to thump the floor with his cane. “Readin’ such things as the Constitution!” He shook his head and then laughed with glee. “Made those stuffed shirts seem right ridiculous when the basic laws o’ the land were spouted back to ’em.”

  “What happened to them?” Hester asked.

  “They were arrested one by one. Placed in a jail cell, under a livery, with horse dung as their companion.” Mr. A.J. shook his head. “But did that stop ’em? No. They filled those boxcars an’ poured into town like a herd o’ buffalo. Filled the jail too, until a proper criminal had nowhere to sleep.”

  Patrick laughed and shook his head. “Those men must have been good orators.” He gasped as Clarissa kicked him in the shin. “What?”

  “That’s just like my Missy. Always defendin’ her womenfolk. The best orator was a woman. A Miss Flynn. Her voice carried better’n any man’s and was more convincin’ too. By the time she finished speakin’, she made ye ashamed for ever bein’ proud of havin’ personal success. Ah, a fine-lookin’ lady. Reminded me of my Missy.” He paused a moment as he squinted and looked down the table. “And of my Pester.”

  “Now, Mr. A.J.,” Clarissa said, holding up her hands in protest. “I’ve never been a Wobbly, and I don’t plan to join that party.”

  Hester nodded her agreement.

  “Not sayin’ ye were, Missy. Jus’ sayin’ there was somethin’ ’bout her fire that reminded me of ye.” He looked at Clarissa with pride.

  “I think that’s enough storytelling, Mr. Pickens,” Hester said, a flush rising up her neck. “The IWW will never be considered appropriate suppertime conversation.”

  “Now don’t become all squeamish, Pester,” Mr. A.J. said.

  Miss Loken blushed when hearing his nickname for her.

  “They
’ll wreak havoc, even if only for the short term, if they can,” Gabriel said.

  “It’s not that I don’t agree with some of what they say. It’s their methods,” Jeremy said.

  “I worry what it will all mean for the miners. The threat of IWW activity is making the bosses in Butte uneasy.” Patrick played with his unused silverware.

  “As they should,” Clarissa said with a wry smile. “Heaven forbid the bosses lose a penny. Or have to share any more with the workers who bring forth the riches for them.”

  “See, there’s my Missy.” Mr. A.J. beamed his toothless grin at her.

  “Enough serious talk,” Savannah said, once the room fell silent for a few moments. “Let’s clear the table and have coffee and dessert.”

  “I’m looking forward to Araminta’s pies!” Colin said with a laugh. He winked at Minta, and she rolled her eyes at him.

  The women rose, preparing for their after-dinner gossip session in the kitchen, ushering the men and children from the dining room.

  Patrick sat in the living room while Savannah, Araminta, Clarissa and Melinda cleaned up the dining room table. The women had shooed away Hester, saying they wouldn’t allow her to help as she was a guest. Hester sat in a chair with her hands clenched, hastily hidden in her skirts, as she listened to the women laugh and talk in the kitchen. Gabriel and Jeremy were outside on the front porch while Colin chatted with Ronan and Mr. Pickens at the dining room table.

  “They don’t intentionally exclude you,” Patrick said, settling more comfortably on the sofa.

  Hester sat upright and forced a calm expression to her face. “Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s evident I’m little more than a guest.”

  “I’d think it would be a privilege to be a guest here.” Patrick watched a flush climb her neck. “Unless you have such a plentitude of friends that their consideration for you and their desire to see you feel honored holds little meaning.”

  “Of course I’m honored … privileged to be here. These are generous, welcoming people, and I hope to call them friends.”

  “Is it me then, Miss Loken, that you find unsettling? For I can leave you in peace if you prefer.”

  “No, of course not.” She slumped in her chair, her misery evident.

  “What has you upset? Truly?”

  She met his intense gaze and shook her head. “Nothing more than mere foolishness. It will pass.”

  “Loken is Scandinavian, is it not?”

  “Norwegian.” She smiled as Araminta brought her a cup of tea.

  He studied her for a moment. “I have a friend in Butte who’s Finnish. But he’s tall and blonde, not a petite redhead.” He watched as her blush intensified. “I beg your pardon. I’m unaccustomed to polite company. Where did you come from when you decided to move to Missoula?”

  “I applied to numerous positions and Missoula’s was the best offer,” she said, setting her teacup down as it rattled in her hands. At his nod for her to continue, she cleared her throat. “I traveled here from Minneapolis.”

  “So you—”

  “Patrick, quit acting like an inquisitor,” Clarissa chastised as she and the other women approached. “Minta told me in the kitchen how you wouldn’t stop pestering Hester with your questions.” She smiled as Hester gave her a grateful glance.

  Clarissa sat next to him on the sofa and dragged their sister Melinda to sit between her and Patrick. He stiffened as Melinda bumped into him and saw Savannah frown at his reaction. He tried to smile and relax again. Luckily, Melinda curled into Clarissa and ignored him. Jeremy and Gabriel joined them, with Jeremy standing behind a seated Savannah, gently stroking a hand over her shoulders. Gabriel stood to one side of the room, leaning against the window frame.

  “We’re fortunate to have Miss Loken here to run the library,” Clarissa said.

  “Mmm,” Colin murmured, rising from the table. “We’re thankful you’ve both finally made peace.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Clarissa argued, glaring at Colin over her shoulder and earning a wink from him.

  “Bad enough. I’m glad to no longer feel guilty for signing out a book from the library and then hiding it from you when you visited,” Savannah said. She laughed at Clarissa’s gasp.

  “I’m sorry my transition here wasn’t a smooth one,” Hester said, her hands gripping her skirts again.

  “Ha, there ain’t been no word invented for how awful yer arrival went,” Mr. A.J. said with a cackle. “But that’s all right, Pester. We like ye just fine now.”

  “Not that that’s saying much,” Ronan said with a laugh. “We’re just a bunch of misfits who banded together to form our own sort of family. It’s too bad Seb and Amelia aren’t here too. Then we’d all be together.”

  “And Sebastian could play the fiddle for us,” Clarissa said with a sigh of longing.

  Colin nodded his agreement.

  “Who are they?” Hester asked.

  “Our friends who live in Darby. He runs a lumber mill there,” Gabriel said.

  “Amelia came here from Butte with us,” Ronan said with the smile of one momentarily lost in memories. “Seb’s her second husband. Her first husband, Liam, was our friend in Butte.”

  Patrick looked around the living and dining rooms filled with adults, knowing his nieces and nephew were most likely asleep on his bed, and a deep sense of gratitude filled him. He shook his head to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “For someone who’s been alone as long as I have”—he cleared his throat of its raspiness—“I’ll take your version of family any day.”

  Colin clasped him on the shoulder. “It’s good to finally have you home, brother.”

  Patrick nodded, too overwhelmed to say much. “I won’t stay away so long again.”

  “You better not, or we’ll come and hunt you down,” Clarissa said, causing everyone to laugh.

  Patrick squeezed her outstretched hand, joining in with their laughter and fully feeling a part of their group at last.

  11

  Gabriel climbed the stairs to the space over his workshop, his boot heels sounding on the wooden steps as he reached the space where he and Clarissa had lived when first married. The gentle tapping as Ronan cobbled a shoe and the sound of sanding as Jeremy worked on a rocking chair faded away as he entered their old home. As he stood at the edge of the kitchen, looking down the length of the room, memories flooded him. Of Clarissa poking her head into the oven with a hopeful smile as she looked to see if one of her latest dishes was edible. Of Clarissa sitting in her rocking chair, knitting late at night as they talked or he read to her. Of Clarissa writing at the desk they shared. Always of Clarissa.

  He closed his eyes to stop the barrage of memories and emotions. He opened his eyes to see the space, no longer filled with the detritus of a life lived but with boxes and larger pieces of furniture to be sold. All their own furniture was now in their house on the other side of the river.

  He moved toward the far end of the room, into what used to be their bedroom, and eased himself onto the windowsill. He could hear faint noises from the street below—the passing wagons, bickering voices and the rare sounds of an automobile.

  “Gabriel,” Aidan said in his low, authoritative voice. “I’m surprised to find you here, rather than at home or working.”

  “I wanted privacy.”

  “I suspected as much, seeing how you acted a few nights ago after our arrival dinner. Delia was quite offended by your cold welcome.” Aidan and Gabriel exchanged glares. “However, when I learned you were up here, I decided to invade your solitude.” He shared another long, stern look with Gabriel. “It’s about time someone did.”

  Aidan moved into the loft, maneuvering around boxes until he stood near Gabriel. He scooted over so that Aidan could also perch on the windowsill, but he settled on a trunk facing Gabriel instead. “I wish I could say you looked well, Gabriel. But I can’t. You look like hell. If possible, you look worse than a few nights ago.”

  Gabriel flinched at his uncle’s as
sessment, knowing he would not sugarcoat his impressions to make Gabe feel better. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re far from fine, and you know it. From all accounts, you’re increasingly distant, barely speaking with anyone. Richard told me that he couldn’t believe how things had changed between you and Clarissa when he saw you in March. That was four months ago, and I’m saddened to see you haven’t improved.”

  “Dammit,” Gabriel said, rising to pace around the items he and Jeremy had made to sell.

  Aidan rose to settle against the windowsill, leaning against it, his gaze tracking Gabriel’s movements. “There’s no shame in missing your son, Gabriel. There is shame in causing undue suffering for those who also loved him.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Gabriel hissed.

  “Dare what? To presume to understand the agony of losing a child?” Aidan’s eyes flashed with long-buried torment. “Do you think all this self-flagellation will bring him back?”

  Gabriel spun toward the exit, but his uncle anticipated that move and leapt to intercede, standing in his way. “No, Gabriel. You aren’t leaving until you make me understand why you are acting like this. Why you won’t comfort Clarissa. Why you fail to show any joy at your children’s accomplishments. Why you leave the house before anyone rises and you return home after they are all abed.”

  Gabriel turned mutinous eyes to his uncle, his blue eyes flashing with desolation and resentment. His cheeks were flushed, and his jaw clenched tight.

  Aidan sighed. “Oh, my dear boy. What happened?”

  Gabriel reared as though struck, but Aidan gripped his shoulders, preventing him from spinning away. Gabriel stuttered out a sigh, and his body shook.

  “Let go, Gabriel. My darling nephew. Beloved of Ian. You can’t continue on thus,” Aidan murmured as a sob burst from Gabriel’s lips. Aidan tightened his hold on Gabriel’s shoulder, and Gabriel collapsed into his uncle’s embrace, heaving sobs onto his shoulder.

  After many minutes, when Gabriel had calmed, Aidan pushed him back onto the windowsill he had vacated. He pulled a small silver flask with an intricate Celtic filigree from his pocket and handed it to Gabriel. “Times like this deserve fortification,” Aidan murmured as he handed it to Gabriel.