Love's First Flames (Banished Saga, 0.5) Page 13

  CHAPTER 3

  AS I WALKED DOWN MY STREET, I noted once again that our home was one of the last on the block occupied as a single-family home. Most were filled with working men with rooms to let and no board provided. Mrs. Smythe often simpered in disdain as the neighborhood became increasingly working class. All of the houses were built in a style similar to mine: simple four-story bow-fronted brick row homes with a basement. Each had steep staircases leading to the front door with intricately carved metal railings. A set of stairs in front of the house led down to the kitchen area, and I often used this door as a means of escape. With that thought, I attempted to banish Mrs. Smythe from my thoughts and to enjoy the day.

  I sighed in contentment to be outside, turning my head up to the blue sky, imagining the street in full bloom with the warmth and rebirth of spring. I envisioned the budding trees, the branches forming a green canopy overhead from which hidden birds trilled. I suddenly tripped on an uneven brick and reentered the present moment again with the last of winter and its barren trees.

  I continued my walk down Union Street before turning right onto the busy storefront-lined Washington Street. Horses pulled carts as their drivers ably avoided streetcars rumbling by on tracks in the middle of the road while numerous carriages lined each side. I glanced down the street at the steel monstrosity being created to elevate the streetcar. It had not yet reached Russell’s, although it would by the end of the year. The huge metal beams glistened in the sun, although the farther it encroached, the darker the street below became.

  I walked along the sidewalk, looking at the windows under large storefront awnings. I passed many familiar businesses: a Chinese laundry, a hat cleaning shop, a coffeehouse. Mr. Jeffries, the tailor, seemed particularly busy this morning, and I nodded to him as I continued toward my uncle’s store.

  I had always loved the store. As a child, I thought it a magical space with all the linen, ribbon and interesting people visiting throughout the day. Although a small shop, Uncle Martin managed to obtain and sell some of the most sought-after linens in Boston. He rejected the idea of ready-made clothes, believing there still existed a market for people to make their own clothes or visit a tailor.

  After entering, I glanced around, absently noting the unfinished display Gabriel had been working on. There were stacks of fine linens along three walls; in front of each was a low glass case. Inside these were ribbons, patterns and the most expensive linens. Lucas, Uncle Martin or Aunt Matilda took turns standing behind the glass cases, waiting on the customers. During busier times, both Uncle Martin and Lucas worked out front together.

  Lucas bounded into the storefront from upstairs, full of energy. “All ready, Rissa?” he asked, his amber eyes filled with good-natured mischief. Lucas wore a well-tailored suit with white shirt, black pants, waistcoat and jacket. He reached for a hat, covering his light brown hair. He and Uncle Martin always wore well-tailored clothes, believing themselves to be walking advertisements for the linens they sold.

  “Let’s go,” I agreed. I linked my arm with his, exiting Russell’s and strolling toward the trolley stop. “Lucas, have you heard that Cameron might be back?” I asked.

  Lucas stopped walking abruptly, staring at me in concern. We were jostled as other pedestrians had to scramble around us. He nodded his apologies to them and then focused his attention on me, studying me with squinted eyes, surprise and concern in his expression.

  “How do you feel about that, Rissa?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “Shocked. Saddened. Disappointed.”

  “Why disappointed?”

  “I want to forget about him, and I thought that at last I was succeeding. I feel that now, two years later, I have the chance to forge a new life and new dreams. I don’t understand why he would reappear again,” I said, my voice laced with bitterness.

  Lucas nodded. “I’m sure we’ll know in time.”

  ***

  “CALM DOWN, RISSA,” Lucas murmured as he sat next to me as I fidgeted on the streetcar. “You will see that he is fine and then you can forget meeting him.”

  I nodded, expelling a pent-up breath at his words. “I wish I had sent a note,” I said.

  “It’s a little late now,” Lucas said as he rose to get off the streetcar at our stop. He held on to my elbow so I would not fall. “And Father would be very upset if we didn’t visit.”

  Lucas led me into an immigrant part of town mainly composed of Italians. Da used to say that the Irish were here in years past but had the good sense to leave. The North End was a virtual rabbit warren of narrow streets, with few traversing the entire neighborhood. The buildings ranged from three to four stories high, many with a storefront on the first floor and living quarters in the upper stories. Small alleys led off the main streets to homes that were so close together it appeared they rarely saw sunlight.

  All thought of the upcoming visit fled as we turned the corner onto Salem Street, and I suddenly found myself in the middle of a street market. I inhaled, closing my eyes, smelling the new, unfamiliar scents wafting from a nearby bakery. It smelled like licorice. People pushed impatiently past us to reach their favorite vendor, muttering in Italian at our slow progress.

  The fresh fruit stalls had their selections perfectly positioned so that I did not dare touch an orange for fear of causing an avalanche to cascade onto the street. We passed by buckets of salted fish, with women haggling in Italian over the price. I watched, fascinated to see how expressive the women were, using their hands and arms to show their displeasure, their voices raised as they argued over a price. I shared a smile with Lucas, enjoying this view into an unknown area of Boston. I nearly tripped a few times on the uneven cobblestones, but the street was so packed I merely stumbled ungracefully into someone else, preventing a fall.

  “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?” Lucas said. “I don’t have cause to come here much with deliveries, but I always enjoy my trips to the North End.”

  We emerged from Salem Street onto a quieter street that almost seemed like an alley. I breathed deeply. Lucas nodded in passing toward a group of men lounging at the mouth of the walkway, taking my arm.

  “How do you know where we’re going?” I asked, breathless from the crowd.

  “I have been to the area before, Rissa,” he said.

  We turned onto a small opening between buildings, walking nearly half a block and entered a tiny courtyard. Another row of houses stood behind those that fronted the main street, faint sunlight permeating the courtyard. Lucas glanced at the number of one of the homes in this hidden row of residences and said, “Ah, here we are,” before gently letting go of my arm and reaching out to knock on the door.

  Suddenly all the pleasure I had felt at the impromptu street market fled, and I felt like I wanted to be ill. Nervous energy raced through me at the thought of seeing Gabriel again. Mr. McLeod, I resolutely told myself. I clasped my hands together, standing poker straight with my shoulders back. I wanted to appear strong and capable, even if I was quaking inside.

  I heard a loud thud and muffled voices from inside the house. Finally heavy footsteps approached. The door slowly cracked open to reveal a tall youngish man with icy-blue eyes, black hair and a fierce frown. I took a small step backward at such a welcome. I couldn’t remember if this was the Mr. McLeod I had injured or not.

  “Please pardon the interruption,” Lucas said in a cold, formal voice, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “But we were hoping to inquire after the health of a Mr. McLeod. He was injured at my father’s store, Russell’s, a few days ago. We wanted to ensure his return to health.”

  The young man’s frown eased with Lucas’s words, and he became curious, glancing from Lucas to me, tilting his head to the side as he looked at me, before smiling. The smile transformed his face from forbidding to very handsome and welcoming. His eyes lit with humor.

  “Aye, Gabe’s had a few rough days, though he’s on the mend now. Please come in.”

  He stepped aside, fu
lly opening the door, and waved us through. He did not offer to take coats or hats but simply waited for us to enter, secured the front door, then led us through a dark, dreary hallway.

  “Richard, who was it? Not Aunt Masterson again?” a deep, melodious baritone called out as we approached the back room. I paused, closing my eyes for a moment in recognition of this voice. A chill raced down my spine in anticipation.

  I opened my eyes to exchange a furtive glance with Lucas, who gave me a quick, encouraging smile as we entered the room. I scanned it, looking for Gabriel, and saw him sitting at a table. As we entered, his eyes focused first on Lucas, and he stared at him with frank curiosity. Then he turned his dulled azure-blue eyes to me, and ruefully shook his head and continued to watch me in apparent fascination. At that, Lucas stepped in front of me, attempting to block me from view. Annoyance swept through me, and I quietly sidestepped Lucas, allowing myself to see the room and Gabriel.

  Gabriel sat in a sturdy chair in a clean but threadbare gray shirt and black pants. His thick ebony hair was disheveled, and his cheeks and chin were darkened with day-old stubble. The man who had led us here walked to the rear wall. They both remained silent.

  I continued to stare about the large multipurpose room, curious, and attempted to dispel my nervousness. Along the far wall, there was a tiny clean window, overlooking what appeared to be a rear garden. Near this window there was a kitchen area with a small stove and open shelves over the sink to hold plates and bowls. Along the left side of the room was a fireplace, with a small perfunctory fire smoldering in the grate. It did not give off much heat, as the room maintained a damp coldness.

  Along the right wall were bookshelves, filled to bursting with tomes that appeared to be well tended with little or no dust visible. In the center of the room I saw a finely wrought square wooden table with three chairs, big enough for tall men to sit comfortably, with Gabriel occupying one of them. Finally along the fourth wall was a small settee covered with blankets. That wall also contained the door through which we had just entered. A tattered rug lay in front of the settee. A black-and-white cat curled up on one of its many blankets, blinking open its eyes to study the new arrivals.

  “So, you finally decided to come and see if I survived?” Gabriel asked, a trace of amused bitterness in his voice after watching my silent perusal of his home.

  I was startled at his words, not knowing what to say. He didn’t look ill, sitting in his chair. I returned his gaze, mesmerized, searching for the proper response. Lucas forestalled anything I might have said.

  “I am Lucas Russell, and I’m here on behalf of my father to inquire after your health.” Lucas spoke in his most proper voice and accent. I glanced at him worriedly, softly biting my lower lip, as he rarely spoke in such an unfriendly tone.

  Gabriel watched him with squinted eyes, taking in his well-tailored fine linen clothes and highly polished shoes. Gabriel nodded once, as though in understanding.

  “Begging your pardon, miss and sir, for not getting up,” Gabriel replied, in an equally formal tone, all trace of amusement gone. “I continue with a headache, and I still can’t see straight when I’m standing.” A wisp of a smile crossed his features as he waved toward me. “Thanks to the disaster known as a person standing beside you currently, sir.”

  I flushed.

  I gripped Lucas’s arm, silently indicating I wanted to speak. I nodded toward Gabriel, attempting to disarm him and charm him. I noted again another small smile lurking around his mouth as he studied me. I moved toward the table and Gabriel, needing to ascertain for myself how much he continued to suffer from his injury.

  “You must allow me to apologize for the harm and pain I have caused you, sir—” I stopped short in front of him, examining him with worried eyes. “I have never before hurt anyone in one of my, ah…” My voice trailed off.

  Gabriel had watched my approach warily, leaning away as I neared. “Again, begging your pardon, miss, I do not want to be in too close proximity to you. Especially while you are in motion.”

  I heard a snigger from the man who had let us in and sent a frown in his direction.

  I gritted my teeth in frustration and moved toward the back window, glancing outside. Sunlight streamed into this room. The two buildings that should have abutted the rear of this one were missing. The empty space in the back, which I had originally thought consisted of a garden, was two empty weed-filled lots.

  I stared at the scene outside, surprised to see washing hanging out to dry. I marveled at his neighbors’ apparent lack of inhibition in displaying their clothes, including their most intimate apparel, for all to see. A small smile tugged at my mouth to see a tiny multicolored, though worn, pair of baby’s booties hanging out to dry. It seemed whimsical to me, the incongruity of them hanging next to a large pair of men’s faded gray working pants.

  “You find my neighbors’ wash entertaining, miss?” Gabriel asked in a flat voice.

  I turned toward him with a frown. Uncertainty spread through me, self-doubt quickly replacing the pleasure I had felt upon admiring the innocent domestic scene moments before. I looked away and shook my head in denial. “No,” I contradicted him. “Not amusement. Pleasure.”

  I turned back to face him in time to see shock flit through his eyes before he masked his expression. I admired his ability to hide his feelings.

  “So, you’re the infamous sister,” called out the other man, the one who had answered the door.

  He stood, leaning against the back wall, avidly watching our interaction. He pushed away to move toward me. I looked up and up as he towered over me. He appeared not to want or need to hide his expression, and watched me with open fascination. “You don’t look like a walking disaster,” he said in an amicable tone. “Though Gabe suffered enough on your account.”

  “I am sorry to hear that you know of my, ah…”

  “Your lack of grace?” the man asked with a friendly smile. “You are quite famous at my smithy, thanks to Colin’s frequent visits. His tales of your latest misadventures are some of our favorites. I just never imagined you’d end up harming Gabe.”

  I blushed at Colin’s lack of discretion.

  The man reached out his hand to shake mine, saying, “My name is Richard, and I am the middle McLeod brother.”

  I detected a note of pride in his voice at the name McLeod. He and Gabriel shared the same height, blue eyes and black hair; though if I were honest, I would say that Richard was the more handsome of the two.

  I nodded an acknowledgment, belatedly taking his hand. I waited for Lucas to provide the formal introductions for me, as was proper. Lucas, however, remained stubbornly mute, engaging in a silent staring match with the elder brother. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I spoke up.

  “My name is Clarissa Sullivan,” I said to the two McLeod brothers, “of the unfortunate mishaps.” The last was said with a small, regretful smile. I brushed at a wisp of hair that had come loose and tucked it behind my ear. I continued to glance around the room, looking at everything but Gabriel McLeod or his brother.

  “Nice to meet you,” Richard responded, smiling, flashing a dimple in his left cheek, seemingly entertained by our visit. “I know your brother well,” he said. He continued to smile, watching me with a similarly intense gaze as his brother.

  I studied him. Tattered suspenders held up a pair of faded black trousers, the worn dark blue shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. No amount of polishing would make his shoes black. He wore no tie, vest or collar, and his shirt was slightly open at the neckline, revealing a small tuft of black hair. He appeared more casually dressed than any man I had ever seen. I tried not to stare at him, but his beauty and evident charm intrigued me.

  “Nice to formally meet you,” Gabriel said, interrupting my perusal of his brother. At that, I glanced over and met Gabriel’s eyes again. There remained a trace of humor in them, but, more than anything, I saw pain. He appeared to be doing his best to conceal the discomfort, but it was
evident.

  I gentled my voice and addressed him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He closed his eyes, preventing me from being further entranced by his piercing blue eyes.

  Richard spoke up for his brother. “He hates to admit it, Miss Sullivan, but he is in considerable discomfort.” Worry furrowed his brow. “I had thought he would be recovered by now, but he can still barely stand up without help, and he has terrible dizzy spells.”

  Gabriel spoke, interrupting Richard in a gruff voice. “Don’t exaggerate so, Rich. I’m fine. Just a little ache. Nothing time won’t heal. I’ll be back to work soon.”

  I looked from one to the other, unsure who to believe. I turned toward Lucas, but he remained determinedly silent. “Let me look at your head,” I entreated, then moved toward him, but he scooted his chair away.

  “Again begging your pardon, miss, I would rather you didn’t,” he said, eyeing me warily. I noted sweat on his brow, the clenching of his jaw. I reached out as though to feel his brow for fever but stopped myself in time, realizing it would not be proper. I stood stooped over him, studying him.

  “You are truly unwell,” I whispered. “Lucas, we must find a doctor,” I commanded, turning to look at Lucas, who rolled his eyes at me in apparent exasperation.

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Richard blurted out, flushing.

  “I thank you for your concern, miss,” Gabriel gasped out, his gaze momentarily unfocused. “You have done your duty by ensuring I survived my…misadventure with you. I am sure you have much more important matters to fill your time.”

  I frowned at him, uncertain why he would refuse a doctor’s help.

  “Mr. McLeod,” I entreated once more, reaching out and gripping his hand. “I really believe you need to see the doctor.” I saw shock flit through his eyes as I took his hand. “Please let me call for one for you?”

  “No, miss, I’m sure I’ll be just fine,” he replied. “You’ve done your duty here. You can forget this last accident ever occurred.”