Unrelenting Love: Banished Saga, Book Five Read online

My Darling Zylphia,

  I’ve never wished to surprise you with my presence more than after reading your last letter. I don’t know what could have led to your insecurity about my affection and love. I want to reassure you that I’ve never loved you more than after I received your last letter. The fact you were willing to express the depth of your feelings to me … There are no words to describe how that made me feel.

  I know you love me. I believe and trust in it. However, to read your desperation to ensure I understood the depths of your affection soothes an ache inside me which I did not know I had. It helps me to know you feel the same as I do, for I could just as easily have written you that letter.

  Every night I dream of holding you in my arm. Every morning I mourn to awaken as I realize you will remain an illusion. No one can take your place for me. You are a singular woman, Zylphia, and I want no other.

  I agree with your father. Never risk your safety and health in an attempt to come to me. I could not bear it if something happened to you. I am considering upcoming travel, but I am uncertain where I will travel to as of yet. I am progressing with minimal benefit from my exercises, and I fear I must accept the limitations I will live with for the rest of my life.

  I miss you, darling, and wait with the greatest expectation to hear about your triumphant art show. I know you will be a wonderful success.

  Your,

  Teddy

  12

  Zylphia sat in the formal parlor, watching as the knickknacks shook with the not-so-distant rumble of the elevated streetcar. A low fire emitted a gentle light to complement the decorative lamps throughout the room. The heavy red curtains were tied back to one side of the large windows, although a thin ivory-colored curtain covered the glass panes, muting any of the day’s light that attempted to enter. Zylphia studied the sketches on the wall but quickly lost interest in their amateurish attempt at art. She sat up straight as she heard footsteps approaching the room.

  Smiling as the short, sullen woman entered the room, Zylphia remained seated. “Hello, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” Zylphia’s smile faded as the woman inspected Zylphia—as though she carried an infectious disease—and remained standing.

  “Might I ask as to the purpose of your visit?” Matilda Russell asked in a glacial tone.

  “I’m Zylphia McLeod, and I’m Lucas’s cousin. I wanted to invite you personally to my art show that will occur in a week. I hoped to have as much family as possible attend my show.” She jolted when the woman gave a discordant bark of laughter.

  “You are no cousin to my son. And you are not my family. He would never have to stoop so low to find a relative.” She looked at Zylphia from head to toe and back again, sniffing with disdain as she noted her mud-splotched shoes, the dirty hem to her navy skirt, and fingernails she was unable to completely free from paint.

  Zylphia lifted her chin, her shoulders straight as she met Matilda’s withering stare unflinchingly. “My cousin, Jeremy McLeod, is married to your daughter, Savannah. In my life, that makes me a cousin to your son. It makes us family.”

  “You McLeods aren’t worth one-tenth of us. You should never have been allowed near my family. Why Sean allowed Gabriel to even speak with his daughter …” She shook her head in disgust. “And then, when that worthless Jeremy enticed my Savannah away from her husband …” She glowered at Zylphia.

  “Yes, a wonderful man by all accounts. I’ve always thought it should be every woman’s goal to be cherished so dearly that the man must beat you to show the depth of his feelings.” Zylphia’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes flashed with her anger.

  “You’re that horrid suffragist. Always sending around those pamphlets, even though they’re unwanted,” Matilda sputtered out.

  Zylphia nodded with pride. “I take great pleasure in my attempt to educate the citizens of Massachusetts—the men and women—that they all have a voice that needs to be heard. That there are intrinsic rights that all people have.”

  “You have no right to come into my home, spouting such revolutionary nonsense.” Matilda slammed her hand onto the back of a nearby chair. “I want nothing to do with the likes of you, and I pray my neighbors didn’t see you enter.”

  “Appearances mean that much to you, don’t they? That you’d consign your daughter to an early death rather than rejoice in the new life she’s found with a wonderful man. That you’d reject your son who’s found joy in his life’s work.” Zylphia shook her head in amazement.

  “You, you who’s never been challenged a day in your life, have no right to judge me and what I’ve done.”

  “I do. I do because it’s women like you who’ve held women back for decades, if not centuries. You care more about what others will think rather than thinking for yourself and future generations. You are so small-minded that you can’t envision a world where you are a man’s equal.”

  Matilda snorted her scorn. “You will never be a man’s equal. The sooner you learn that the better. The laws will always be against you. The social beliefs will always be against you.”

  “Yes, because we can’t vote! Once we can vote, we can enact laws that will benefit us and the causes we espouse. We can vote in women as our representatives. We can change the way society views us because we will have more equal footing.”

  Matilda shook her head in disbelief. “You believe I’ve held women back? You’re deluding an entire generation with your wishful thinking.” She breathed heavily as she pointed a finger at Zylphia. “And when they are older and cynical and nothing has changed, they will look back at the likes of you and wish they’d never met you and that you’d never been born. For you will only bring disillusionment and pain. You will never bring hope. You will never attain your goals. Your lasting legacy will be that of failure.”

  Zylphia paled at the vehemence of her ire. “Mrs. Russell, I believe no more is to be said. I will leave the invitation with you, and I bid you good day.”

  Parthena sat in her parlor, staring at the used teacups, empty pot of tea, and half-eaten tray of tea cakes. She waved to the table as silent footsteps approached, indicating the maid would not be disturbing her if she cleared away the mess. At her husband’s amused laugh, her gaze shot up to meet his. “Oh.” She sighed. “Forgive me.”

  “I’m flattered you think me accomplished enough to remove this and find the kitchen,” he teased.

  She failed to laugh and watched him warily.

  He sat in the seat across from her on the settee. “Who did you have for tea?”

  “My sister, Genevieve, who I’d think you’d consider respectable enough to enter your house.” Parthena sat with rigid formality, her hands firmly clasped on her lap.

  “Our house,” he said as he nodded for the maid who hovered in the doorway to enter and remove the tea items. He shook his head at her offer for a fresh pot of tea since he had just arrived. “Did you enjoy your time with her?”

  “She’s well.” Parthena stared at the tabletop, now cleared of the tea items. She refused to elaborate, and long minutes of silence elapsed between them.

  “Parthena, you are not a prisoner here. You are free to do what you like, as long as it does not bring scorn or infamy onto our family name.”

  She glared at him. “That’s just it. I will bring scorn and infamy to you. By my actions. By my beliefs. The struggle for universal enfranchisement won’t be easy nor will it be free of controversy. But I will participate. I will march in October.”

  Morgan’s jaw firmed. “I wish you would see reason.”

  “I have, and that’s why I must act and believe as I do. I can’t imagine you’d want any less for me if you care for me as you proclaim you do.”

  He flushed at her barb and gripped the arm of his chair but exhaled deeply before responding. “I’m sure we will come to an agreement before such a time.” He dug around in his waistcoat, extracting a ring with a large ruby. “I saw this and thought it would look beautiful on you.”

  He handed it to her, and she batted it away
, causing it to land on the floor. “I don’t want baubles. I don’t want flowers. I don’t want meaningless platitudes, Morgan. I want your understanding of who I am as a person. As a pianist. As a woman. Until that point, cease buying material things for me when I know it’s a pathetic attempt to persuade me to change who I am.”

  She rose and stared at him with contempt. “I will never change.” She stormed from the room, leaving Morgan to search for the ring and contemplate his relationship with his wife.

  Zylphia departed the Russell house, her bag clutched to her side as she attempted to paste on a serene expression. She approached the stairs to the Washington Street elevated train and waited at the base of them, her thoughts roiling. Every time her mind replayed a bitter comment from Mrs. Russell, Zylphia formed a comeback. She kicked the base of one of the steps at her inability to barely form a coherent sentence to rebut the horrid woman’s last attack.

  She jumped as a hand tapped her on the shoulder. “Flo!” Zylphia clasped her friend’s hand, and they walked down Washington Street to a corner a few blocks from the large Catholic church.

  Zylphia pulled out pamphlets written the previous day, extolling the benefits of full enfranchisement and discounting the Antis’ arguments about concerns related to loss of chivalry toward women. The pamphlets had a drawing of a blue-and-yellow-colored bird with the words Votes for Women emblazoned down the yellow belly and under the feathers of the bird. The sheet included information about donations and how to obtain a metal bird to display at home.

  Florence grabbed Zylphia’s sheet. “Where did you come up with this idea?” She traced the bird and smiled at it.

  “At one of the latest meetings, we decided we wanted to have something decorative to send out to our supporters. I came up with the design and visited Richard at the forge. It was rather easy for him to prepare a mock-up.” She shared a smile with Florence. “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful. I love it.” Florence smiled, shaking her head ruefully. “No wonder Richard said you had a surprise for me today, and he seemed pleased with himself.”

  They shared a laugh as they approached people, handing out pamphlets to them. Most stuffed them in their bags or pockets; some flung them on the ground, while a few took them and then tossed them in the nearby garbage bin.

  One man stopped and berated them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. Standing on the street corner, like a woman peddling her wares. Your husbands must want nothing to do with you.” He looked pointedly at Zylphia, who didn’t have a wedding ring. “Although you don’t have one and will never have one.” He spat on the ground at their feet and walked on by.

  Florence raised her eyebrows as she shared a long look with Zee. “Always pleasant when interacting with the public.” She smiled at the next man, who was apologetic for the previous man’s antics, although noncommittal about his intentions to vote for universal suffrage.

  After an afternoon’s worth of handing out pamphlets, Florence suggested they have a cup of tea before she headed home. They entered a small tea shop and sighed with contentment to no longer be on their feet. After ordering tea and a piece of cake each, Florence interrupted Zylphia as she began to speak about further canvassing and promotional endeavors. “No, Zee. You will tell me what is bothering you. Have you heard disturbing news from Teddy?” She reached out and patted Zylphia’s hand softly a few times.

  “No, thankfully. As far as I know, he is well. I visited Lucas’s house. I wanted to meet his mother and hopefully his father, and to invite them to my art show.”

  “Oh, dear,” Florence said as she prepared a cup of tea for each of them. “I imagine it was a singularly unpleasant encounter.”

  Zylphia laughed mirthlessly. “A part of me always thought that Savannah and Lucas exaggerated their mother. Now I know they actually attempted to diminish her vileness.”

  Florence took a bite of her cake, barely noting the sweet almond flavor as she beheld Zylphia’s distress. “You need to understand that whatever she said is complete and utter rubbish.” Florence frowned when Zylphia didn’t readily agree with her. “Tell me what she said to you. I know you’ve been rehashing it in your mind since I met up with you.”

  Zylphia looked away, flushing. “She said the cause was doomed to fail. That I was raising women’s expectations and hopes too high. And that, when they were cynical old women, they’d rue the day they ever met me and wish I’d never been born.” She shrugged her shoulders. “More or less.”

  “That vile woman. Just because she gave up on her dreams and has clung to respectability as though it were her salvation, doesn’t mean she should condemn the rest of us to her limited view of the world.” Florence clasped Zylphia’s hand, glowering when she saw Zylphia battling tears. “She knows what to say to induce the most pain.”

  “What happens if we fail, Flo? It will only prove horrid women like her correct,” Zylphia whispered. She picked up her fork, playing with her piece of cake, rather than eating it.

  Florence sighed. “I know you, Zee. I know the women truly committed to the cause, like Sophie. She’ll never give up. You’ll never give up. I’ll never give up. I might not have a daughter, but I want my nieces to live in a better world. I want a better world.” She smiled when Zylphia took a deep breath and battled away the tears. “We’ll never stop fighting, Zee. You know that.”

  “I know. Please don’t tell others of my doubts. I must remain positive and strong.”

  “But it does you good to be able to discuss your concerns with others. I understand. When your Teddy returns, you’ll have him to turn to.”

  “I’ll always need you and Sophie, Parthena, and Rowena. For you understand in a way a man never could.” Zylphia shared a smile with Florence. “Now, tell me about the boys. How are they liking their new teachers?”

  They spent the remainder of their time together laughing about Florence and Richard’s sons and their antics. When Zylphia hugged Florence good-bye, her spirit was lighter, and Matilda’s words were relegated to the far reaches of her memory.

  A few evenings later Parthena sat at her keyboard, listlessly pressing keys. The discordant notes were almost melodic in their melancholy. She sighed, her vision blurred by tears. She wore a simple at-home dress, and her hair was styled in a lazy braid down her back.

  “If you insist on playing that thing, I’d hoped you could play something resembling music,” Morgan intoned from the parlor doorway. The rich black walnut wood of the small parlor sparkled from a recent waxing and also added to the acoustic element of the room. A large crystal chandelier hung from the central part of the room’s ceiling, while ornate molding decorated the corners and sides of the ceiling. The thick Aubusson rug covering the wooden floors silenced his footsteps into the room.

  Parthena closed her eyes, thankful no tears escaped. “Why are you home?”

  “Why must I explain my presence?” He walked into her parlor and sat down in the one chair not intended for a lady.

  “You can come and go as you like, but you don’t have the right to invade my private parlor.” She slammed her fingers onto the keyboard, provoking a wince from him.

  “This entire house is mine, including this parlor. Including you.” He glanced around the room that had been largely unchanged since his marriage, with the exception of the large piano placed in the window alcove.

  “I am not a possession you own.”

  “I spent enough obtaining you.”

  She failed to see his grimace at his flippant remark. Parthena spun on her piano bench to face him, her momentary sadness replaced by ire. “Yes, let’s discuss just why you were willing to pay so dearly to obtain me when you knew the rumors that I was damaged goods.”

  Morgan steeled his expression into one of indifference and flicked a piece of lint from his immaculately tailored gray suit pant. “I had hoped you’d prove the rumors false. That you’d have enough respect for yourself that you’d resisted succumbing to that defiler’s touch.” His gaze warmed
as he watched her. “However, you seem to have discovered that you don’t despise everything about me.”

  “Against my will,” she murmured.

  His jaw clenched shut at her words. “I’ve never forced my attentions on you, or any woman, Parthena.” When she met his gaze and nodded, he relaxed into his chair. “I’d hoped you’d have settled into your routine as my wife by now.”

  “Did you believe that by discouraging my friends from visiting that I’d adapt faster?” She shook her head with disbelief. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “If you had acceptable friends, I’d have no difficulty inviting them into my house. However, they are disreputable and only destined to bring infamy into our lives. That is not what I want.”

  “What happened to it being our house, as you said a few days ago? It seems you’re done courting me in an attempt to change my errant ways. You’ve returned to who you really are. An overbearing tyrant who has to always be in control.” Contempt laced her tone, and she glared at him as the barb struck. “It’s all about what you want. In your house. How am I supposed to ever feel as though I belong here when you don’t even acknowledge I have a place?” She shook her hand for him to remain quiet. “You say you want me to settle in, but you won’t even allow me to do the things I’ve been trained for. I can’t speak with your cook for fear that I’ll choose a dish you disapprove of. I can’t speak with the maids about the cleaning of the house, because you don’t like to have any change occur. What exactly do you expect me to do?”

  “I expect you to await me when I return, be a gracious hostess when I have guests, and be a willing bed partner when I so desire you,” he snapped. “And I expect that, when I discover you are pregnant, I have no doubt as to its parentage.”

  Parthena sank farther onto the piano bench, her anger seeping away to despair. “You don’t want a partner in life at all, do you? Someone who knows your faults and foibles and still exults in you,” she whispered, brushing a hand down her plain skirt.