Banished Love Page 5

  “Don’t worry so much, Rissa,” Savannah admonished. “Mama is too tired from our time at Aunt Betsy’s to hover outside listening to our jabbering, and the shop’s too busy today for Father or Lucas to join us. We have our privacy.” She squeezed my hand in encouragement. “So, which one is it?” When I remained silent, she said, “My guess is on Gabriel. You had an open and friendly man last time, and what did it get you? I bet you go for brooding and temperamental this time.”

  I looked away for a moment, before meeting her gaze with entreating eyes, silently asking her to be kind. “I don’t know what it is, Sav,” I whispered, pausing, trying to find the words to describe my feelings. “I felt alive again, like I had before, yet also nervous. And I couldn’t understand why he kept staring at me. It made me very uncomfortable. Gentlemen don’t stare.”

  “Oh, this is promising!” Savannah said with a look of triumph. “And when have you ever cared about proper manners? You know we have despaired that you would ever fully master the rules of society.” Savannah looked at me knowingly. “We must find a way for you to see him again. Do you think you could manage another visit? Hmm…no, of course you couldn’t. That would make people talk. You being you makes people talk enough,” she said, stopping to think, biting her lip, deep in thought.

  “Well, there are potential problems. First off, he’s the carpenter you injured. He might not want much more to do with you and your clumsiness. Also I imagine there will be opposition from the family, as he isn’t of the same class if he’s too poor to send for a doctor for himself. He must not be a master carpenter yet? Hmm… Plus you may not find him interesting as he might not be educated enough to even hold a decent conversation. Well, what you consider decent, not the rest of us. However, if you don’t care that he is a carpenter, and he is interesting, why should anyone else?” she concluded, smiling broadly.

  “Sav,” I responded in a serious tone, as a ball of anxiety settled at the pit of my stomach. “You are getting ahead of yourself. I have just met him twice. There is nothing going on between us. I doubt I will see him again.”

  Savannah made a circular motion in the air with her hand that looked elegant rather than vapid, continuing the vein of conversation that most interested her. “That’s exactly my point, Rissa. We must find a way for you to see him again. We’ll have to contrive something!” She leaned back, laughing and clapping her hands together in her excitement.

  At that moment, the parlor door creaked open, and I said a small prayer of thanks for the momentary warning.

  “Savannah, dear,” interrupted a cold, nasally voice. “I do hope you are not planning any more mischief with Clarissa. I doubt she needs your help in that regard.”

  The cultured voice made me shudder. I glanced up to see Jonas leaning against the door, one foot crossed against the other, sneering at me. He was impeccably dressed, his thin frame clothed in fabrics of the highest quality. His sandy-blond hair coiffed with pomade, not a hair out of place. I smiled tightly in his direction in an attempt to feign pleasure at seeing him. He did not move to enter the room but stood there, surveying the two of us.

  “Hello, Jonas,” Savannah demurely called out, extending her hand to him in invitation to join us.

  He entered the room, walking with military precision toward a formal wingback chair. I watched Savannah subtly change: she sat straighter, talked in hushed tones, and became less vivid and vivacious. He sat stiffly in the chair, taking Savannah’s hand, and stared at me thoughtfully.

  “Have you extricated yourself from this latest mess yet, Clarissa? I would hate for you to have to continue to associate with such people for long.”

  “I can understand your concern, Jonas, but really you must quit being such a snob,” Savannah chided. “Clarissa will do what she must, and we will all be happy for her.”

  Jonas studied Savannah intently, attempting to decipher the full meaning of her statement, then shook his head ruefully and half smiled at Savannah. “You are the only person I know who can continuously speak in riddles.” A trace of warmth had finally entered his voice as he addressed Savannah. He again glanced at me with icicle-cold eyes, speaking with his customary chill. “I hate to interrupt your reunion, but Savannah and I must attend a previously agreed upon engagement. Savannah, we must leave soon, and you need to tidy your appearance.” He pointedly glanced at her hair, which had come loose from its pins. Savannah agreed, blushing to have been seen thus, and turned to me.

  “Rissa, it has been so good to see you again. Will you be at home for supper tonight? I thought I would come by to visit everyone, and to congratulate your father and Mrs. Smy…er, Mrs. Sullivan. Let’s continue our conversation then,” she concluded with a wink and a grin. I leaned over to give her a half hug, after which she rose and quietly left the room.

  Jonas remained sitting in the parlor, relaxing in the high-backed chair with his legs crossed, watching me intently. I quietly met his gaze, refusing to break the silence. Finally he spoke. “I have tried to determine for quite some time now why you and Savannah are so close, and it remains a mystery to me. Do you have any insight into your relationship, Cousin Clarissa?”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself at being called his cousin and said, “I believe it is because we are the same age and are more like sisters than cousins. I am as close to her as to my own brothers.”

  He continued to watch me and nodded his head as though in agreement. “That may be the reason why your relationship started, Clarissa, but you have shown me no insight into why it continues to be such a strong one. You seem as different to me as two women can be. One full of decorum and good manners, the other lacking all common sense and gentility while only causing havoc wherever she goes. I can’t imagine why she continues to associate with you.” With that, he flicked a piece of imaginary lint off his trousers, uncrossed his legs, arose and left the room. A few moments later, I heard Savannah and Jonas call out their good-byes.

  As I continued to sit in the parlor, thinking over the last exchange with Jonas, Uncle Martin entered. Concern flashed in his brown eyes, and he rubbed the ridge of his slightly crooked nose.

  “Ah, they’ve left then,” he said. “Let’s have a cup of tea, and then why don’t you stay for dinner, and you can tell me all about the visit to see Mr. McLeod.”

  I was slow to respond, envisioning a conflict-free meal with Uncle Martin, Aunt Matilda and Lucas. I shook my head regretfully. “I wish I could stay, Uncle, but I know I should return home soon. Mrs. Smythe expected me to return home after today’s visit. She’ll be angry enough I came here for a visit.” I was unable to hide the remorse from my voice.

  He nodded, appearing to understand. “Before you depart, tell me. How did the afternoon go?” he asked with thinly veiled curiosity.

  I settled into my seat as I described the afternoon. “We went to the North End and Mr. McLeod’s home, Uncle Martin. His brother answered, and I soon realized that Mr. McLeod is still quite ill. He continues with terrible pain in his head from the fall.”

  “I would have thought he’d be improved by now.”

  “I was very upset, Uncle, and insisted on a doctor. At first they declined one, but when I insisted that we would pay the doctor’s bill, they accepted.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” he said. His chocolate-brown eyes darkened slightly with puzzlement. “I am surprised Lucas did not think of that first.”

  “There was quite a bit of tension in the air, Uncle,” I said, waving my hands about, trying to explain the mood of the room.

  “Was there?” inquired Uncle Martin. “I wonder why? I shall discuss this with Lucas.” We stood and walked down the stairs together toward the store. He seemed to place the injured Mr. McLeod out of his mind as we entered the storefront. The store had closed for the day, and I knew Aunt Matilda would wait supper for him.

  “Clarissa, I need your help with a project for Savannah,” he said as he helped me into my coat, handing me my hat. “Can you come by the store in t
wo days, prepared for a bit of an adventure?”

  “An adventure?” I asked. “Haven’t I already had enough of one?”

  “One not caused by you,” he stated, watching me with amused, patient eyes.

  “As long as you promise it will not wreak havoc on my life.”

  “I promise,” Uncle Martin replied with a laugh, ushering me out the door toward home.

  CHAPTER 5

  I HURRIED TO UNCLE’S STORE after work. The air felt heavy and humid, as though it wanted to rain, and the wind on my cheeks felt like shards of ice. Any hint of spring from the previous week had disappeared. March always seemed interminable in Boston, and it was one of my least favorite months. The only consolation was that the air held a briny smell, as though I were walking next to the ocean, and I inhaled the scent appreciatively.

  As I entered the store, I smiled at Lucas and Uncle Martin working behind the linen counter. Lucas turned to attend a customer who entered after me, and I moved toward Uncle Martin.

  He winked at me and mouthed shh. After he retrieved his overcoat from his office, he shrugged it on and held out his elbow for me. “Ready, Clarissa?”

  I smiled in agreement.

  “Where are you going?” Lucas asked in a hushed tone as his customer debated between three fabrics.

  “I wanted to spend a little time with Clarissa, and she came by this afternoon so we could go for a stroll. If you need extra help manning the front, call your mother.” Uncle Martin smiled toward Lucas and the waiting customer, donning his hat as he opened the door and ushered me outside.

  We walked the short distance to the trolley stop and boarded one headed toward the North End. There were plenty of seats available, and Uncle and I sat on the hard wooden benches, slipping forward and back with the lurching movement of the trolley. “What sort of adventure are we having, Uncle Martin?”

  “All in good time, Clarissa. All in good time.” We disembarked at the Haymarket Square stop, and I stood paralyzed with fright at the thought of crossing the street. The trolley stop was in the middle of the bustling square where numerous roads met. Horses, carts and other trolleys passed in a constant flow of traffic.

  “Uncle, how will we ever traverse here?” I gripped his arm as he began to walk.

  “We will be fine. Just keep moving. And whatever you do, don’t fall!”

  I clasped his arm tighter with both hands and followed him into the traffic. In a matter of moments, he had circumvented a team of draft horses and a fine private carriage, and we stepped onto the sidewalk moments before another trolley passed.

  I heaved a sigh of relief to be on the sidewalk. Uncle Martin patted my hand and began to walk more quickly. I did too to keep up and soon found myself short of breath.

  We headed up Canal Street, a side street packed with commercial buildings. A few fine carriages made their way down the street, but the main traffic consisted of delivery carts pulled by mules or draft horses. Wagons and carts lined the sides of the road, with men busily loading and unloading the carts with boxes or sturdy flax bags. It seemed as though everyone had a job to do.

  I skirted around a boy with a small pushcart selling pickles out of large barrels. He strained against the heavy weight of the cart but still managed to smile as we walked hurriedly by. An emaciated woman hustled down the boardwalk, trying to hawk sandwiches from her basket. A number of the men paused to speak with her and buy some.

  I turned my thoughts away from the street scene toward Uncle Martin. “I haven’t spoken with Savannah or Aunt Matilda about Aunt Betsy,” I said. “How is she faring?”

  “Her rheumatism is acting up and may prevent her from attending the wedding,” Uncle Martin said with regret. “Savannah and your Aunt Matilda are busy trying to find a solution for her to come see the ‘blessed event’ in person.”

  “She can’t miss the wedding! It wouldn’t be a family event without her.” I remained lost in thought for a few moments. “Quincy isn’t that far away, Uncle.”

  “I know, Clarissa, but she is having more trouble managing stairs, and train travel is becoming difficult.”

  I continued to think about Aunt Betsy, the middle sister between my mama and Aunt Matilda. As a young woman, she had made a brilliant match and married a very wealthy man handpicked for her by her father. However, her one dream had been to have children and a family of her own, a dream that remained unfulfilled. Instead, she had showered her love on her nieces and nephews. I still saw sadness and a sense of wistfulness in her eyes at times, especially when she watched us interact. Uncle Tobias was a kind man, although he appeared somewhat distant, emotionally and physically. I rarely saw them together, and I never saw them hold hands or embrace in any way.

  “Ah, here we are then,” Uncle Martin said. I glanced at the gray stone building, a four-story warehouse with glass windows fronting the street. A closed outer doorway was at the left of the building. “Let’s hope the front door is open.” He pushed open the outer door, motioning for me to enter.

  I stood uncertainly inside the dark, dreary hallway, unsure where to go.

  “Up the stairs, Rissa,” Uncle Martin encouraged. I stumbled over the first step but righted myself quickly and rapidly ascended to the second floor. I noted another set of stairs leading to a third floor and glanced at Uncle Martin. “Just one more set of stairs!” Uncle Martin called out.

  I sighed, turning toward the stairs, clomping up them gracelessly. I was breathless as I arrived at the top. The miniscule landing had one closed doorway and a tiny window. I wandered to it, looking out at the view. “I wish we could see the harbor,” I murmured, but realized Uncle Martin was not paying attention to me. I looked down to watch the people on the street below.

  Uncle Martin knocked on the door, and someone opened it. I stiffened when I heard a familiar baritone answer. I whirled around. “Mr. McLeod!” I gasped, eyes opened wide, mouth slightly agape. I quickly closed my mouth but continued to hold Gabriel’s gaze.

  “Miss,” he said toward me, eyes twinkling with humor. “I had not thought to see you, ah, so soon,” he said. “Mr. Russell, always a pleasure.” He turned toward my uncle, shaking his hand. “Please come into my workshop.” He stepped back, inviting us in.

  Uncle Martin turned to Gabriel. “You remember my niece, Miss Sullivan, Gabriel?”

  He smiled, murmuring, “How could I forget?” He gently massaged the back of his head. I blushed, though in truth felt relief as he appeared much better today than two days ago.

  “Are you improved, sir?” I asked.

  “Yes, miss. I am much improved,” he said. He continued to watch me intensely, finally seeming to remember Uncle Martin and glanced at him to include him in the conversation.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, sir, though I had not thought to see you at my workshop again so soon,” Gabriel admitted. “I assure you I will return to your store to finish the display tomorrow.” He appeared nervous, rubbing the sides of his faded black pants with his hands.

  “Never fear, Gabriel,” Uncle Martin replied, waving his hat to show he was unconcerned. “I know you will finish that display case. It’s that I have another, a secret project, in mind and wanted to discuss it with you privately.”

  Gabriel appeared puzzled, pointedly looking toward me.

  “Ah, yes, and I shall need the assistance of my niece.”

  As I listened to their conversation, my glance took in various saws, a sawhorse and numerous wooden contraptions. A variety of tools hung along one wall within easy reach of what appeared to be a workbench. I slowly meandered toward it, wondering at the numerous holes along the front. The table was tall, hitting Gabriel at midarm and looked to be over six feet long. The left front had drawers at the top with cabinets beneath. The right-hand side was open with a few planks of wood stored below.

  “What is it that is such a secret, sir?” Gabriel asked, leaning against another high table, arms crossed, curiosity lighting his expression.

  “I need a handsomely made,
finely carved piece for my daughter for her wedding,” Uncle Martin said. “When I saw your display, I thought to myself you were the man for the job.” He raised his eyebrows as though expecting Gabriel to disagree. When Gabriel merely continued to watch him, Uncle Martin resumed. “I am thinking a sideboard, in mahogany with rosewood inlay. Something simple, yet spectacular.”

  “Simple, yet spectacular,” Gabriel mused, looking toward me. I met his gaze and then turned away. He shook his head quickly. “Do you have any other ideas about the piece? Do you know the size of the room it will be in?”

  Gabriel strode over to a dust-covered draft table, picking up books and odd pieces of wood until he found a blank sheet of paper. He blew on it to remove the dust, found a pencil and turned toward my uncle.

  “If you would come over here, sir,” Gabriel said, hastily clearing off a pile of wood, pulling out a ruler to begin a rough drawing.

  I inched closer, fascinated to see him at work. He deftly sketched a rectangular sideboard with three long drawers at the bottom. At the top of the base piece, there were three small drawers in a row.

  “I imagine the long drawers on bottom are good for linens ’n’ things,” he said. “And the smaller drawers for silver and other dining room necessities. I should think you’d want them lined with felt.”

  “You disagree, miss?” Gabriel asked. He looked at the beginnings of the rough sketch with a critical eye.

  “No, not at all,” I replied. “I think it is a good design.”

  “Yes, good, but not spectacular,” he mused, continuing to sketch. “I envision a back panel with small shelves on either side leading up to a large shelf along the top. This is where you could display family heirlooms or important china.” He continued to sketch, bringing his words to life. “If you want it simple, I would not carve much into it but allow the rich mahogany to be the main decoration. I would use a minimal amount of molding.” He finished the picture with a small flourish.