Banished Love Page 7
I gripped her hand as she moved past me, stopping her. “Florence! What is there between you and Mr. McLeod?”
Florence closed her eyes wearily. “Nothing but a terrible past, Clarissa.” She opened her eyes, pleadingly. “Not today, Clarissa,” she entreated. “Not today.”
I let her hand go. “Florence, I hate to see you so sad,” I whispered.
Florence stood only a few feet from me, but she held herself as though she were miles away.
I felt an impenetrable wall between us and longed to be able to help my friend.
“You would never understand, Clarissa,” she whispered. “You, who have always had your family around you. You have no idea what it is to be truly alone,” she said wearily, clamping her mouth shut.
I looked into her devastated eyes, reaching out to comfort her, but she shook her head, fighting tears, and fled from the room.
CHAPTER 7
I SAT RELAXING in the Russell family parlor with Savannah. Lucas had gone out with friends, and Aunt Matilda and Uncle Martin were working in the store office, organizing and pricing a new batch of cloth that had just been delivered.
“I envy Uncle and Aunt,” I mused aloud as I sprawled lazily on the faded rose-patterned settee.
“Why is that?” Savannah inquired, almost startled by my statement. She looked up in surprise, interrupting her calm progress on her needlepoint. Her hair was made more strawberry than blond by the glow of the fire.
“Well, they seem so well matched, and she is able to help him with the business. I think it must be a good marriage. They seem very happy,” I said. I sat with my needlepoint on my lap, halfheartedly attempting to work at it but knowing that no intelligible design would ever be discerned when I finished.
“I think that a good marriage is a marriage where the wife is not expected to work, except within the home, of course,” Savannah replied, raising an eyebrow toward me waiting for my response.
“Sav, it’s just you and me here, no Jonas. Is that truly how you feel? Is this all you want to do the rest of your life? Plan dinner parties and work at needlepoint? I think it would be very satisfying to have other things to do with my life.”
“Well, I am not so sure Mother would have the same sentiments as you, Rissa. She wasn’t raised to work, as you well know. Our grandparents’ wealth should have assured her of a life of leisure, not toiling over bolts of cloth. I think our grandparents are shocked at all that she does.”
“Uncle Martin is very respectable.”
“Yes, in his way,” Savannah said. “But he is in trade. You must know how that seems to the grandparents. They are very refined, Clarissa.”
She watched me with a raised eyebrow as I frowned at her further mention of our grandparents. I never liked discussing them. Unlike Savannah, the favored grandchild, I had never been close to them. Their wealth seemed to grow on a daily basis, yet they were remarkably stingy with what seemed truly important to me: their love and acceptance.
I exhaled a long, weary sigh. “I guess the only one of the sisters to make an acceptable marriage in their eyes was Aunt Betsy. For I know that, in their opinion, my mama’s marriage to my da was a mistake.” I glanced at her, daring her to defend them.
“Rissa, you have to look at it from their point of view,” Savannah entreated. “They are genteel, upper-class people. They’ve only become wealthier, more socially important, as the years have continued. They have never understood why our mothers married men beneath them socially and economically. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal when they tell Da at my mama’s funeral that she would have been alive, if not for him? Nothing personal when they tell my brothers and me that we aren’t what they desired when they thought of grandchildren? Nothing personal when they say that, in their minds, it would have been better had I not been born than to live through the scandal of two years ago?” I rasped out, my voice growing louder with each question. I felt the old bitterness, resentments and anger rising in me. I shared a long look with Savannah, daring her to contradict me, but she remained resolutely silent while I took a calming breath.
“Oh, Rissa, I know it hurts, but you must not think too much about what they have said in the past. Deep down I know that they are good people at heart,” she insisted.
“Good people, Sav?” I asked. “Good people don’t treat servants that way, never mind their own families. And why shouldn’t I think about what they have said?” I leaned forward, a red flush on my cheeks, emphasizing my anger. “These are the people I have been instructed my entire life to emulate. And yet I have never felt one moment’s worth of warmth or love from them. Why should I want to be like them? Why wouldn’t they worry about me?” I asked, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes.
“I will not try to defend them to you, Clarissa,” Savannah said as she collapsed against the back of the settee. “I believe that life is easier if you don’t go through it trying to always cause problems or change things. Sometimes it’s best to just accept it the way it is.”
“That’s not living, Sav. You’re already dead if you do that,” I snapped. I moved to rise, ready to go home.
“Rissa, don’t go yet. There are other more pleasant things for us to discuss.” Savannah looked at me with pleading eyes, setting aside her needlepoint, fully focusing on me.
I sat back against the settee, still feeling very tense. I closed my eyes and pushed away the unsettling emotions I felt about my grandparents. Discussing them never failed to upset me, and I silently berated myself for thinking about them.
“Let’s talk about your handsome Mr. McLeod. When are you going to see him again?” Savannah said brightly.
“I saw him today, Sav.” I smiled, unable to hide my joy.
Savannah sat upright, in shock. “Are you telling me that you saw him hours ago, and you’ve sat here for tea and supper, yet this is the first you are telling me of it?”
“We weren’t alone before,” I demurred, grinning. Savannah hated my ability to keep a secret.
“You are impossible!” she cried. “Tell me all! What happened? Did you run into him on the street? I bet he wanted to see you, so he sought you out.”
I laughed again, at last feeling joy at his visit rather than misgivings due to Florence’s reaction. “Uncle Martin has contracted him to make bookshelves for my schoolroom,” I said, unable to hide the excitement from my eyes.
“Oh, really?” Savannah said. “I didn’t think my father was capable of being so forward thinking.”
I stared at her in confusion for a moment and then gaped at her. “Sav, he’s not matchmaking!” I blushed at the thought. “He merely wants me to have my much-needed bookshelves and give a young carpenter work.”
“Think that if you will, Rissa,” Savannah replied with an indulgent smile, “but I know my father, and this is something more than ensuring you receive your bookshelves.” Her grin remained for a few moments before she became worried. “You weren’t alone with him, were you?”
“No. My friend Florence was there.”
“Good choice, Rissa. It’s always best to choose someone less attractive as the chaperone. That way he’ll always notice you.”
I looked up, startled. “You are horrible!” I protested. “Florence is…” My voice trailed off as I pictured Florence. Her impossible-to-control curly black hair, myopic eyes, thin mouth, round face. “Fine, I agree, she may not be a beauty. But she is a special person, always in a good mood, trying to make the best of all situations.”
“Why?” asked Savannah. “She’s like a thousand other poor spinster women living in this city. I see nothing special about her.”
“Well, she’s my friend, and I like her,” I replied. “Not that it, in and of itself, makes her special.” I blew out a breath. “Each one of us is special in our own way, Sav. You just may need a person like Florence someday to help you.”
Savannah scoffed. “I doubt that. Once I marry Jonas, I will have no need for the likes of her.”
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br /> I watched Savannah sadly. “Careful you don’t turn into an insufferable snob, Sav. I’d hate to lose you.”
Her light blue eyes grew round, then she turned the conversation back to Gabriel. “So, tell me more. What was he like? Was he still fascinated by you?”
I giggled, sighing in contentment when thinking about Gabriel. “There’s so much I don’t know about him. But what I do know, I like.”
“When are you seeing him again?” Savannah asked.
“I’m not sure. I think he will come by the school in about a week.”
“I can tell you don’t want to wait that long to see him,” Savannah said as we shared a rueful smile. “I have an idea! Why don’t we find out where his warehouse is—or shop or whatever it is called—and go visit? We can think up some excuse and call around. What do you think, Rissa?” She watched me intently, nearly vibrating with excitement.
“I think that would be the height of impropriety, as you and Aunt Matilda would like to say,” I replied as a nervous tremor thrummed through me. “I’m sure it would be inappropriate for us to look for a carpenter’s warehouse, Sav, and then show up unannounced.”
“I thought you wanted to see him again,” Savannah replied, picking up her needlepoint once more, although I could tell she was upset because she nearly spiked her own finger rather than the cloth with the needle.
“Sav—”
“Rissa, at some point you are going to have to decide that you really do want to have a life of your own and go for it. Are you interested in this man or not? If not, just say so, and that’s the end of it. If you are, I am willing to help. It’s really as simple as that.” She speared me with a ferocious glance, determination in every line of her face. “Yes, I am sure we would be going against what is deemed proper by society, but I’ve never known you to care. And we would be together, so neither of us would be unchaperoned. You helped me with Jonas. I want to help ensure that you are happy. Just tell me what you want, and we’ll do it.” Savannah leaned over and gently grasped my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
I gripped her hand but looked away, fearful that I would cry. “I want to see him again, Savannah, but I am so afraid. What if it is like my last…? I don’t think I could live through that again. It hurt too much,” I whispered, taking a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts and my racing heart.
“Rissa, I have no idea what you truly felt, but I can imagine after witnessing how you suffered. I never knew what heartbreak meant until I saw you live through it. However, you have to have hope that this time will be better. Can you?”
“I just don’t know, Sav,” I murmured. “I like to think of myself as strong and capable, but I feel so weak sometimes.”
“Well, then, let’s be daring and visit Mr. McLeod,” Savannah said sitting up straight and giving me a wink. “At the bare minimum, we will have another adventure to add to our stories to tell our children when they grow up.”
“When should we go, Sav?” I tried to hide the eagerness from my voice, but, at Savannah’s amused glance, I could tell I had failed.
“Why not the day after tomorrow? I will spend some time in Father’s office. Maybe there is a receipt in there for the display. If not, then we will find another way to find his workspace.”
“I’ll ask around as well. Between the two of us, we should be successful,” I said, not wanting to let on that I already knew where his workshop was. I felt my spirits lift and smiled at Savannah, the anticipation of seeing Gabriel again rushing through me.
CHAPTER 8
TWO DAYS LATER, Savannah met me at my West End school, and we walked toward the nearby Haymarket Square area where Gabriel had his business. As we walked, we passed rows of somber, dull redbrick tenement homes. The good weather enticed everyone to be outside; although, with few parks in the area, the options for the children were limited. They played in the streets and on the sidewalks, their mothers on the stoops half watching and enjoying a chance to chat with their neighbors. Most of the women held babies, or little ones clung to their skirts, afraid to join the antics of the older children. I smiled toward them as we passed, knowing I taught some of their daughters.
I gripped Savannah’s arm in nervous apprehension, and she grinned conspiratorially toward me.
“Rissa, you need to calm down, or you will have another mishap,” Savannah warned me.
“Don’t say that, or you will cause me to have one merely by thinking about it!” I pleaded.
We walked down the street, arm in arm, at a sedate pace. Not wanting to garner any undue attention, we had donned our most dreary outer coats and dullest hats, and were trying to be as demure as possible.
“What a lovely spring day,” I said, tipping up my face to the sky for a moment. The late afternoon sun penetrated the narrow, windy streets we traversed, further elevating my mood. I ignored the rancid smells of rotting food and horse dung.
“I doubt it is the sun that has put that bloom in your cheeks, Rissa,” Savannah teased as we emerged onto a larger street bustling with working men and carts pulled by large work horses. We shared a smile as I tried to quell my nervousness at seeing Gabriel again. I had worried about spoiling Uncle Martin’s surprise and, to that end, had sent Gabriel a note warning him of a potential visit.
After entering his building and climbing the flights of stairs, we found the door to his workshop ajar. I could hear low whistling coming from inside. I turned to Savannah. “Maybe I should go in first, as I am the one doing business with him.” Savannah rolled her eyes, although I knew she would be right behind me.
“Excuse me, Mr. McLeod?” I called out in a carrying voice. “I came by—along with my cousin, Miss Savannah Russell—to discuss the bookshelves with you.” I had entered into the workshop a few steps but stopped suddenly.
Gabriel had not heard me. He was busy flattening one side of a piece of wood. He used an object that seemed to whittle it away, little by little. His mouth was drawn up into a frown of concentration, as though he could not afford to have it broken. His arms were extended along a long piece of wood as he slowly evened one side, and I could see rippling muscles beneath the thin linen of his shirt. He stepped back from the wood to peruse his work. He tilted his head to one side, shaking his head as though disappointed in what he saw.
I cleared my throat again. “Ahem.”
He jumped, startled and surprised not to be alone. For an instant I thought I saw alarm in his eyes, but then I saw only pleasure in them as he focused on me. Light streamed in the workshop windows, illuminating the quantity of boards and wood piled to the far side of the room. A fine dust covered everything and seemed to dance in the air when the light hit it. Above his workbench, I saw sketches similar to what he had shown me for the bookcases. Nothing but the large piece of wood he had been working with lay on the workbench.
“Miss, good to see you again. I had thought I wouldn’t see you until next week when I visited the schoolhouse.” He moved toward the door to greet us, smearing wood dust on his brown trousers as he attempted to wipe his hands clean.
“Please pardon the intrusion, Mr. McLeod. I am here with my cousin, Miss Russell, whom I am sure you remember.” I waved vaguely in Savannah’s direction. Sav nodded her head once, attempting to look regal, as she tried not to smile.
“It is no intrusion. Please come in. I will put the kettle on for tea.”
He motioned us to enter the room fully and led us to a table covered in wood dust, tools and drawings. There were a few finished chairs at the table, and he invited us to sit down. He moved drawings away from the chairs and quickly tried to clean off some of the dust there with his hand.
“Please pardon the state of things. I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, although I thought he nearly winked at me as he cleared the table.
“Mr. McLeod,” I asked. “What were you doing just now?” I had a newfound curiosity in carpentry.
“I was planing a board, making it even,” he said, sending a small smile my way.
He motioned to other chairs around the table. “Please, be seated in one of these. I have just finished them and would like your opinion. Do you find them comfortable?” he inquired as he turned toward the small stove to place the kettle on for tea.
On a shelf over the area, I noted a few chipped earthenware mugs and a peeling teapot. I knew it was too much to hope for milk and sugar.
He turned toward us smiling apologetically as he set the mugs out onto the table. “I am afraid all I have is sugar, no milk. That’s how I always take my tea. The milk goes bad too quickly here.” He seemed to choose his words carefully and spoke quietly.
“Any tea will be lovely, thank you, sir,” replied Savannah, looking around the warehouse. “Is all of this your work?” she asked after her quiet perusal.
“Most of it, though some of it came from the man I used to work with.”
I waited for him to speak more on that subject, but he remained silent and turned to steep the tea. I enjoyed watching the fluidity of his movements. However, more than anything, I wanted to learn more about him.
“Did you have a particular reason for visiting today, miss?” he asked over his shoulder, amusement lighting his eyes.
I quickly looked around the workshop. I realized that until the sideboard was being pieced together, it would be hard to determine what was being created here. I smiled at Gabriel, hoping to express my thanks in maintaining the secrecy over uncle Martin’s wedding gift.
“Miss?” he asked again after the long pause.
“Oh, yes. Well, we came today because I forgot to speak with you about which type of wood you would use in the bookcases.”
He watched me, as though seeing through my ruse. “As to the type of wood, miss, I was going to discuss that with your uncle when I finish the project at his store. Now that I have the measurements, the type of wood will affect the price,” he said.