Banished Love (18 page)

“No!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Rissa!” Savannah scolded me, eyes flashing. She had begun to breathe heavily, and I feared she would faint with her tightly laced corset.

I blushed but met Gabriel’s eyes. “No,” I said. “I have no desire to match that description. Slightly less clumsy, perhaps,” I muttered.

“Yes, I agree,” Gabriel said, causing me to worry he agreed with my assessment about my clumsiness. “Domestication is akin to docility which is an unattractive trait in a woman.” He smiled knowingly at me, and I felt a flash of pleasure.

“Do you speak in earnestness, sir, or are you in jest?” Savannah demanded. When Gabriel merely turned to look at her, she continued. “Men want docile, demure women,” she expounded, as though teaching a rudimentary fact to Gabriel.

“Well, pardon me, ma’am, for not learning my lessons well,” he replied, nodding his head deferentially.

I watched Savannah’s face become flushed red with anger and was worried she would erupt. She generally kept her temper under control, but, when it blew, it was a frightening thing to behold.

“I’d actually like to meet a young woman who can think for herself and doesn’t want only what her father or husband wants.” His quiet statement made my pulse quicken.

Savannah scoffed, “That path leads only to misery.”

“Or tremendous contentment,” Gabriel countered.

Savannah stood, knocking into the table with such force she caused tea to spill out of the mugs. “I will not sit here any longer and listen to your insolent beliefs,” she declared. “Rissa?” She turned toward me expectantly, then headed toward the door.

I looked at Gabriel with remorse, wanting to have spent longer time in his company. “I enjoyed our conversation. Maybe we could continue it one day at the school?” I watched him, hopeful he would agree.

He smiled, releasing a sigh of relief. “I would enjoy that very much, Miss Clarissa.”

I had forgotten how his voice could feel like a caress. I closed my eyes for a moment, having missed hearing his gentle baritone. No matter how much I had enjoyed his letters, I had missed him. I gathered my purse.

I raced after Savannah, understanding that she must be well and truly angry because she had already clambered down the stairs and was marching up the street toward Haymarket. I skirted a pushcart seller peddling flowers, avoided a nip from a cantankerous horse and rushed after her.

“Savannah, slow down!” I called out. I walked as quickly as I could, then began to start a slow run. I placed one hand on my hat after it nearly blew off with a strong gust of wind and was soon gasping for breath from my ungraceful gallop down the boardwalk, feeling as though I would faint. “Sav!” I called again, gasping out her name with what little air I could spare.

She turned around, appearing to have been possessed by demons. I had a sudden thought of the
Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
I had read once, as Savannah’s generally placid facade had been transformed into that of a maddened woman. Her flushed face, hair blowing in the wind and rigid stance all expressed her extreme anger. I nearly burst out laughing at Savannah’s uncharacteristic, unladylike appearance but caught myself in time.

“Don’t you dare try to act as though you could
possibly
be interested in
that man
,” Savannah hissed, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. I looked around, seeing that we were earning a few interested stares. I smiled, nodding, acting as though a rabid-looking woman was a normal, everyday occurrence.

I hooked my arm through hers and began to tow her down the street. “Sav, you must admit he’s interesting,” I replied, attempting to soothe her wounded pride.

“He was criticizing all women, Clarissa,” she chided. “Not just me and what I want to do. But all women.”

“I think you misunderstood.”

“And I think you only hear and see what you want to!”

“Savannah, why have you changed so much?” I whispered.

“If I have, I’ve only changed for the better.”

“How is it better to look down at everyone?” I asked, truly confused. “How is it better to believe yourself so superior?” I felt adrift, lost without the Savannah I knew, her support and love.

“Clarissa, you are such an innocent. Someday you’ll realize that there are people who are inherently better than others.”

“Do you really believe that? Or do you think if you say it enough times you will convince yourself it’s true?”

“Don’t be insulting. Of course I believe it.”

I continued to walk beside her, occasionally gripping my hat against a burst of wind, mainly lost in thought. “So, those people who you believe to be naturally superior,” I began, “you actually believe they’ll accept you just because you agree with their beliefs?”

“Don’t be so insulting, Clarissa,” Savannah snapped. “Of course they will accept me. Not because I believe them to be superior, but because I will be one of them once I marry Jonas,” she said with an upward tilt of her chin.

“Will that really make you happy?” I asked as tears threatened.

“Of course it will. It’s what everyone should want.”

CHAPTER 19

I SAT WATCHING LUCAS play the piano in his family parlor, marveling at his tremendous talent. The Sullivans had been invited for dinner with the Russells, one of the last dinners we would all have together before Savannah’s wedding.

I tried to sit properly in my lady’s chair but found that difficult after eating too much of the delicious meal. I glanced around the room to see if others were as pleased with Lucas’s playing. Aunt Matilda and Uncle Martin appeared determined to ignore his music. Mrs. Smythe seemed disgruntled. Da, deep in conversation with Uncle Martin, tapped his fingers and toes in time with the music. Colin listened to the music intently, his eyes closed and a small smile on his face.

I turned toward Savannah. “I really had no idea Lucas had such talent,” I whispered in awe.

Sav sniffed. “It really isn’t something we like to discuss or promote, Rissa. He prefers such
common
music. If he played more acceptable music, like Beethoven or Mozart, that would be agreeable.”

“But, Sav, you know he can play that type of music. He just doesn’t want to. This is what intrigues him,” I replied.

“Well, it is entirely inappropriate,” she hissed.

I opened my mouth, hoping an articulate argument would emerge, when Mrs. Smythe spoke up.

“Do you know, not only does he play this type of music written by, well, those I would rather not discuss, but that he also sings suffragist songs?” she said to the group.

“Yes, I know it is all quite shocking,” Mrs. Smythe said after Aunt Matilda gasped. “Imagine my surprise when a new friend of Clarissa’s called for tea not long after he sang such an outrageous song in the peaceful haven of my own parlor.”

Lucas, who had ceased playing his new favorite ragtime piece, began to play a lyrical, haunting piece by Beethoven as though he were taunting Savannah. I could tell by his tilted head that he listened avidly to the conversation across the room.

“Imagine my surprise to discover that not only was this woman a suffragette but that Clarissa had met her at a suffragists’ meeting,” Mrs. Smythe wailed.

Aunt Matilda gasped again, clutching her breast. Savannah sat next to me in shocked silence. Da turned toward me, looking at me as though he had never really seen me before. Colin started to laugh, as though it were all quite entertaining.

“Did you have a good time?” Colin asked, an irreverent grin playing around his mouth.

I smiled toward Colin, thankful for his presence. “I did. They are a fascinating group, and their cause, or I should say, our cause, is so vital. I have had an interest in becoming active in the movement for a long time,” I said with a touch of defiance. “It shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone.”

“In the quiet of your own home, you might have an interest. In the doubting of your own spirit, have interest,” Aunt Matilda snapped. “You don’t go off, on your own, to meet with a group of radical, firebrand women, with no regard for propriety or common sense.” Her eyes flashed as she watched me. “What would your mama have said?”

“Really, Clarissa,” Savannah said, “what could you possibly have been thinking? Have you no sense? Have you not been listening to all I have said these past months about the ideal women for men? You really should learn to pay attention and emulate. Otherwise you are truly bound to be alone.”

“Is that all you are worried about? That no man will want to marry me?” I asked, staring at the mutinous, angry faces of the women of my family. A sharp pain pierced my chest at the mention of my mama, and I glared at Aunt Matilda at her uncalled-for attack. I knew, deep inside, that Mama would have supported me. Da sat silently beside Uncle Martin with an unreadable expression.

“All? All?” Aunt Matilda and Mrs. Smythe yelped at the same time as though twinned in their beliefs.

“Why shouldn’t I live a full life? Be able to truly express what I feel, rather than be a parrot to my husband?” This comment provoked further outraged gasps from the three women present, and snickers from Colin and Lucas. Uncle Martin continued to study me curiously and Da appeared extremely uncomfortable. Before anyone could interrupt me, I continued. “Why shouldn’t both the husband
and
the wife be allowed to have their own opinions, opinions that don’t always agree? Why shouldn’t I have interests outside of the home? Why shouldn’t I want more for myself and for women?”

Da shifted uncomfortably as I saw him pinned under a fierce glare from Mrs. Smythe. Finally he spoke. “Clarissa, darlin’, you must understand you are asking for quite a lot of changes.” As I began to sputter, he watched me with an intense gaze, quieting me. “I don’t say I don’t agree with you.”

Mrs. Smythe gasped, clutched her breast and fell back against the back of her lady’s chair as though she would faint.

“I think you just need to be a bit more understanding of those who aren’t as progressive minded as you are,” he said, with a small smile.

I shared a long glance with Da, a wellspring of happiness bursting forth inside me because he understood.

“Now,” Da stated, “as for having these women as friends, I’d like to meet them. Sound interesting. And you should continue to attend your meetings.”

“Thank you, Da,” I whispered, grateful for his support and for not having to hide my involvement with them. I looked at Mrs. Smythe, her rosy cheeks and shiny eyes eloquently expressing her displeasure with Da.

Aunt Matilda sat rigidly, nearly vibrating in her fury. “Really, Sean, what can you be thinking?” she hissed. “To encourage your daughter, who is already headstrong to a fault, to attend these meetings with women who do not know the limits of propriety? She will only bring pain, disgrace, ruination on the family if you allow her to continue her untoward ways.”

Uncle Martin reached over, patting her on her hand as though to calm her, but she slapped away his hand.

“I’m thinking that I know me daughter better than ye, Matilda. She may be yer niece, but she’s my daughter. She may be headstrong, and I’m thankful for it,” he snapped, his anger betrayed by the thickening of his accent. “She’s needed spirit to continue on through all that’s happened, an’ she’s done better than any could have hoped.”

“You seem to be confusing her ability to persevere with a willingness to act with propriety and abide by the mores of society,” Mrs. Smythe retorted.

“Give me one example when my Clarissa acted out of bounds. When I would have reason to chastise her,” Da demanded, breathing harshly, his cheeks ruddy with anger.

I blushed.

“Sean, simply because I do not have a litany of offenses to lay at that girl’s feet does not mean she knows the bounds of propriety. Young women do not go off to meetings without their family’s permission. It is not done,” Mrs. Smythe said, holding a wadded up handkerchief in her hand.

“I will hear no more on it. Rissa’s a good girl. She knows what is right ’n’ wrong. She has my permission, whether she needs it or not, to continue with the suffragettes,” Da said, his tone brooking no argument. I beamed at him, thinking of the upcoming party for Mrs. Ward-Howe and my longing to attend.

Then, as the conversation moved on, I heaved a sigh of relief, leaning against my chair, hopeful Da never discovered my unchaperoned meetings with Gabriel.

CHAPTER 20

THE AFTERNOON WAS DELIGHTFUL as I started my walk home from school. I paused to bask in the bright afternoon rays and titled my face to the sun, closing my eyes, happy to finally feel completely warm all the way to my toes. At that moment, I heard the nasally light-toned voice from my memories.

“You look well, my dear. But you should be careful with the sun. I would hate for you to lose any of your looks.” His voice sounded full of good cheer and joy, but my insides turned to ice. I lowered my head, turning to meet Cameron’s smiling face. My gaze scanned him quickly, cataloging any changes. Slightly thinner hair, droopier eyes, more wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. I did not speak, but stood still, thunderstruck.

“What, dear Clarissa, you will not speak to me? What will people say when they see us on the street, and you ignoring your old beau?”

My eyes flashed with anger, thankful for the ire to help hide the anguish washing over me as I continued to study his once-cherished face. I made myself stand even taller, watching him. “My name is Miss Sullivan, sir.” I began to cultivate the chilly facade of a society woman as a barrier between us.

“Oh, so we are to play that game, then,
Miss Sullivan
. I have had to be patient to find an opportunity to speak with you.” He continued to watch me, with slightly hostile honey-brown eyes. He seemed content to study me, taking in my appearance, as though drinking in the sight of me after a long drought.

“Sir, I am sure I am unaware of any reason you would have to speak with me,” I replied in my coldest tones, thankful for once I could mimic Jonas.

“What has happened to my Clarissa? Where is the vivacious, warm-blooded woman I knew? Who is this woman of ice?”