Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four (19 page)

* * *

C
olin entered
the kitchen to find Savannah teasing a smile from Araminta. Savannah met Colin’s gaze and gave him a worried smile. He approached Araminta and rested one of his hands on her shoulder, stiffening as she froze under his touch.

“Minta, could I talk with you outside a minute?”

“Of course,” she murmured, turning to grab her wrap from the backdoor peg and following him out.

“Why do you have your wrap at the back door?” he asked, huffing out a frustrated breath.

“I always use the back door when I can,” she said, head lowered.

“Ari,” he whispered, using a nickname he rarely used. “I never meant to cause you distress this afternoon.” When she refused to meet his gaze, he placed a finger under her chin, exerting pressure so she’d raise her head. “I never meant to make you think I didn’t value all you do for me,” he said, dropping his hand. “I’d be lost without your friendship, without you dropping by to tidy my place and ensuring I toed the line, lest my home look worse than a stall needing mucking out.”

He frowned as a tear formed on her lower eyelash. “Don’t cry, Ari.” He pulled her into his embrace. “You’re precious to all of us. If you find your worth in working, then we’ll let you work.” He held her a moment more before easing her away. “I merely wanted you to know I valued you as a friend. You don’t need to clean or cook to be welcomed here.” He let out a huff of frustration as she remained silent. “Talk to me, Ari.”

“Without you, your family, I’d be nothing,” she whispered.

“That’s not true.” Colin grimaced as his words came out harsher than he meant. “You’d still be a resourceful woman, able to survive.”

“I’d have nothing.”

Colin pulled her close again, holding her as she shuddered. “Forgive me my senselessness.”

“I will because now I understand it wasn’t meant out of spite.”

“Never.” He chucked her under her chin. “I only brought hardship on myself. For I denied all of us one of your pies.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “You have to make do with the one Rissa baked.”

Colin laughed, slinging an arm over her shoulder and steering her inside. “God help us.”

They reentered the kitchen, Colin ushering her in and sharing a relieved look with Savannah and Clarissa. They nodded their understanding, Clarissa’s shoulders relaxing as she beheld Araminta’s smile. “Come. Let’s visit with Patrick a few minutes before we eat.” She looped her arm through Araminta’s, leading her into the living room, away from the kitchen and work.

* * *

P
atrick sat
on Colin’s front porch, enjoying the brisk fall evening. He set his head against the back of the tall rocker and allowed the sound of the breeze soughing through the trees, the distant sounds of children playing and the rocker creaking to ease his tension. He fought to maintain his calm as he heard the front door squeak open and the slam of the screen door. The sound of Colin tumbling into the chair next to him caused him to smile.

“If you were going for subtlety, you failed.” Patrick grinned as he turned his head toward his brother.

“It’s good to finally see you relaxed.” He rocked, and the two of them spent the next minutes in silent camaraderie.

“Did you make amends to Araminta?”

Colin sighed. “I think so.” He muttered out a curse. “I hope so.”

“What is she to you, Col?”

“A friend. A good friend.”

“It seems she’s more than that.” Patrick ceased rocking and watched his brother grow tense. “I know I have no right to interfere in your life. You’ve only seen me a few times since I’ve reentered your life. I’m sorry to press you.”

“You’re my brother, Patrick. I might not like your questions, and I don’t have to answer them, but we’ll always be family.”

Patrick stiffened at his words before taking a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “I never thought you would welcome me back. Not after I left with no explanation.” He met Colin’s open, curious gaze and shook his head.

“So you still won’t talk about why you left?” At Patrick’s subtle shake of his head, Colin resumed rocking, this time with agitation. He stopped suddenly, pointing a finger at Patrick and spearing him with an intense stare, his blue eyes lit with a fiery intensity. “No matter what you could tell me, it would never make me want you to leave again.”

Patrick closed his eyes, as though having received a benediction, but remained quiet. Colin rocked again, settling into his chair and whistling.

“Is that ‘Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine’?”

Colin nodded and continued. He moved from song to song, finally ending in a ribald rendition of “Row, Row, Row.”

Patrick laughed, relaxing into his chair again. “Only you could make an innocent song sound licentious.”

“If you think that’s innocent, you haven’t really listened to the lyrics,” Colin said as he huffed out a laugh while taking a break from whistling. “How are things in Butte?”

“Good and bad.” At Colin’s raised eyebrow, Patrick said, “I’m making friends.” He paused as he thought about Fiona.

“By the look in your eyes, one of these friends is female.”

Patrick smiled, meeting Colin’s amused grin. “Yes. Fiona O’Leary. She works for the same company I do as a secretary.”

“Would the boss like you carrying on with his secretary?”

“We aren’t carrying on. We meet at the Columbia Gardens or go to a show every once in a while, and her cousin or sister is always with us.” He chuffed out a laugh at Colin’s raised eyebrows, suddenly feeling like a young man back in Boston, sharing stories with his brother. “She’s my boss’s secretary, and he’s not as fond of me as he was.” When Colin remained silent, Patrick spoke freely. He recalled how Colin could always tease him and cajole him into laughing fits, but also had the ability to know when silence was needed.

“I like her, Col. I haven’t allowed myself to like anyone in years. Not since I left.” He stared in space for a few moments. “You have no idea what it is to be alone. To think you’ll always be alone.”

Colin leaned forward at the words wrenched from Patrick’s soul and stabbed him in the shoulder with his finger. “You chose to be alone. We were here, waiting for you. Always.” He sighed, his chair creaking as he leaned back into it. “Tell me about your Fiona.”

Patrick half smiled at Colin referring to her in such a way. “I wish she were mine, Col. And that scares the hell out of me to admit it.” He clasped his hands together as he thought about her. “She’s open and warm and honest. Curious about the world and loyal to her family.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Living in one of the ugliest places in America, I see beauty again,” he whispered.

Colin laughed and slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, then, it seems you know what you need to do, brother.” He laughed harder as Patrick paled at the prospect. “Is this why you are so tense?”

“Partly. It’s also that I’m not sure how long I’ll remain employed. If I’m not working, I can’t offer marriage. It wouldn’t be honorable.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand my boss. He’s from Boston too and suffered from the Panic of ’07. But rather than feel diminished from his financial losses, he’s emboldened by them. He’s brazen with money, with workers’ lives. He sees them as nothing more than a commodity, like copper.” He shared a look of chagrin with Colin. “He arrives in a few days with the expectation of meeting my family.”

“Why would a suit from Butte come here?”

“He claims he has to meet with a man in Bonner about the lumber. I’d think it beneath him and far from his role, but it’s not my place to question what he does.”

Colin sat, his rocking little more than a soft swaying motion as he thought. “Lucas arrives the day after tomorrow. I doubt the family will want to spend time with a stranger.” Colin met Patrick’s worried gaze. “He didn’t give you an option, did he?”

Colin swore under his breath again as he saw the answer in Patrick’s eyes. “Well, we’ll simply have to enjoy our time with Lucas and then welcome this man for a supper with us.” As Patrick heaved out a sigh of relief, Colin slapped him on his arm. “You know we’d do much more than that for you, Pat.”

T
he following day
, Patrick and Clarissa set out for Greenough Park. As they walked toward his favorite area along the creek, the fallen leaves crunched under their feet. A few bright yellow and burnished orange leaves clung desperately to the tree limbs.

“I love fall,” Patrick said. “It always seems strange not to see the full range of colors here that we saw in Boston.”

“I miss the vibrant red,” Clarissa said. “But, when I travel down the Bitter Root Valley to see our friends, Amelia and Sebastian, it’s extraordinary to see the hillsides filled with tamaracks turning gold. I hadn’t realized until I moved here that trees could lose their needles each year.”

They arrived at the place he had loved during the summer and found perches on rocks. Clarissa shivered as she settled and attempted to study Patrick from the corner of her eye but knew she had failed when he stiffened.

“What is it?” he asked, absently rubbing at his face.

“You’ve nothing on your face,” she said with a laugh. “You seem less worried today than last night.”

“I’ve finally realized that you and Colin truly want me to be a part of your life. That you still consider me family. When I spoke with Colin last night, I realized a part of me had remained skeptical and afraid to trust in you.” His deep brown eyes were filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Of course you’re part of my family and I want you to be a part of my life.” She blinked away tears as she reached forward to clasp his hand. “I never want you to doubt it.”

He gripped hers intently and nodded. “With each visit to Missoula, I believe it more and more.”

They sat for a few moments, enjoying the peace of the creek. “Thank you for bringing me to this peaceful place. I imagine it must calm you to come here.”

She shuddered as she looked around at the bucolic scene. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

He watched her with concern.

“I hate this place,” she whispered. “I come here because I promised myself, not too long ago, that I was stronger than any memories.”

“Rissa, what happened to you? To you and Gabe?” When she remained silent, he said, “I know when I left, I forfeited my right to act as your big brother.” He cupped his hands together, interlocking his fingers. “But, dammit, I am your big brother. You and Gabe seem much better than this summer, but there always seems to be a shroud of sadness around you.”

“You’ve changed,” she whispered, fighting tears.

“How?”

“You aren’t the domineering know-it-all from before. You always acted as though, if you pushed hard enough, people or the world would bend to your wishes.”

“I grew up.” His eyes were haunted with memories of the years they were apart.

“I think it’s more than that.” She cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I lived, for over a decade, believing I’d never have family. That I was unworthy of family. I convinced myself that hard work, surviving at any cost, was enough.”

“What changed?”

“I saw you and Sav.” His gaze grew distant, wondrous. “I heard Lucas’s music. I remembered I was more than a cog in a very large machine.”

After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Why are you no longer an architect?” At his hurt stare, she flinched. “You loved it so much. Talking about the—”

He held a hand to Clarissa’s lips, stopping her words. “For me, to be a good architect, to envision the buildings and spaces, I needed to …” His gaze flitted to the trees bowing over the creek, the rocks glistening in the sunlight, the leaves blowing in the breeze before falling into the stream. “I needed to be able to see beauty. And I couldn’t. Not anymore. The world was a gray void instead of the kaleidoscope of colors firing my imagination. Everything I drew was an imitation of another’s brilliant idea. I was empty, and I had nothing to offer.”

He sighed, lowering his hand and head. “I moved constantly. I thought, if I changed scenery, inspiration would return. I roamed from New York City to Buffalo to Cleveland, then on to St. Louis, eking out a survival, but slowly realizing I would never be an architect. Never build”—he shrugged—“anything. I finally returned to New York City. I was always good with numbers. The two worlds were separate, so those I had sought a job from in architecture didn’t remember the dismal failure of Pat Sullivan, the architect. They saw Pat Sullivan, the eager accountant.”

“And here you are,” she murmured.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “So why do you hate this place, Rissa?”

She stiffened and then rose. “Come,” she said. They rejoined the trail and walked a few minutes. Her body trembled, but she shook off Patrick’s arm on her shoulder and walked down a small path toward the creek. She stood riveted, staring at the creek, her mind forcing her to see reality, not her nightmare.

“Rissa, sit down.” Patrick pushed her onto the creek bank, moisture dampening her skirt. “You’re as white as a ghost. What’s the matter?”

“Do you see that boulder over there?” She pointed to a place a short distance down the creek, partly in shadow.

“The one at the water’s edge? Yes.”

“My son died there.”

“Oh, God,” Patrick breathed. He grabbed her arm and forcefully pulled her up the trail and away as she hyperventilated. “Why would you force yourself to come here?”

“I need to be stronger than my ghosts,” she whispered, shaking as he held her.

“Rissa, you’ve always been strong. You nursed Mama through her illness. You survived the likes of Mrs. Smythe to create a life where you thrive. Why would you need to prove anything to yourself?”

“He died when he was with Gabriel,” she whispered against Patrick’s chest.

“Which is why there was such a distance between you two this summer.” Patrick eased her away. “You have to forgive him. He loves his family. He loves his children. He would never have wished harm to befall any of them.”

She nodded her agreement. “I know. I thought, … if I could come here, my anger at fate, at whatever caused me to lose Rory, would release its hold on me.”

Patrick pulled her close again, stroking a hand over her head and back. “You’re smart enough to know that nothing will, Rissa. Time will lessen the ache, but it will always be there.”

“His birthday is approaching,” she whispered, refusing to mention the date.

“What do you want to do that day?”

“A part of me wants to celebrate it and remember him. The other part wants to hide in bed all day.”

“What will you do?” Patrick asked.

She sighed, her crying abated. “I don’t know, but I won’t spend it in bed.”

“There’s the Rissa I remember,” Patrick said. He released her, and she looped her arm through his, beginning a slow walk down the creek toward the streetcar stop.

* * *

T
he following day
Patrick slipped into the kitchen, causing Clarissa to jump, dropping the baking pan and splattering the floor with batter.

“You’re on edge today, Rissa,” Patrick said.

She stared at the floor, then at Patrick, and burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, Rissa,” he said, rushing forward, pulling her into his arms.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered as she sniffled and pushed away from him, looking at the floor. She reached for a cloth and bent to scrub it. “Stand still or you’ll step in the mess and spread it throughout the house. We’re lucky you didn’t already step in it.”

Clarissa scrubbed the floor, rising to rinse the cloth and then bending back over to swipe at the floor. She wiped and wiped at it, even though it was clean.

“Rissa, there’s nothing left,” Patrick whispered.

She rose, nodding her head jerkily. “I know.” She turned toward the sink and gripped the edge of it. “I can’t imagine starting over again.”

“I’m sure Araminta would help you.” He rested a warm hand on her stiff shoulder.

“No. Not today. This is something I must do.” She swiped at her runny nose, washed her hands and turned toward the dry ingredients she had set aside. “Please, Patrick, I’m not good company now.”

She heard him ease from the room. Inhaling deep breaths to ease her tension, she battled her tears. Her grip on the countertop was a painful counterpoint to her inner turmoil, grounding her. She stiffened as the kitchen door eased open again. “Please, Patrick.”

Fingers trailed down her back, then up again, coming to rest on her shoulders. She smelled musk and the scent of pine, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Gabriel,” she whispered, leaning backward. He bent forward, nuzzling the side of her neck as he dropped his hands from her shoulders to her waist, linking them around her front.

“You were up this morning before I awoke,” he whispered, a note of reproach in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Clarissa said. “I … I didn’t know how to face this day. I didn’t sleep much last night and decided if I was busy …” Her voice cracked.

He exerted gentle pressure on her side, until she spun to face him. His beautiful blue eyes were haunted, filled with pain and concern. “What are you doing in the kitchen?” he asked.

She raised a hand to trace his eyebrow, then his cheek. She tipped up on her toes, kissing him softly on his mouth. “I wanted to celebrate today, rather than mourn.” She bit her trembling lip. “But it seems I’m unable to do anything other than cry.”

“It’s been one year, Rissa,” Gabriel said. “Of course you are mourning. We all are.” He looked at the kitchen countertop with its dirty pans and furrowed his brow. “Were you thinking of making a cake?”

She flushed at the incredulity she heard in his voice. “No matter what, I want to remember him. To celebrate him.” Her breath hitched as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I …”

“Oh, love,” he stuttered out, his voice shattering as he pulled her tight. He held her as she cried, shuddering in equal measure in her arms. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove you are strong,” he whispered into her neck.

“Today will always be one of the worst days of my life. But I don’t want to forget him. I don’t want our children to believe they can’t speak of him.” She leaned away far enough that he ran shaking hands over her cheeks, smearing her tears.

“Let Minta make the cake. Let others help you today,” he said. When she protested, he held up a finger to her lips. “I should have told you before, but I’ve always envisioned us spending the day together as a family, talking about Rory. Our adventures. What we loved about him.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I think it would do the children good to have us all together, remembering him.”

Clarissa shuddered. “Like a wake, but a year late.”

“Something like that.” He clasped her head between his palms. “Something we weren’t capable of doing when he died.” He paused, staring for endless moments into her eyes. “Our family wants to have a gathering tonight at Jeremy and Sav’s, and I couldn’t dissuade them. I think it will be good for us. But today I want time for us and our children.”

She bit her lip, staring into his eyes.

“Please, Rissa.” His entreaty provoked two new tears to trickle from her eyes.

She nodded, leaning forward again into his embrace. “Yes.”

* * *

P
atrick wandered
through Savannah and Jeremy’s first floor. The large living room and dining room were lit and ready for company. Colin’s cajoling voice could be heard from the rear kitchen as he teased Araminta, with Melinda’s high-pitched voice joining in. Patrick smiled at her youthful joviality. A darkened room to one side of the entranceway with a large bow-fronted window intrigued him, but he didn’t enter.

“That’s our office,” Jeremy said with a smile as he joined Patrick and pushed him into the living room where a fire roared. “Savannah likes to write letters in there.” He offered Patrick a drink, and Jeremy settled in a comfortable chair.

“Is there anything I could do to help?”

“No, not right now.” Jeremy smiled to Ronan and A.J, handing them drinks as well. He answered another knock on the door. “Miss Loken, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” He turned to frown at A.J.

A.J. thumped his cane. “She’s part of our group, ain’t she?”