Banished Love (17 page)

“Is that what you talk about at your meetings? This mythical man who would want any of you Amazonian women who think and act independently? It’s about time you learned something about life, young lady. I would have thought you would have learned it by now after your earlier disappointment. Men don’t want women who act and think like you, Clarissa,” she said. “They want women who agree with them, who do not challenge them. Who believe in the traditional running of the world and aren’t trying to turn everything upside down. Women like your cousin.”

“Yes, of course. Savannah.” I looked away for a moment. “If you will excuse me?” I asked as I rose and left the room without gaining her permission.

I trudged up the stairs, snippets of conversation flickering in and out of my thoughts. I needed to discuss what had just transpired with someone, yet knew no one in my family would understand. Upon entering my bedroom, I collapsed into the chair in front of my desk, fidgeting and trying to tidy the desk, although Mary kept my room spotless. I reached into a desk drawer and extracted writing paper, pen and ink. As I tapped the pen a few times, uncertainty and desperation warred inside me.

I decided to write to Gabriel.

May 3, 1900

Dear Mr. McLeod,

Please forgive me for writing today. I feel so alone with my thoughts roiling around me, and I desperately need a friend. I hope I do not offend.

I just finished a very trying tea with my father’s new wife, Mrs. Smythe. One of my new friends called, and Mrs. Smythe took an immediate disliking to her. I now must admit to you that I have attended a suffragist meeting without my family’s knowledge and that this new friend of mine is a fellow suffragette. She is very loyal, smart, forward thinking and committed to the cause. She also enjoys rousing the ire of those who are not as convinced of the rights of women to vote and particularly enjoys riling unsupportive women as, in the end, it will benefit all women.

Of course, Mrs. Smythe was horrid to her, doubting our cause, doubting my ability to find any happiness with my beliefs. But, I ask, why should independence in a woman scare a man so that he wouldn’t want to marry her? Shouldn’t he want a woman who can think and be concerned about topics outside of the home sphere?

As I reread this letter, I realize I should not send it to you, but it has brought me comfort to write it. I miss you, Mr. McLeod. I miss our discussions. I hope you are well.

Yours sincerely,

Miss Clarissa Sullivan

After I finished writing the letter, I quickly folded it in half, crammed it in an envelope, and scrawled Gabriel’s name and address on the outside before freezing in place. I closed my eyes in resignation. Sighing, I sat back in my chair and took solace in the fact that the mere act of writing him had relaxed me. I collapsed onto my bed in exhaustion, falling into a fitful sleep. I slept soundly, awakening a few hours later. When I awoke, I knew someone had come into my room while I slept because I now had a throw blanket over me, and my letter was gone.

CHAPTER 18

I ROSE, PANICKED. I searched unsuccessfully behind my desk with the unrealistic hope that my letter had fallen behind it. I looked at myself in the mirror to see my ashen reflection and panicked light blue eyes. After leaving my room, I slipped down the back stairs, hoping to meet Mary.

I arrived in the kitchen to find her and Bridget busily helping to prepare supper. The basement room was cooled in part by the slate floor, although it was still quite warm. A small window was propped open and a faint waft of fresh air entered. A pot bubbled on the stove, drops flying out and making singeing noises every few moments. The air was redolent with the smell of freshly baked bread, and I saw the loaves cooling on the table. I glanced guiltily toward the clock, not realizing I had slept so long. After a few moments, Bridget rushed upstairs with a tray, while Cook stepped into the nearby larder, and I was alone with Mary.

“Mary,” I whispered, “did you enter my room this afternoon?”

“Yes, miss,” she said smiling. “The missus sen’ me to fetch ye, but ye were sleepin’ so peaceful, I couldn’ wake ye.” She continued to slice vegetables and prepare the meal. I stood in the kitchen, feeling useless. Being a horrid cook, I knew the worst thing I could do was to offer to help.

I glanced toward the stairway, listening for Bridget. I began to fidget, wringing my hands a little. “Did you happen to see a letter? On my desk?” I tried to hide any anxiety or urgency from my voice, although I knew I failed when Mary watched me curiously.

“Aye, miss, I saw the letter on yer desk. The mailman was on ’is rounds. I posted it for ye,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, you posted it. Right.” I felt like fainting, and gripped onto the back of a nearby chair.

“Ye did want it posted, miss?”

“No harm done,” I said, flushing at the thought of Gabriel reading my letter. “I should go up.” I smiled wanly to Mary before ascending the stairs to the parlor.

***

Four days after Sophronia’s visit, I received a letter from Gabriel.

May 6, 1900

My Dear Miss Sullivan,

I opened your letter, delighted to hear from you again. I had not hoped to read such a letter from you. Your honesty and passion for life jumped off the page, making me feel as though you were here with me. I could easily envision your afternoon tea and the two elderly dragon ladies fighting over you. I can see why both sides would battle so fiercely for you. They are attempting to propose their vision of the world as the vision to be emulated and desired.

Take care, Miss Clarissa. As you watch these two duel, and as you spend time with each woman separately, continue to determine what it is
you
envision for yourself, not what anyone else wants. It may be an amalgam of the two.

Not all men are frightened so easily by independent, free-thinking women. Some actually like a woman with spirit.

I, too, miss you, Miss Clarissa. I hope you are well.

Gabriel.

P.S. Please come by the workshop with your cousin. I am sure we can find more to talk about than the sideboard.

The following day, after an interminable wedding gown fitting with Savannah, I cajoled her into accompanying me to the workshop. In reality, I had bartered my time watching her preen in a mirror for her time in a dusty workroom. Savannah was convinced she had received the poorer part of the bargain, but, after three mind-numbing hours of watching a dress be pinned at varying lengths, I no longer felt any sympathy for her.

The balmy spring weather from earlier in the week had disappeared, replaced by a cold, blustery wind with a heavy fog but no rain. I liked the moodiness of the day, although Savannah believed it to be a bad omen. She attempted to convince me to postpone the visit to Gabriel’s, but I would not be forestalled. We rode the trolley to Haymarket then walked the short distance to his workshop.

As we reached the top of the stairs, I shushed Sav, who was gasping in an unladylike manner after the climb, because I heard voices arguing. Two deep male voices were in blatant disagreement. I inched toward the door, fully intending to announce our arrival, but stopped short when I heard my name spoken. My eyes grew large, and I grabbed Savannah’s arm to keep her in place, out of sight. We both leaned in, listening avidly to the discussion.

“Gabe, I know you’re fascinated by this Clarissa, but you must see it can’t go anywhere,” the unknown voice stated. He blew out a breath, and I imagined I heard pacing. “Granted, she is beautiful, smart and appears kind. But can you really see her interested in one of us?”

“Listen, I enjoy her. That’s all there is to it. There is nothing going on that is indiscreet or scandalous,” Gabriel’s indignant voice replied, with the sound of him sanding wood filling the air.

“Gabe, don’t be such an
eejit
, as Da would say. I’ve seen your elation at the arrival of her letters. You can’t fool me that there is nothing growing between the two of you,” the voice argued.

I felt Savannah poke me in the side at the mention of letters but ignored her.

“You know society’s rules. You had them drummed into your head, just like I did,” the unknown voice continued. I heard a long sigh followed by pacing. “Listen, Gabe, I’ve heard rumors on the street and at the pub. And if I am hearing them, they will quickly spread. You know that she has brothers who would love to hurt you if they found out. For God’s sake, I
know
her brothers. I
like
her brothers. And they’d still hurt you.” A quiet thump followed; a sound like something thrown against a wall. “What is your goal here?”

I peered into the room, desperate to see more. The unknown voice belonged to Richard. I watched him pace like a caged animal, his arms moving back and forth as though he couldn’t keep them still.

Gabriel watched him with a cautious, guarded expression. “Don’t bring Mum and Da into this. You should have learned from them that societal rules, all that garbage taught to us by Aunt Masterson, are only important up to a point. Other aspects of life are more important. Or maybe you just don’t remember well enough,” Gabriel retorted, now glowering at Richard.

Richard turned to glare furiously at Gabriel

Gabriel raised his eyebrows in mock challenge before turning back to his work, appearing to work calmly, tracing pieces of wood with a pencil.

“Gabe, are you listening to anything that I am saying?” demanded Richard.

“What do you want me to say, Richard? I have finally found a bit of happiness, and I am going to see where it leads. I shouldn’t think it would worry you.”

“For God’s sake, Gabe, people are talking. This can’t go anywhere. It will only lead to pain. For pity’s sake, she’s just a woman. Find another one, more suitable, more of our class.”

At that, Gabriel threw down the pencil he had been using and gripped the edge of the table, fully looking at Richard for the first time, glaring at him. “It’s not like I can just choose a new shirt. Maybe someday you’ll realize that there is a woman in the world worth taking a chance on.”

“Why shouldn’t you, Gabe?” Richard asked in a low, menacing voice. “You expected the same of me.”

I watched as they glowered at each other before Richard turned to leave. He began to look for his hat, and I realized Savannah and I had moments to spare if we were to look as though we were just arriving.

I grabbed Savannah’s arm and dragged her down a few stairs. I clambered up the top stairs, making plenty of noise, acting as though we had just arrived. As we came up to the door, I knocked on it, calling out “Mr. McLeod?” in a breathless manner.

I watched Richard appear, startled by his near growl of greeting as he stormed past us and down the stairs. I turned to look for Gabriel. His movements were restless, and he emitted a new energy today. I was unable to tell if it was anger, frustration, embarrassment or a mixture of all three.

“I’m sorry, Miss Clarissa, er, Miss Sullivan, Miss Russell. The tea is not quite ready to be steeped,” he said.

“Would you rather we came back another day?” I asked.

“Truthfully I am not having a good day, and, after the recent visit from Richard, I am not much use for a social visit. You two should leave and save yourselves a miserable afternoon here. I am sure there are numerous other things you could do to entertain yourselves.” He looked very alone.

I looked to Savannah for guidance, and she pointedly nodded to the door. I shook my head in disagreement, moving farther into the room.

“It is a rather cold day out. If we could warm up with a cup of tea first, then depart, would that be acceptable?” I asked. I sat down in the rocking chair, noting Savannah’s assessing look at the perfectly dimensioned chair built for me. I began to rock gently, calming my racing heart.

“Yes, of course.” Gabriel turned toward the kettle and gathered the necessary mugs.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. McLeod, you seem quite domesticated,” Savannah said in a haughty tone.

Gabriel laughed. “Like a favorite pet, Miss Russell?” He glanced toward her with humor. “I always think domestication ruins the better part of the beast.”

“But you wouldn’t want a wild dog in your house,” Savannah protested. “And horses must be tamed.”

Gabriel nodded. “I would hate to think you compared me to a horse or a dog, miss. I hope I have better manners than that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows mockingly toward Savannah. “Though, I agree, horses are most useful for our purpose when tamed, but I wonder if they truly enjoy working for us?” He looked toward me, although he did not push me into the conversation.

He let out a long theatrical sigh. “Domesticated cats, dogs. Domesticated women. Wonderful creatures. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Sullivan?” He looked toward me wickedly. I had bolted so hard in the rocker at his words I had nearly flown onto the floor. I watched him with wide eyes, wondering why he pushed Savannah so.

Savannah replied, “Now you are offensive, sir.” She vibrated with anger.

“Isn’t that what all young women long to be?” Gabriel asked Savannah, setting down the filled mugs with a clunk. “Domesticated. Demure. Tamed to the needs and ways of their husbands?”

“You know perfectly well you are describing the ideal wife,” Savannah spat out.

“Am I?” he asked, sounding unconvinced. “What do you think, Miss Sullivan?” he turned to me. “Is that what you long to be, a domesticated woman?”