Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four (4 page)

T
he following day
, Zylphia stood outside the bustling headquarters of the Congressional Committee Office of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, or NAWSA, headed by Alice Paul. Zylphia watched women enter and exit the basement office before she followed a woman down a half flight of stairs and stepped inside a doorway, just as another woman pushed past her, carrying a stack of letters. The scene was one of coordinated chaos. Women in the front office wrote letters by hand or typed them. Telephones rang. Impromptu meetings occurred, with decisions reached after only a few sentences.

“What can we do for you, miss?” a woman asked. Her dishwater-blond hair was pulled back and partially covered in a kerchief, while she wore a thinning gray sweater over a navy dress.

“I came to see if there was anything I could do for the movement.” Zylphia jumped as her arm was gripped, and she was pulled to a table.

“Sit. You can help stuff these envelopes.” The woman nodded to a chair next to her and then to a pile of papers and envelopes.

“What are these for?” Zylphia asked as she shed her jacket.

“After the success of the parade, we want to obtain as much support as possible from our backers.”

“Financial support.”

The woman rolled her eyes at Zylphia. “What other kind is there? Of course financial. To win this struggle, we must have funds. The antis have a war chest at their disposal, seeing as the majority of businessmen and wealthy women are against the suffrage movement.”

“Not all wealthy women are against it,” Zylphia murmured as she began her task of folding letters and then filling the envelopes. “I’m from Massachusetts, and a group of us are in favor of the vote.”

“Well, you need to work harder, as there remains too much opposition.”

They worked in silence a few moments. In between the folding and filling of envelopes, Zylphia glanced around the room. The secondhand furniture, scraped and battered from years of use, was still functional. Oak filing cabinets vied for space, while desks were nearly stacked atop each other. Framed pictures of the suffragist leaders, past and present, hung on the walls. Zylphia studied the photographs of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony for a moment. Every woman here had a purpose, and Zylphia noted that many walked down the hallway to a small office in the back.

“What more do you need?” Zylphia asked after a moment.

“Besides money and political influence?” The woman shared a sardonic smile with Zylphia. “Our newspaper is always in need of artwork.”

“I’m an artist.”

“Do you draw caricatures?” At Zylphia’s shake of her head, the woman sighed. “I’m afraid that’s what we need. Grand paintings are of no use.”

“That’s what I do. Paintings.”

“If you are truly committed to the cause, you will forego everything that distracts you from the movement.”

“What do you mean?” Zylphia asked as she frowned.

“Do you think Miss Paul wastes her time on frivolous activities when she knows all her energies are needed to win this battle?” She nodded her head down the hallway. “She intentionally keeps her living quarters at such a cold temperature that she has no desire to read at night. And she is an avid reader of mysteries. However, she knows that this cause is more important than any mystery novel.”

“Her dedication is admirable,” Zylphia whispered. Her heart raced as she considered giving up her painting.

“As should all of ours be,” the woman said as she rose. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Zylphia nodded and continued her task. She smiled at those who entered and tackled the stack of papers in front of her. When she departed a few hours later, she had a small sense of accomplishment, although she battled a growing sense of unease.

* * *

R
ichard slammed
down his glass of ale with more force than necessary as he shot another furtive glance toward the bar’s entrance. He shared a long look with Jeremy before nodding to the bartender for another round. Although midday, the dark mahogany of the long bar and the dim lighting from the scattered light fixtures lent the establishment a late-evening feel.

“He’ll come,” Jeremy said, nodding his thanks as another beer was set in front of him. “He’s as excited as we are to have time for just the three of us again.”

“You’d think after fifteen years he wouldn’t be late. We haven’t all been together since you went away to fight in the war in ’98.”

“He’s not the same Gabriel you remember, Rich.” Jeremy took a long swig from his glass of beer. “None of us are the same as when we were last together.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “Of course we aren’t. We’re all married, have children. You’ve survived a war. And the two of you abandoned me to live in Montana.”

“We did not abandon you,” Gabriel said from behind them.

“Gabe!” Richard said, leaping from his stool to embrace his brother. Jeremy joined them, and they slapped each other on the back a few times before standing awkwardly for a moment.

After collecting their mugs of beer, the McLeods moved to a small round table. Gabriel smiled as he looked at his brothers. “It’s about time the three of us have a chance to talk about something other than women earning the vote or Wilson’s inauguration.”

Richard raised his glass to Gabe as Jeremy laughed. “We couldn’t leave our womenfolk alone two nights ago as planned, seeing what a disaster the parade was, and yesterday was too chaotic with the inauguration,” Richard said.

Gabriel grunted his agreement.

“What did you do the night of the women’s parade, Gabe?” Jeremy asked. “I thought I saw you leaving the hotel while I was waiting for Zylphia.”

“I took a short walk. I needed to clear my head.”

“Was this before or after you comforted Clarissa?” Richard asked. He took a sip of his beer and shared a quick glance with Jeremy.

“Don’t start, Rich,” Gabriel warned. His gaze roamed the room, refusing to meet their eyes.

“It’s about time somebody did,” Jeremy muttered.

Richard grabbed Gabriel’s arm as it flexed, preventing him from rising. “Gabe, it’s just the three of us. Talk to us.”

“There’s nothing to say. Clarissa and I can’t see past our … loss.” Gabriel shook his head as though dispelling memories.

“You’ve always been able to do anything you desired if you wanted it badly enough, Gabe,” Richard said, with Jeremy nodding beside him.

“You think that isn’t my most cherished goal? To reconcile with Rissa?” He shook his head in exasperation.

“You found a way to free us from Mrs. Masterson. You struggled to eke out a survival so that Jeremy could finish school and I could have my full apprenticeship. You ensured we had a treat a week, knowing that would be enough to motivate us and prevent us from losing all hope.” Richard watched Gabe with confusion. “You fought for Clarissa, accepting every obstacle laid in your path to reunite with her. I don’t understand why you’d give in so easily now.”

“Maybe I’m tired of the struggle.” Gabriel took a deep sip of his beer.

“Bull,” Jeremy said. “I’ve seen you come alive with each challenge. Something happened.”

Gabriel raised tormented eyes to his brothers. “I know now what it is to lose the esteem of the one person who matters most to me in the world. And I find it difficult to care much about anything else.”

“Then fight to regain it,” Richard snapped. “Don’t just sit here and bemoan your fate. That’s not like you.”

Gabriel barely nodded and took another swig of his beer.

When Richard took a deep breath, Jeremy kicked him in the leg and said, “Tell us how your business is, Rich.”

“Like I write you every week, it continues to grow, and I have men—good, talented men—clamoring to work with me.”

“Of course they are. They know you’ll treat them fair and pay a decent wage.” Gabe nodded as he beheld his middle brother with pride.

“Are you looking to expand further?” Jeremy asked. He stretched out his long legs in front of him, sighing.

“I don’t think so. I’ve three shops to run, and it keeps me busier than I thought it would. I don’t have as much time at home with Flo as I’d like.”

“I’m sure she understands,” Gabriel said.

“She says she does. But I miss the time with the children, the simple things. Listening to them bicker as they wash up for supper. Helping them with their homework or readying them for bed.” Richard’s gaze became distant as he thought of his five boys.

“The little things that make a family into a family,” Gabriel whispered. He thought of his three living children, his mind shying away from a time when he had four.

“Yeah. I’m hoping to have a man in charge of each forge by the end of summer, and then I can simply oversee,” Richard said.

“Won’t you be bored? Shuffling paperwork around a desk rather than working at the anvil?” Gabriel asked.

“I’ve been doing that for nearly twenty years. Besides, I own three forges. Anytime I want to build something, I have access to the best smithies in Boston.”

“Col’s never resented you getting his family’s forge,” Jeremy murmured. “I think he’s pleased to be in Missoula.”

“It all worked out as it was meant to,” Gabriel said. “Colin had his time where he didn’t have any responsibility, just like he wanted. And now that he’s older, he has a forge in Missoula. Seems to have turned out well for him.” Gabriel sighed, mimicking Jeremy, kicking out his long legs, but moving them to the side so they wouldn’t hit Jeremy’s. “Remember when we’d meet in Old Man Harris’s shop, and we’d eat those treats he saved for us?” His gaze was distant as he imagined the scene from twenty years ago.

“Most of them were barely edible, but we didn’t know better,” Richard said.

“What with the food we were eating at Aunt’s house,” Jeremy said with a shake of his head.

“Or not eating. I swear, if she had had her way, we would have starved.” Gabriel shook his head. “Life was simpler.”

“But not any better,” Richard said. “I’d never trade the years I’ve had with Flo. Or the years without her, when I thought she’d betrayed me with Aunt Masterson.”

“Do you remember the time we knocked cousin Nicholas into the fountain?” Richard asked, his eyes lit with glee.

Gabriel grinned. “When he came out of the water, covered in the mud and muck, leaves dripping off his pristine uniform …” Gabriel chortled.

“Even when Aunt threatened us with life in an orphanage, I couldn’t regret what had happened to him.”

Gabriel shuddered. “That was one of the worst days for me. The thought that we’d be separated, intentionally, by Aunt.”

“Well, we never were,” Richard said.

“Thanks to you, Gabe,” Jeremy said.

“I did what any elder brother would do. I’d do it again.” He beheld his grown, prosperous brothers sitting in front of him. “I think Mum and Da would be proud of us.”

Richard and Jeremy sobered as they considered their long-deceased parents. “They would,” Richard said as Jeremy agreed.

Gabriel raised his nearly empty glass in a toast. “To the McLeod brothers. May we always know the value of hard work, friendship and family.” He smiled at his brothers as they clinked glasses.

* * *

W
hile the McLeod
men settled in for a chat over a pint, the McLeod women, along with Sophie, gathered in the formal dining area of the Willard Hotel where tea was served each afternoon. Light streamed through the stained-glass dome, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the tables and floor. Paintings of the District of Columbia’s bucolic past lined the gray-blue walls, romanticizing the once-swampy landscape of the nation’s capital.

“I’m thankful you reserved a table for us, Sophie,” Savannah murmured as she settled between Sophie and Zylphia. Clarissa sat next to Zylphia with Florence on her other side. They wore their most formal afternoon dresses, with hats titled at jaunty angles.

“I suspected many would linger the day after Wilson’s inauguration, and I did not want us to be denied,” Sophie said, her eyes sparkling, either with delight or mischief. “What did you think of yesterday?”

“It was rather sedate after the day before,” Zylphia said.