Undaunted Love (PART ONE): Banished Saga, Book 3 (4 page)

He pushed her down to her chair again, and she landed with a heavy thud. “What do you mean?” she gasped.

“The doctor informed me that the birth had gone so poorly, that you had done your one job so badly, that you will never be able to have another child. You are useless to me.”

“What will you do?” Savannah whispered, anguish from his words pervading her.

“I have yet to decide,” he said, as he paced about again. He spun to face her. “But you will heed me on this and remain in this house until I give you permission to leave.”

“Jonas, if I want to call on my parents, I will,” Savannah said with a defiant lift of her chin.

“Do not cross me on this, Mrs. Montgomery. I assure you, you will not like the consequences.” He turned and left the room.

CHAPTER 3

“BREAK, DAMN YOU, BREAK!”

The harsh voice matched the fierce green eyes, fingers like talons gripping his mouth open as the tube passed his lips into his throat. He arched his back as a fiery agony invaded his belly, swelling it past bearing, in an attempt to garner information he did not have.

A kick to his side enhanced the agony in his belly, and he writhed in an attempt to escape this torment.

“Hold on to him, dammit.”

Strong hands clasped his legs and arms, impeding any further movement. He looked into the merciless green eyes promising only pain—

Jeremy woke screaming, gasping, his arms flailing in front of him to ward off his imaginary tormentors. One arm connected with someone’s hand and was grasped. “No!” he yelled, writhing to break the contact and restraint.

“Jeremy,” a familiar voice said. “Jeremy, you’re safe.” Richard released Jeremy, and he fell to the bed to curl onto one side. The dregs of the nightmare faded, and Jeremy could recognize his surroundings.

“Boston,” he gasped, shaking as he lay on his side.

“Yes. Home.” Richard reached out to pat Jeremy on the shoulder, but Jeremy cringed from the contact. “Can’t you tell me what torments you?”

“No, never,” Jeremy said. “I …”

“Jeremy, I’m your brother. I will stand by you through whatever you’ve done and whatever you imagine you’ve done.”

“I don’t need to imagine anything. There is no absolution for all I’ve done.”

Florence’s soothing hands swept the sweaty hair off his brow and cupped his cheek. “We are your family, Jeremy. Never doubt our love for you.”

Jeremy opened stricken eyes to see Florence crouched over him, mothering him. “Flo.” He inhaled a stuttering breath in an attempt to forestall a torrent of grief.

She traced his jaw, then moved her hand to his shoulders and massaged them with a gentle pressure. She would not be forestalled and continued her ministrations. After a few moments, she eased onto the bed next to Jeremy and pillowed his head on her lap. She continued her soothing caresses.

Suddenly Jeremy pushed away. He rose, and Richard gripped his arms. “Jer?”

Jeremy shook as though suffering a malarial ague and fell into Richard’s arms as he sobbed. Richard clasped Jeremy to him, as Florence rose and left the room.

After a few moments Jeremy began to calm and backed away from Richard. “Forgive me.”

“No, Jer.” He gripped Jeremy’s head, cradling it with his large hands. “Let me be your brother. Talk with me. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want you to despise me,” Jeremy whispered. “I think I could handle anything but that.”

“I will only ever give thanks you came home to us, Jer. Talk to me and Flo. It can do you no more harm than keeping it all inside.”

“Florence can’t even stand the sight of me. She left.”

“No, I know Florence. She’s in the kitchen making us tea.” Richard released Jeremy’s head and gripped his shoulder. He propelled him into movement, having him walk in front of him toward the kitchen.

Florence stood at the dining room table arranging mugs, a pitcher of milk and sugar, as a pot of tea stood steeping on it. Jeremy glanced at the battered clock on the bookshelf and blanched. “You two should be in bed. Richard, it’s 3:00 a.m. You have work tomorrow.”

“Nothing is more important than family, Jer.” Richard’s intense blue eyes dared him to argue.

Jeremy groaned as he collapsed into one of the large chairs Gabriel had built. He covered his face with his hands for a moment before meeting their worried gazes. “I’d enjoy a cup of tea, Flo.”

She smiled and prepared him a cup with milk only.

He wrapped his fingers around the mug, staring into its depths.

“From your recent nightmares, we have a good idea of what happened in the Philippines. Let us help you,” Florence said.

Jeremy raised his eyes. “I don’t wake you every night, do I?”

“You thrash and moan and scream most nights, Jer,” Richard said. “Whatever torments you is in deep.”

“You should have told me. I would have moved out. Given you some peace.”

“The only peace we want is the peace that comes from knowing you are free of this at last,” Florence said. She reached forward to grip his hand.

“There are things I need to say, but, Florence, you shouldn’t listen to them.”

“Because I’m a woman? Too sensitive to understand what you could have suffered?”

“Because I want to protect you from the darker aspects of this horrible world.”

“Jeremy, my own mother didn’t want me. I know how dark this world can be. Let me support you too,” Florence said.

Jeremy nodded, gripping her hand once before releasing it. He took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on the table in a nervous pattern. As he spoke, he lowered his head, tracing granules of sugar on the table.

“In the beginning, I enjoyed the army. I loved it. I was used to a regimented life after living with Aunt Masterson, so it was no hardship. But in the army, if I followed the rules, I was left alone. I wasn’t punished for something I didn’t do.

“I made friends, enjoyed the camaraderie. I believed it was a just and noble fight. I believed the … propaganda, I guess you’d call it. We were the liberators of an oppressed people who wouldn’t know how to rule themselves. I thought I’d have an adventure, travel to an exotic tropical island and that there’d be no true fighting because we’d be welcomed by the natives.”

He rose and paced. “They didn’t want us there. At least not when it meant more war and death and suffering for their loved ones.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you know I actually offered to obtain intelligence? That’s how it all started. I was friends with one of the men who was specially trained in it, but he got sick with malaria. Rather than wait for someone to be sent out from Manila, I offered to give it a try. I thought, if we could obtain the information, the fighting would end sooner.”

He snorted. “God, how naive I sound. I believed them when they said that force was needed to extract information. Never mind that half of what we learned was useless. Just desperate men fabricating anything they could think of to make us stop.

“I took pride in what I did because men broke the fastest under me. I caused them the most pain in the shortest amount of time, and I was hailed as the ideal soldier.” He sat in a chair across from Richard and Florence, and held his head in his hands.

“What do you dream about, Jeremy?” Florence asked in a near whisper.

“I’m in this dream I can’t get out of. But instead of being the torturer, I’m the one being tortured. I can’t move and … and …” He broke off, rubbing a hand over his face. “How could I have done that? It wasn’t me! That’s not who Mum and Da raised me to be.”

“Jeremy, look at me.”

Jeremy’s head jerked up as though complying with an order from a commanding officer. Richard gave a small smile, tinged with bitter satisfaction. “That’s how you did it. You were ordered to.”

“I should have known better.”

“What would have happened to you if you’d declined?” Florence asked. “I can’t imagine your troop mates would be happy to have a pacifist in the army.”

“That’s just it. I was far from a pacifist. I liked the fighting. I liked outsmarting the enemy. Figuring out where they’d hide and how to best attack. How to break them the fastest.”

Richard waited, watching him. He gripped Florence’s hand to signal her to keep quiet.

“I even enjoyed battle, as long as it wasn’t hand-to-hand.” He ran a shaky palm over his face. “But the screams and carnage after battle.” He shuddered. “I realized all I was good at was bringing pain to others.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Richard snapped. He met Jeremy’s eyes, and his voice softened as he saw Jeremy’s torment. “You were forced to do and live through terrible things. But you survived, Jer. And I will only ever be thankful you returned to us.”

CHAPTER 4

“I TOLD YOU THAT she wouldn’t come,” Jeremy said, as he paced the living area he shared with Florence and Richard. He approached the bookshelf, tracing the spines of the novels, staring blindly at the titles.

“She sent a note, apologizing for the delay and asking for us to go to the Home today. I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Florence said.

“Delay? Two weeks’ worth of silence and then she expects us to be free to help her?” Jeremy spun away from the bookshelf and approached the sink overlooking the empty lot to the rear.

“Jeremy. You know what type of man her husband is. Maybe he wouldn’t let her leave the house.”

“Why would any woman marry a man like that?”

“Some don’t show their true colors until after the wedding,” Florence said wisely. “Especially if there is money involved.”

“Makes you thankful to be poor. Things are simpler,” Jeremy said, causing Florence to laugh.

“Simpler maybe, but not easier.”

“No need to worry, Flo. Rich has a good job, and he can support the two of you well. And I’m starting to sell my work. A little extra income helps.”

“I know, Jer. I know. I just wish there were something I could do. It’s so unfair that married women are not permitted to teach.”

“Well, with the likes of you agitating to change things, I’m sure that will not always be the case,” Jeremy said with fond affection in his voice. “Flo, are you certain you want to return to the Home?”

“There’s no reason for me to dread returning. They were always very good to me there.” Florence sighed and closed her eyes. “And yet I hate the thought of walking through those doors again. All I’ll think about is the day my mother brought me there, wearing her tattered Sunday best, and her promise to return for me. I didn’t know what was happening, so I didn’t even cry when she left. It was only hours later, when I understood I’d been relegated to the unwanted, that I cried.”

“You’ve never been unwanted, Flo,” Jeremy said. He was interrupted from saying any more by a tentative knock at the door. He strode down the hallway, reached the door and flung it open. “Hello, ma’am. I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

“I’m sorry I was unable to return until today,” Savannah whispered.

“Please come in,” Jeremy said as she slipped past him into the dark hallway. She preceded him into the living area where she smiled at Florence.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Jeremy asked.

She flinched but nodded. “Yes, thank you. Thank you both for believing me and being willing to help me. Do you know where the Home is?”

Jeremy exchanged an amused glance with Florence. “Yes, we do,” Jeremy said when Florence remained silent. He led them from the living room area, down the hallway and into the dim alley.

Jeremy continued to walk in front of them, and Savannah linked arms with Florence. She stumbled a few times on the uneven cobblestones of the sidewalk before noting the small businesses they passed. She inhaled appreciatively as they walked past a bakery.

“I’d love to go in there some day,” Savannah said.

“They make delicious cakes for tea,” Florence said with a smile. “Especially if you are entertaining.”

Florence sobered as they turned a corner and approached a large oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. Narrow windows on either side of the door and an arched window over the door’s lintel caused the entrance to appear imposing. Except for the large door, the faded brick building blended in with its neighbors, and Savannah realized why she’d had such trouble finding the orphanage.

Jeremy turned to study both Florence and Savannah for a moment, before nodding and tapping on the knocker a few times. They were met by a young woman in severe plain black clothes and led to a bench halfway down a narrow hallway.

Florence turned in a slow circle, appearing to look in all directions at once. She stared at the walls, the ceiling and the doorways, before finishing her small circuit. She approached a picture on a wall, studying a photo of recent residents.

“Florence Butler! It is Florence Butler, isn’t it?” a low-pitched voice called out as they waited in the foyer of the New England Home for Little Wanderers. Florence spun to face the woman rushing toward them. Her black skirts whipped around her legs, and her salt-and-pepper hair was restrained in a tightly coiled bun.

“Delia,” Florence breathed. “You’re still here? It’s been fifteen years.” Her question went unanswered as Delia flung her arms around Florence, grasping her in a tight embrace.