Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four (23 page)

“They told me the cord was wrapped around her neck. There was nothing anyone could have done.” He swiped at his eyes.

“How is Florence?” Delia asked.

“Devastated. She’d always wanted a little girl, and, after five sons, to know this was our chance …” He took a deep breath. “They wouldn’t let me spend the night. It’s against hospital policy, even though I begged.” His shoulders shook.

Aidan shared another look with Delia, who rose and coaxed Zylphia from the room. Aidan took Zylphia’s seat. “Richard,” Aidan said. As the door clicked closed behind them, Richard collapsed into his uncle’s arms.

Aidan held him for the few moments Richard leaned on him. “Forgive me,” Richard croaked.

“What should I forgive?” Aidan asked. “A father mourning the loss of his child? You must mourn, Richard.”

“I must be strong for Florence.” His eyes became distant. “You didn’t hear her shrieking, her begging for the doctor to help her baby.”

“What happened at the hospital?” Aidan placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder, before moving it around to cup the back of his neck to encourage him to meet his gaze.

“I shouldn’t have heard her screaming, but I’d become restless, and I snuck into the back area where I wasn’t supposed to go. I thought I was fortunate the nurses were lax in guarding the front.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Turns out they were restraining an inconsolable mother.

“When I realized it was Florence, nothing would have kept me from her. The doctor and nurses were appalled that I barged in, but all I could focus on was Florence. Keening. As though her heart were breaking.” Richard bowed his head as tears trickled down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Richard.”

“So am I, Uncle.” He sniffed as he attempted to control his tears. “I saw her, our daughter, for a moment. She was perfect but for the fact she wasn’t breathing.”

“How is Florence now?”

“They had to sedate her. I’ll return tomorrow morning at the earliest moment they’ll let me be with her.” He took a deep breath before he met his uncle’s gaze. “I know I’ve asked many favors from you over the years, and I’m sorry to burden you.”

“You’ve always been one of my life’s greatest joys. Never a burden,” Aidan whispered.

“Will you come with me as I tell my boys there will be no baby?” He sniffed again and straightened his shoulders. “I must tell them myself, but, afterward, when they are calm, it would help me to have you there.”

Aidan squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “Of course. I’m honored you’d ask me. Let me speak with Delia, and then we’ll be off.”

Aidan left the room, striding with purpose until he saw Zylphia sitting on the stairs and Delia pacing in the foyer. “I’m to travel with him to be there after he tells his boys. I’ll most likely spend the night there.”

As Delia and Aidan walked upstairs to pack a small overnight bag for him, Zylphia approached the parlor.

Richard sat stock-still, an expression of intense anguish and fatigue on his face.

“Cousin,” Zylphia whispered as she approached. “What can I do?”

Richard jerked at her voice, attempted and failed to smile his welcome at her in the room, instead grimacing at her presence. “Visit Florence soon. She’ll need the company. And the distraction. Talk about the struggle for the vote. Your friends. Anything to get her mind off what just happened.”

“I promise,” Zylphia whispered, leaning forward to enfold him in her embrace for a few moments. She held him until a gentle clearing of Aidan’s throat heralded the men could leave. “Take care of yourself, Richard.”

He squeezed her arm before following his uncle from the room and out of the house.

Z
ylphia exited
the streetcar in Dorchester, straightening her pale-yellow ribbed day-dress and navy blue coat. Her raven hair was held by a few pins in a loose chignon and covered by a matching hat. She tugged on her ivory gloves, tucked her handbag under an arm and began the short walk past rows of triple-decker houses to her cousins’ house, enjoying the short walk in the sunshine on a late-November day. Children played on the sidewalks and streets, calling out a warning to clear the road when a carriage or car passed.

She knocked on the door of the first-floor unit of a three-story house, painted a blue-gray.

“Zee!” her cousin Thomas shrieked when he opened the door. He gave her a quick hug before dragging her inside.

“Thomas! What have I said about not opening the door to strangers?” Florence called down the rear kitchen hallway that led to the front entranceway with rooms on either side. White and green floral wallpaper lined the walls in the hallway.

“It’s no stranger, Mama. It’s Zee!” he said, emphasizing the vowel sound of her name with glee.

A clatter was heard from the kitchen before the click of her shoes sounded down the hallway. “Zylphia.”

Florence approached with a broad smile, her expression lit with joy upon seeing Zylphia. However, deep circles under Flo’s eyes hinted at her recent anguish. She swiped at flour on the apron covering her gray day-dress.

“What a wonderful surprise.” She hugged Zylphia close for a moment before leading her to the kitchen. “I’m baking a cake. Why don’t you keep me company?”

“What kind?” Zylphia asked as she handed her coat to little Thomas and followed Florence.

“Nothing fancy. A simple white one with plain icing. Richard hopes today is the day he takes charge of the Hartley forge. If it goes well, I want to have a cake to celebrate. If it doesn’t, one to commiserate.” She shared a rueful smile with Zylphia.

“Thus, not much decoration.”

“Exactly.” She moved to the stove, put the kettle on for tea and motioned for Zylphia to settle at one of the kitchen table chairs. “How did you get here? Did your father’s driver bring you to us?”

“No, I took the streetcar.”

“Zee, you shouldn’t have. Take advantage of what your father can offer you now.”

“I know, but it seemed excessive to have his driver travel to the garage to drive me here and then to wait during my visit. I’ll be fine. Besides, I enjoy the adventure and the people-watching.”

“I imagine there’s always something to see,” Florence said with a half smile. Her gaze darted out the doorway, listening as her sons played in the front room. She measured flour, vanilla and milk while Zylphia settled at the table. “Somehow I thought, when we moved, we’d spend all of our time in the living room.” She laughed to herself as her gaze became distant for a moment. “I had insisted on a formal dining room.”

“I remember the arguments you and Richard had,” Zylphia murmured, motioning for Florence to continue with the cake as Zylphia rose to fill the teapot with tea and boiling water.

“And look at us. Just like before, everything of import occurs in the kitchen! The children study in here. We eat almost every meal here. That dining room would be wasted space if we hadn’t turned it into a bedroom for the children.” She gave a chagrined laugh, before choking back a sob at her last word.

Zylphia watched her closely but avoided speaking about the loss of her daughter that had brought Florence nearly to tears. “It seems to me, as a family, you know what’s important. Being together.”

Florence cleared her throat. “Well, Richard works more than I’d like, but he seems to relish each new challenge, and he’s quite adept at managing the three blacksmith shops we own.”

“How have you adjusted to living here rather than the North End?”

“We’ve been here long enough now that it doesn’t feel quite so strange. I still miss living nearer to the central part of the city, but we’re not far. And I think this is a better place to raise the children. One day, we hope our children will live upstairs rather than renting out the units.” Florence laughed. “I never could have imagined any of this when I married Richard.”

“What do you mean?”

Florence gave the cake batter one last mix with her spoon before approaching the baking tin. “I was content to live in the North End, married to a simple blacksmith. I never would have imagined we’d eventually own three blacksmithing shops, perhaps four, and a triple-decker in Dorchester.”

“It seems he takes after my father,” Zylphia said with a wry smile.

“I’ve often wondered if it is a McLeod trait.”

After a few moments of silence, Zylphia asked in a gentle voice, “How are you feeling, Flo?”

Florence stilled for a moment before finishing her work on the cake. She set the cake in the oven and sat across from Zylphia. Her forced joviality dissipated, leaving an expression of numb grief in its wake. “I’m all right. I remind myself, daily, how fortunate I am for every blessing I have in my life. I give thanks for what I have, rather than focus on what I don’t.” She looked at her hands, gripped together on the table, refusing to meet Zylphia’s gaze.

“Flo?”

“It’s foolish, I know. To yearn for a little girl I never truly knew. I think poor Richard is at his wit’s end with me.”

“I think he mourns too.”

At Zylphia’s soft words, Florence met her gaze.

“He’s visited my father a few times last week, and he’s always appeared shaken.”

“I remind myself it’s nothing like what Savannah or Clarissa have suffered. They had memories with their children.” She bit her lip. “I can’t imagine having memories to mourn.”

“Whereas you had the hope of memories to be made. The dream of what was to come.”

“Yes. And it’s so hard. But Richard holds me when I need to cry. There’s a solace in that which words can’t explain.” She paused as she sniffed, wrapping her hands around the mug Zylphia set in front of her. “Knowing that this is something I don’t have to go through alone.”

“I’m so sorry, Flo.” Zylphia squeezed her hand.

Florence met her gaze as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I desperately wanted a daughter.” She placed her hands over her face for a minute before scrubbing them. She took a deep breath as though to rein in her grief and pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, wiping her face clear of any signs of sorrow. “Thank you for visiting, Zee. It helps to have company during the day.” Florence watched her curiously. “Why did you call today?”

Zylphia flushed and took a sip of her scalding tea, gasping as it burned her tongue. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” At Florence’s increasingly inquisitive gaze, Zee admitted, “I felt like doing something different today.”

“No,
something different
for you is finding a new way to agitate for the vote, not visiting a mourning relative. What’s wrong?”

“Entering society isn’t what I thought it would be.” She slumped into her chair.

“You mean, the men aren’t as dashing as you’d hoped?” Florence teased, her customary good humor returning as the subject turned from her and her stillborn daughter.

“They’re quite dashing, I assure you. I’m simply not what they expected.”

“I don’t know why that should surprise you. You’re not what most anyone would expect, Zee. Why should you want to be? You’re a remarkable woman who has much to offer.”

She pushed one of her black curls behind her ear. “I’d hoped to meet others who would be interested in joining the suffragist movement. However, when they see me approach, they ignore me or flee.”

Florence laughed. “Then you’ll have to find another way to approach them. Sometimes barreling in isn’t what people need. The truth, or our vision of the truth, can blind us, Zee. When others sense such passion or purpose, they automatically shy away.”

“I don’t understand why.” Zee blew out her breath with agitation.

“Imagine someone continually approaching you, extolling the virtues of a world where women never voted. How would you react?”

“I’d argue with them.” After a moment’s pause, she said, “And, if they continued to approach me, I’d do what I could to avoid them.”

“Exactly. You need to be more subtle in your approach. I think it’s wonderful you have such zeal for the vote. I wish I had more time to dedicate to it. However, it is still considered a radical belief. If you want to convince others to your way of thinking, you must find a gentler, less confrontational way to induce them to listen to you.”

“You sound like Anna Howard Shaw,” Zylphia grumbled.

Florence laughed again. “Yes, and I imagine you espouse the more aggressive tactics of Miss Paul. However, I think both methods are needed, and, when one way isn’t working, you must look to a different tactic.”

“Unfortunately they all know I’m a firebrand radical now.” Zylphia raised her eyebrow at Florence’s snort of amusement. “And I can see of no way to approach them so as to convince them to my way of thinking.”

“Perhaps there are others you could speak with. Besides, if you temper your words for a while, you might find that they are willing to be near you. Once you’ve formed an acquaintance, then you could broach the subject again.”

Zylphia groaned as she leaned back in her chair. “It seems pointless, but, if it will help in any way, I’ll do it. Biting my tongue has never been easy.”

“I wish I could be there to see it,” Florence said, humor lighting her eyes. She tilted her head to one side, idly running her fingertip around the rim of her mug. “Are there any men who interest you, Zee?”

“Ugh, not you too,” Zylphia said with a deep sigh. She propped her head on her hand and glared at Florence before shaking her head ruefully.

“I know you espouse the idea that you will never marry, but that’s never seemed realistic to me.”

“Why? Numerous suffragists have never married. Why shouldn’t I be one of them?”

“I see how you watch your parents. How you watch Richard and me together. It’s always seemed something you yearned for.”

“I marvel at your friendships. At how you communicate even though you aren’t talking.” She smiled to herself for a moment. “In a way it seems magical.”

“It is, when you find a person you connect with. I would hate to think you’d become wedded to a cause and lose out on the joys of a full life, spent toiling away with little thought for what you truly want or need.”

“I shouldn’t marry until women have the vote.”

“What an utter bunch of rubbish.” Florence tapped her spoon against the edge of her mug. “No woman should advocate for other women to act in such a way that she herself isn’t willing to act.”

At Zylphia’s surprise, Florence nodded. “I had a visit from Sophie recently, and she informed me of your juvenile agreement with your friends after hearing Alva Belmont speak. You are mistaken if you think a pact with your friends will bring about the enfranchisement for women nor will it bring you happiness. Especially if you choose it over love.”

“There’s no one I’m interested in, Flo.”

“You say that now, but this struggle is far from over, and you could lose many years if you follow through with your agreement.” She pointed her spoon at Zylphia. “I would also caution you that, if you believe you’ll receive the counsel you require from your friends, rather than from Sophie, you are sorely mistaken.”

Zylphia stiffened in her chair. “Why is it that you all act as though she is an oracle?”

Florence smiled. “Perhaps she is, and we were simply fortunate enough to meet her. In any case, you’d be foolish not to seek her out when you need to, rather than rely on your younger friends.”

* * *

A
few weeks
after visiting Florence in early December, Zylphia stood on the side of the dance floor, attempting not to sway to the lilting music as she watched her friends laugh and flirt with their partners. The gold-gilded ballroom sparkled under a multitude of lights from the chandeliers while the colorful dresses worn by the women added splashes of color. She held a half-filled punch glass in her hand. The long ballroom opened onto the dining room and backed into a glass conservatory.

“No Mr. Goff this evening?” a man with a low voice asked from behind her.

She jumped at the voice intruding her thoughts before smiling at the teasing glance from Mr. Hubbard. “Good evening, Mr. Hubbard,” she said with a tilt of her head.

He raised an eyebrow, his honey-blond hair artfully disheveled. “Where’s your faithful companion?”

“You make him sound like a …” Zylphia stopped at her near-disparaging comment about Teddy.

“Well, he does follow you around like one. One has to hope he doesn’t have fleas.” His blue-green eyes flashed with humor.

“Oh, stop. Not one more mean word.”

His eyes lit with appreciation. “You are as loyal as they say,” he murmured. “I’m merely thankful he’s not dancing attendance on you this evening. It seems he’s by your side at every function these days.” He took a sip of the punch and grimaced. When Zylphia frowned her confusion at him, he lowered his voice. “I don’t have to compete for your notice tonight.”

Zylphia rolled her eyes, her cheeks blushing at his attention. “I’m sure Miss Perkins will be most disappointed when you fail to dote on her.”