Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two by Ramona Flightner Page B
Authors: Ramona Flightner
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interrupting their conversation.
Colin laughed and gave me a wink, a lock of wavy auburn hair falling over his forehead and past his eyebrows. He reached up with hands battered from years working at the forge and pushed his hair out of his light blue eyes.
“Yes, and he is doing well in Montana,” Richard said, watching me intently.
It was a searching look, similar to the look Gabriel had used with me, and the memory made my throat tighten. “Montana?” Then I remembered what the postman had said today. “But he’s supposed to be in California.”
“Well, he met someone in Chicago who talked him into going to a booming mining town in the wilds of Montana called Butte.”
“Butte?” I asked. “Why on earth would he want to go to a mining town?”
“I guess for the adventure. Though I think he’s been asking himself that question since he arrived,” Richard responded with a wry smile. “But, now that he’s there, he’s got to stay for a while. He doesn’t have enough put by to be traveling here and there whenever the mood strikes.”
“Does he have work?” I asked.
“I’m surprised you know nothing about Gabe, Miss Sullivan. He writes you a few times a week, if not more.” Again the questioning look.
I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm my anger. “I have not received a single letter. They have been, ah, intercepted for lack of a better word and have not been delivered to me.” I tilted my head in Mrs. Smythe’s direction.
“Ah, the meddling stepmother,” Richard said, nodding his understanding.
“I learned today that she is intercepting my letters and destroying them.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing Gabriel has a suspicious nature because he envisioned just this type of scenario,” he said with a wide smile and handed a sealed envelope to me.
I gasped with joy, snatching it out of Richard’s fingers. I traced Gabriel’s bold handwriting, feeling a connection with him after all of these weeks.
“That smile is thanks enough,” Richard said. “I think Gabriel will continue to send your letters to me, and I will deliver them to you, if you find that acceptable, Miss Sullivan.”
“I do. Exceedingly acceptable. Thank you, Richard,” I said.
“Rissa, Rich and I were in the middle of a serious discussion about bellowing techniques at the smithy,” Colin said with a smirk. “Would you mind giving us a few moments alone?” He tilted his head toward the piano and a quiet part of the room.
I smiled again, rose and walked toward the piano stool. I rarely sat in this part of the parlor as it held so many bittersweet memories for me from the summer when Gabriel and I officially courted. The final memories—his telling me that he would leave and then giving me his locket—were too painful to relive.
However, tonight I sat on the piano stool, determined to remember the joy and happiness of Gabriel’s visits. I carefully opened his letter, reading the return address.
September 23, 1900
My darling Clarissa,
Over three weeks have passed since I left Massachusetts, and yet I have heard nothing from you. In my weaker moments, as I lie awake at night, I feel like I will drown from an overwhelming loneliness. I worry that you have had a change of heart. When I think about your life, during the day while I work, I know that your stepmother most likely causes your silence. Please write me. Please tell me that your feelings have not changed. It is the dream of us being reunited that makes the struggle of living in a mining town worthwhile.
If you have not received any of my letters, you may be surprised to learn that I am in Butte, Montana, rather than San Francisco. I met a young man named Matthew Donovan in Chicago who was headed to Butte. I decided to join him as I thought it would be better to have a friend than go to a place where I knew no one.
It would take a magician’s wand or a blind man’s optimism to say that Butte is an attractive place. There are smokestacks
Colin laughed and gave me a wink, a lock of wavy auburn hair falling over his forehead and past his eyebrows. He reached up with hands battered from years working at the forge and pushed his hair out of his light blue eyes.
“Yes, and he is doing well in Montana,” Richard said, watching me intently.
It was a searching look, similar to the look Gabriel had used with me, and the memory made my throat tighten. “Montana?” Then I remembered what the postman had said today. “But he’s supposed to be in California.”
“Well, he met someone in Chicago who talked him into going to a booming mining town in the wilds of Montana called Butte.”
“Butte?” I asked. “Why on earth would he want to go to a mining town?”
“I guess for the adventure. Though I think he’s been asking himself that question since he arrived,” Richard responded with a wry smile. “But, now that he’s there, he’s got to stay for a while. He doesn’t have enough put by to be traveling here and there whenever the mood strikes.”
“Does he have work?” I asked.
“I’m surprised you know nothing about Gabe, Miss Sullivan. He writes you a few times a week, if not more.” Again the questioning look.
I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm my anger. “I have not received a single letter. They have been, ah, intercepted for lack of a better word and have not been delivered to me.” I tilted my head in Mrs. Smythe’s direction.
“Ah, the meddling stepmother,” Richard said, nodding his understanding.
“I learned today that she is intercepting my letters and destroying them.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing Gabriel has a suspicious nature because he envisioned just this type of scenario,” he said with a wide smile and handed a sealed envelope to me.
I gasped with joy, snatching it out of Richard’s fingers. I traced Gabriel’s bold handwriting, feeling a connection with him after all of these weeks.
“That smile is thanks enough,” Richard said. “I think Gabriel will continue to send your letters to me, and I will deliver them to you, if you find that acceptable, Miss Sullivan.”
“I do. Exceedingly acceptable. Thank you, Richard,” I said.
“Rissa, Rich and I were in the middle of a serious discussion about bellowing techniques at the smithy,” Colin said with a smirk. “Would you mind giving us a few moments alone?” He tilted his head toward the piano and a quiet part of the room.
I smiled again, rose and walked toward the piano stool. I rarely sat in this part of the parlor as it held so many bittersweet memories for me from the summer when Gabriel and I officially courted. The final memories—his telling me that he would leave and then giving me his locket—were too painful to relive.
However, tonight I sat on the piano stool, determined to remember the joy and happiness of Gabriel’s visits. I carefully opened his letter, reading the return address.
September 23, 1900
My darling Clarissa,
Over three weeks have passed since I left Massachusetts, and yet I have heard nothing from you. In my weaker moments, as I lie awake at night, I feel like I will drown from an overwhelming loneliness. I worry that you have had a change of heart. When I think about your life, during the day while I work, I know that your stepmother most likely causes your silence. Please write me. Please tell me that your feelings have not changed. It is the dream of us being reunited that makes the struggle of living in a mining town worthwhile.
If you have not received any of my letters, you may be surprised to learn that I am in Butte, Montana, rather than San Francisco. I met a young man named Matthew Donovan in Chicago who was headed to Butte. I decided to join him as I thought it would be better to have a friend than go to a place where I knew no one.
It would take a magician’s wand or a blind man’s optimism to say that Butte is an attractive place. There are smokestacks
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