Nineteen Seventy-Four: The Seven, #4

Nineteen Seventy-Four

THE SEVEN BOOK FOUR

SARAH M. CRADIT

Copyright © 2019 Sarah M. Cradit

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Sarah M. Cradit

Editing by Lawrence Editing

First Edition

ISBN: 9781793132031

Publisher Contact:

sarah@sarahmcradit.com

www.sarahmcradit.com

Contents

Preface

Also by Sarah M. Cradit

The Seven in 1974

Spring 1974

Prologue: Irish Colleen and the Seven

1. Augustus Takes a Bride

2. The Ocean

3. Working Girl

4. The Cold Darkness of Russia

5. Just Sometimes

Summer 1974

6. Revelations

7. We All Have Our Paths

8. Summer Island, Maine

9. Show Them Who You Are

10. What Are We?

Fall 1974

11. Celebrate and Protect

12. Uptown Girl

13. A Red Mark

14. The Price

15. You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Winter 1974

16. The Winter of our Discontent

17. Over the Hills and Far Away

18. The Lockbox

19. A Band of Heather

20. I Would Die, I Will Die

Epilogue: Irish Colleen and the Seven

Also by Sarah M. Cradit

The Family

Homes & Properties

Crimson & Clover Connections

About the Author

Preface

If you’re here, you’ve hopefully started with 1970, followed by 1972, and 1973. If you operate best with order, you’re in the right place! If you like to jump into the middle of something with blind excitement, then you’re also in the right place.

By now, you’ve suffered through three of my disclaimers that remind you, the reader, that I was a child of the eighties, not the seventies. That my imagining of this period is a combination of the remnants of the mindset of the seventies that lingered into my generation, as well as leveraging feedback and ideas from those who lived through it, and lived through it well. Because of this, any errors or misrepresentations are my own.

This series is, first and foremost, a character-driven narrative about the founding mothers and fathers, so to speak, of the future House of Crimson & Clover heroes and heroines. I’d always wanted to tell this story, because origin stories have a way of becoming so much more. As much of the past was written when I wrote the future, piecing together what was missing revealed that their lives were even more rich and intoxicating than anything I could have imagined. In writing their stories backwards, if you will, I had the pleasure of watching who they’d become unfold before my eyes. Writing has a way of taking on a life bigger than the writer, and this series has been one incredible revelation after another. To say the seven have surprised me would be selling the experience short.

I mention this, because, while the time period in which this series is set was an important consideration for me (my playlist, since I started writing 1970 has been completely immersed in nothing but seventies music), being true to the seven Deschanels, and those who shaped their lives, for better or worse, was always my foremost goal.

As the series crests the hill and begins the descent toward the finish, I hope you continue to find the journey rewarding.

Also by Sarah M. Cradit

KINGDOM OF THE WHITE SEA

Kingdom of the White Sea Trilogy

The Kingless Crown

The Broken Realm

The Hidden Kingdom

The Book of All Things

The Raven and the Rush

The Sylvan and the Sand

The Altruist and the Assassin

The Melody and the Master

The Claw and the Crowned

THE SAGA OF CRIMSON & CLOVER

The House of Crimson and Clover Series

The Storm and the Darkness

Shattered

The Illusions of Eventide

Bound

Midnight Dynasty

Asunder

Empire of Shadows

Myths of Midwinter

The Hinterland Veil

The Secrets Amongst the Cypress

Within the Garden of Twilight

House of Dusk, House of Dawn

Midnight Dynasty Series

A Tempest of Discovery

A Storm of Revelations

A Torrent of Deceit

The Seven Series

1970

1972

1973

1974

1975

1976

1980

Vampires of the Merovingi Series

The Island

and more

The Dusk Trilogy

St. Charles at Dusk: The Story of Oz and Adrienne

Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine

Banshee: The Story of Giselle Deschanel

Crimson & Clover Stories

Surrender: The Story of Oz and Ana

Shame: The Story of Jonathan St. Andrews

Fire & Ice: The Story of Remy & Fleur

Dark Blessing: The Landry Triplets

Pandora's Box: The Story of Jasper & Pandora

The Menagerie: Oriana’s Den of Iniquities

A Band of Heather: The Story of Colleen and Noah

The Ephemeral: The Story of Autumn & Gabriel

Bayou’s Edge: The Landry Triplets

For more information, and exciting bonus material, visit www.sarahmcradit.com

The Seven in 1974

Children of

August Deschanel (deceased) &

Colleen Irish Colleen Brady

Charles August Deschanel, Aged 24

Augustus Charles Deschanel, Aged 23

Colleen Amelia Deschanel, Aged 22

Madeline Colleen Deschanel, Deceased

Evangeline Julianne Deschanel, Aged 20

Maureen Amelia Deschanel, Aged 18

Elizabeth Jeanne Deschanel, Aged 15

For Maureen

SPRING 1974

VACHERIE, LOUISIANA

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

Prologue: Irish Colleen and the Seven

Colleen Deschanel, known as Irish Colleen to her family and friends, walked past the faces of her seven children, as she did every night of her life.

All seven of her children lined the marble mantle of the townhouse that was her home now, and possibly always.

She hardly saw any of them anymore. Their lives had recently ceased to be an extension of hers, and her days of actively mothering any of them, even young, sweet Elizabeth, were almost entirely at an end. They didn’t need her meticulous preservation of their father’s world. They didn’t need her heavy hand, or even her soft one, though she had always been more natural at the former than the latter.

Charles lived alone at Ophélie, sulking around the property like a specter, awaiting his marriage to Cordelia. He’d resigned himself to the union born upon a terrible secret between the fathers of the not-so-happy couple, and that showed an unexpected level of maturity from her reckless oldest son. Yet Irish Colleen could not help but feel bitterness that his future unhappiness was what finally brought upon him the need to act like a man. She’d chided him for growing to this point too slow, and now he would settle into this space with all the expected bitterness of a man wronged by an unfair world.

Augustus, on the morrow, would take his own bride and bring her back to his Magnolia Grace. Irish Colleen didn’t know whether he was happy about this or not. He displayed none of the joy of the newly fiancéd. His signature, perpetual glower of sourness, the way one might look if their taste buds were tuned inappropriately, dimmed only a little with the pretty, if odd, Ekatherina on his arm. Irish Colleen quelled her suspicions at the young woman’s motivations. Surely, she wasn’t marrying him for their unbridled passion for one another? There was no evidence of that, or of any binding attraction. But Ekatherina would bring none of her own people to the wedding, and therein that fact lay the answer Irish Colleen had been avoiding.

Augustus was no fool. If she was after him for his money or connections, then he already knew this and was running toward the fire, not away.

Colleen’s plane for Edinburgh left the day after Augustus’ wedding. Both Irish Colleen and Ophelia had reminded Colleen that the family had access to a private jet, but she insisted her life in Scotland wasn’t going to be about who she was, but what she could do. No one there would know the name Deschanel, she said, though Irish Colleen thought her eldest daughter was underestimating the power of the family influence. Even in Scotland, she’d find those who would pander to her for favor, and doors would open because of this connection, even if she never understood the link. I want to start this season of my life right, Colleen insisted, and although it was a delusion, it was important to her, and Irish Colleen hadn’t pushed. Colleen said she’d be back once a quarter for her Collective Council meetings, and of course in the summer for Charles’ wedding, but Irish Colleen had the strong sense that once Colleen fell in love with Scotland, those visits would taper off, and her commitments back home would wane. Irish Colleen still remembered the rolling hills of Erin, which she’d been told were so like the Highlands of Scotland, and keened for them. Places like this were a place of rest for the soul. She’d daydreamed of returning when all her children were grown, but not all souls were worthy of rest.

Spring was the time for decisions, and Evangeline, as with the prior two years, was faced with a decision of her own. Each year, she said she would leave for MIT, and each year, she found a reason to stay. This time, she claimed she was doing it for Colleen, who would need to know the family was cared for in her absence. Did neither of her daughters understand how hurtful this insinuation was? She’d borne it from Colleen since she was a child, because she chalked it up to a personality tic, but now Evangeline spoke as if their presence alone was required to keep the solid bond running through the family. She tried not to think too much about this, because the underlying truth was enough to shatter the façade she kept around the walls of every house they’d lived in. To them, she was a mere steward, like the wretched Denethor in that book Elizabeth insisted on reading, The Lord of the Rings. She was just here until the rightful king of Gondor appeared, or whenever Colleen finished college, whichever came first.

She supposed this was how her late husband had seen her, as well. Having failed to produce children with the love of his life, he’d resigned himself to marrying a baby-maker, and giving her the means to produce and produce until there was nothing left of her except a shell.

Irish Colleen closed her eyes in prayer after they passed over the face of her beautiful Madeline, who was now God’s child more than hers.

She started up the stairs, to where the bedrooms lined the hall in a neat row.

Maureen was sound asleep. Irish Colleen didn’t know her daughter well enough anymore to understand the change, but she’d noticed Maureen had found more peace in recent months. This started at Ophélie, and though Irish Colleen had worried coming back to New Orleans would reverse any progress made, it continued. Was it her eighteenth birthday looming around the corner? Maureen had always talked of the day she could fly with her own wings and leave the nest, even if none of her plans ever involved the specifics she’d require to make it happen. Details had always been unimportant to Maureen, who responded more acutely to emotional need than the ones logic commanded. How long would she stay? The pang in Irish Colleen’s gut told her Maureen wouldn’t have many more nights under this roof.

She blew her daughter a kiss and moved on.

Irish Colleen found Elizabeth standing at her window. One hand peeled back the lace curtain, and the other lay pressed against the glass, fingers spread. Beyond, rain peppered the panes. Elizabeth seemed lost to the process.

It’s late, Lizzy.

I’m not five anymore, Mama.

Yes, of course. I know that, smarty pants. Irish Colleen longed for the days where her baby was five, and she could hold her, a simple mother’s touch washing the pain away. That window had been so short and was now closed forever. At fifteen, Elizabeth was almost a stranger to her now. She recoiled from even the slight touch of her mother pressing her hair aside. Scowled at the mild attempts at tenderness.

Charles and Augustus are both making mistakes.

Irish Colleen flinched at the blunt transition. Charles has his challenges ahead, but love is not the most important part of marriage, Elizabeth. They’ll find their balance. As for Augustus, he chose his bride.

Elizabeth’s lips curled in a smirk. Choice is an illusion.

And what, pray, does that mean?

Aggie chose Ekatherina about as much as Charles chose Cordelia.

Irish Colleen wrapped her arms around her, pulling her shawl tighter. What you’re saying makes no sense, Elizabeth.

It wouldn’t to you. You’ve always been so black and white.

Irish Colleen took a step forward, slighted by the observation. That’s not fair, Lizzy. I live my life according to the Lord’s direction, and if that seems to be a method that leaves me making clear choices, then so be it.

Did you ask yourself why Augustus left when he did?

He was a grown man. It was time.

Was it?

Stop with the questions and make your point.

He’s punishing himself, Elizabeth said. She ran her finger down the glass, chasing a rogue drop outside. For Maddy.

Madeline made her choices, and they had tragic results. Augustus was a wonderful brother to her.

Augustus was the only one who cared about what was important to her, and then he gave her the money and the way out that killed her within hours.

Irish Colleen drew in a sharp breath. I know that, but it would be foolish to blame himself for something he wasn’t even there for.

Elizabeth half-turned with a grin far beyond her years. And when is guilt fair?

You’re too young yet to understand.

It would be easier for you if I was, I guess. Elizabeth shrugged. She let the curtain fall and turned to her mother. Ekatherina is more like Madeline than even he realizes. She’s alone in the world, and misunderstood, and in need of something he can give. Now do you see the connection?

He must love her, Irish Colleen insisted.

Elizabeth shrugged. He seems to. Only Augustus knows for sure about that. But any relationship that starts on the wrong terms has a way of ending on them.

What are you saying?

I don’t know anymore, Elizabeth replied. She bounced down onto the bed and flopped into position on her pillow. I don’t even know why I bother to open my mouth.

Lizzy, that isn’t what I meant. You know you can tell me anything.

Can I? Even if I can’t tell you everything?

It was a fair question, and one with no satisfying answer. You can’t be cross with me for wanting to understand the things you see and say, my darling.

Then you can’t be cross with me for not knowing everything.

Irish Colleen nodded. Very well. I’ll prove to you I can leave you well enough alone, from time to time. Tell me something I don’t know right now, and I promise I’ll ask no further questions.

Elizabeth laughed. Okay, how’s this? Charles and Augustus aren’t the only ones who will be starting an unhappy marriage this year.

What?

You said no questions.

Well, yes, but—

Elizabeth turned her face away and buried it in the plush fold of her pillow. Good night, Mama.

CHAPTER 1

Augustus Takes a Bride

Ekatherina’s lips were even softer than he’d imagined. He should have kissed her sooner. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t found a suitable occasion. This wasn’t the nineteenth century, where chasteness ruled all. Still, so much about their relationship was a careful dance of interpreting intentions, and Augustus would be horrified if he misunderstood hers. Even for a kiss.

She had a small, but generous mouth. Augustus once heard Maureen telling one of the other girls about how she’d been pinching her bottom lip in order to give herself a feminine pout, and while he had no actual idea what that was, it seemed Ekatherina had this naturally. She never wore lipstick—something he was only certain of by the frequency of which she chewed her lips, and the unchangeable color of the surface—but she didn’t need to, and even today, on her wedding day, he was happy not to taste the waxy blend that reminded him of kissing Carolina.

When he pulled back, Ekatherina was smiling, and that was enough to restore his heartrate to normal.

He pitched forward as his brother, looking both dapper and out of place in his bespoke tuxedo, clapped him hard on the back. Congratulations, my man. Charles stepped around Augustus and kissed Ekatherina on both cheeks. Welcome to the family, sister.

Thank you. Her timidity in the face of Charles’ intensity caused Augustus’ anxiety to reappear as he agonized over whether or not she would ever be happy as a Deschanel, in a family so unlike hers.

Or was it? Augustus didn’t know, but he intended to find out. For her.

Irish Colleen had grudgingly agreed to a small wedding, after Augustus threatened to elope, but she insisted all his siblings be represented in the wedding party. This was the first wedding of the generation, and the family would be a part of it. Augustus didn’t mind this part so much. He loved his siblings, and when he’d declared he wanted a small wedding, he of course meant they should be there. But this posed a problem, because he had a disproportionate number of sisters.

Colleen paired with Charles as the maid of honor, but that left his three younger sisters needing groomsmen. Augustus didn’t have friends, only business acquaintances, a fact that never bothered him until faced with deciding who should be at his side on the biggest day of his life. Now, it was a bleak reminder that the life he required to keep himself focused on what was important was also no life at all by the standards of most.

In the end, he chose the Sullivan brothers. They were practically family, and ready-made for the task. Colin, Rory, and Patrick were all too happy for the honor.

Was Ekatherina resentful of having four women she hardly knew stand at her side as she married? Was she thinking of her own sister, Anasofiya? As a wedding gift, he planned to present to her a copy of his letter to the Soviet Embassy, making a formal request for her family to join them in New Orleans. By Christmas, she’d be reunited with her beloved family, and all would be well. The last of her tension would slip away, as would his, and they could begin anew.

Evangeline pressed through the small crowd gathering at the altar. The taffeta bulging at her arms set off her wild hair with even more of a feral look than usual as she stomped in her platform heels.

She shook Charles aside and took Ekatherina’s tiny triceps into her hands. The cornered look in Ekatherina’s eyes put Augustus on edge, but he trusted his sister not to murder her new sister-in-law on the day of her wedding.

We didn’t get off to the best start, Ekatherina, Evangeline said. She released her hands temporarily to tug at the hem of her dress, shuffling her body around in very obvious discomfort. "But you’re the first person to make my brother