Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) (18 page)

Chapter 18

A fter attending church with Agatha on Sunday, the second week in Arkansas was filled with Maggie spending as much time as possible at The House of Agatha Carter. Before this, she hadn’t realized how much was involved in running a business. Her grandmother taught her about ordering products, dealing with customers, accounting, and taking care of payroll. All of this would help if she ever started a design business of her own.

Now she had only one more day until they would start the homeward journey. Their two weeks in Arkansas had sped on eagles’ wings, and Maggie found herself dreading her return to Seattle. She understood she had to know the truth, but she knew the confrontation with her parents could be unbearably painful.

After breakfast, Maggie quickly donned a forest green, jean wool skirt. She loved the soft texture and the strength of this woven fabric. The color matched the tatted edges of the ruffles cascading down the front of her favorite pinstriped blouse. When she looked in the cheval glass, the woman staring back at her gave a very professional appearance, if she could only tame those curls that insisted on escaping every chance they could. She shoved several kinky strands back into the bun on her nape and added more hairpins. Hopefully these would hold them in place.

Today she was going to do design work with Agatha. After looking at a few of Maggie’s designs, her grandmother said she had a rare talent. And today she wanted her opinion on ideas for some new patterns she was working on. This was far more than she had dreamed would happen while she was here. She skipped down the stairs and found Agatha waiting in the foyer.

Agatha indicated Maggie’s empty hands. “Where is your sketch pad?”

She stopped before she reached the bottom step. “Do I need to bring it?”

“Yes. I’ll want to study all your drawings today. Perhaps they will give me ideas for our new fashions as well.” A smile curled the ends of her grandmother’s lips.

Maggie whirled around and took the stairs at a fast clip. Excitement throbbed through her, shadowed by intimidation. How could she possibly contribute to the wonderful designs her grandmother produced? After grabbing up her sketches, she also stuck the pencils in her handbag and ran back downstairs to join her grandmother, arriving out of breath.

When they reached The House of Agatha Carter, Grandmother told her to put her things in the office. “If you don’t have a pad to takes notes, I’ll give you one of mine.”

“Thank you. Actually, I always carry one. I never know when I’ll see something I want to remember.” Maggie grabbed a stubby, flat wooden pencil and a small pad and thrust them into the pocket cleverly hidden in the side of her skirt.

As Agatha talked with each of her employees, Maggie took copious notes, along with creating tiny illustrations. She had no idea how long it would be before she could even consider trying to start a business of her own, and she wanted to remember every detail. After they had talked to each of the employees about their assignments for the day, Agatha led her into the office. “Now let me see your sketches.”

Maggie pulled her drawings out of the handbag and handed the sketchpad to her grandmother. Agatha dropped into the wing-back chair behind the desk and studied the first drawing. Maggie tried not to fidget too much while she waited. Although Agatha had said they were good when she looked at them earlier, what if she changed her mind in the meantime?

“I like this design. Come here and I’ll show you what is really good and what I would change and why.” She gestured for Maggie to scoot one of the other chairs closer.

While Agatha pointed out the things she liked, Maggie couldn’t keep pride at bay, no matter how hard she tried. When her grandmother suggested changes, every time Maggie recognized how much better the design became by just changing a line here or there.

She was so engrossed in what they were doing that the arrival of lunchtime surprised her. And she felt she had been given a priceless gift by her grandmother. After she put the sketch pad in her bag, she gave Agatha a hug.

“Thank you so much.”

Her grandmother returned the embrace and sealed it with a kiss on the cheek. “My pleasure. You have a real gift. I hope you’ll pursue your dreams relentlessly.”

“I intend to.” Maggie gathered up her things and followed her grandmother to the coach.

A cold wind blew from the direction of the river, and more and more leaves released their hold on the branches to dance in the capricious wind. The end of autumn was fast approaching.

“It’s a good thing you’re leaving tomorrow. You’ll want to get across the mountains before the snows come. Sometimes the tracks are impassible for days at a time.” Agatha patted Maggie’s knee. “I don’t want to worry about you. Be sure you have your father send a telegram, so I’ll know you arrived home safely.”

Maggie assured her that she would. The thought of being snowbound in any of the towns they’d come through in the mountains wasn’t a pleasant prospect. She shivered at the thought.

Her grandmother took her back to the hotel for lunch, just the two of them. However, they quickly finished the delicious meal and returned to The House of Agatha Carter.

After spending most of the afternoon learning about keeping up with appointments and finances, Maggie and her grandmother headed to the house, which appeared to be deserted. Agatha went through the kitchen and out the back. Maggie followed her.

“Tucker, where is everyone?”

“Shirley needed to go to the store, and Mr. Stanton and Miz Long decided to go ’long. I be pickin’ ’em up later.”

As the two women walked back into the house, Agatha put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you privately anyway.” She led the way into the parlor.

Maggie couldn’t imagine what her grandmother wanted to talk about, but she’d treasure this time, just in case anything changed after she got back to Seattle. She sat in the chair that faced the sofa, and Agatha took her place at the end of the couch.

“Margaret, dear, your time here is drawing to a close. I’ve seen your interest in my business and witnessed your designing skills. I would still love to have you stay here and learn the business, perhaps even take it over someday. What do you say?” Agatha dropped her hands into her lap and quietly waited.

Maggie stared at the pattern in the Persian carpet, so like the shawl she had bought for Florence. She sat there stunned. She had considered staying to learn the business. But staying permanently? Her mind whirled at the thought.

“If you think your parents would object, I would be happy to pose the question to them myself,” Agatha continued.

Maggie shook her head, then to her dismay, tears filled her eyes.

“My dear, what is it?” Agatha asked. “I thought you would welcome the idea, but certainly if you’d rather return home . . . ”

“That’s not it,” Maggie choked out. “I would love to stay. It’s just . . . ” She found herself unable to continue.

“I believe I’ve come to know you very well in the short time you’ve been here.” Agatha paused, and her brow wrinkled in concentration. “I know something is bothering you. I’ve prayed for you and whatever the problem is, but I’ve not gotten any peace about it. I believe the Lord wants me to ask you. Do you feel you can tell me about the problem?”

Maggie tried to clear the knot in her chest. Pain radiated from it, almost as if she was having a heart problem. “I don’t know where to start.” She blew out a breath.

Agatha chuckled. “I’ve always found the beginning to be a good place.”

“I’m not even sure when it began.” Maggie’s thoughts jumbled together, and she took a moment to let them settle. “I’ll tell you about what I found not long before my birthday.”

“Whatever you want to do, child.” Agatha’s soothing tone calmed Maggie.

She explained why she went into the attic and how she found the green dress. “And then I noticed several trunks.”

“And you explored them?”

Maggie recognized that Agatha had strong discernment, especially in this instance. “Yes.”

“What did you find that disturbed you so much?”

Maggie recounted the clothing that had to be what her father and mother wore on the wagon train, and then the little white trunk buried deep inside a larger one. By now, tears streamed down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the palms of her hands. Agatha extracted a hanky from under the edge of her sleeve and handed it to Maggie. “What was in that little white trunk?”

Wiping her eyes, Maggie rose from her chair then handed the handkerchief back. “I want to show you.”

She hurried from the parlor and up the stairs to her bedchamber. When she came back, she carried the small trunk. She sat on the other end of the sofa from her grandmother and placed the trunk between them.

After lifting out the blanket, she handed it to Agatha. “Did you knit this?”

Her grandmother inspected the piece, unfolding it and turning it over and over. “This is pretty, but no, I never learned to knit.”

“Does Georgia?” Maggie handed her the sweater and cap. “I’ve never seen Mother knit anything either.”

Agatha laid the things in her lap. “None of us has ever knitted, that I know of. Maybe a friend of Florence’s did this.”

Maggie moved all the other baby garments from the trunk, revealing the framed photograph and a piece of faded paper. She handed the picture to her grandmother. “Do you know this woman?”

Agatha studied it then turned her attention to Maggie. “If I didn’t know this is too old, I’d think it was a picture of you. Where did you get it?”

“I found it in this trunk along with this.” She carefully picked up the brittle, yellowed paper and handed it to her grandmother.

Agatha scanned the words. Shock widened her eyes, and she quickly returned to the first line. Now she took her time reading every word. Then she dropped the hand holding the paper in her lap. “My dear Maggie! They never told me.” Agatha sat there, her stunned expression a good match for what Maggie had been grappling with for the last few weeks.

“They never told me either. And I didn’t have the nerve to tell my parents yet that I found it.” Maggie picked up the photograph again. “This must be my mother, whoever she is.”

Agatha gazed down at the photo, then glanced up at her. “It took months for the wagon train to reach Oregon. When we received word that Florence and Joshua had a daughter, we assumed she’d finally had a baby. They’d wanted one for such a long time. Florence has always loved children.”

Her grandmother stared off into space as if seeing the past. “By the time she was seven years old, she would ask to hold the new babies at church. I worried that she would drop one, but she was so careful with them. My beloved Drake died while I was carrying Georgia. Florence had just turned thirteen when she was born. She helped me so much with her baby sister.”

All this information about the family made Maggie long to be a part of it. And Agatha revealed a different side of her mother that she’d never considered.

“Why didn’t they tell me you were adopted?” Agatha stared at Maggie. “I thought you inherited my designing ability and my curly hair.”

The words stung Maggie. She winced.

Agatha reached across the open trunk and took Maggie’s hand. “Oh, you poor child. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just so surprised. I’m thinking out loud. You are my grandchild in every way that counts. No one can take that away from us.”

Her grandmother’s words went straight to Maggie aching heart, pouring over it like a soothing balm. She
wanted
to belong to Agatha.

“Do these names mean anything to you?” Her grandmother held up the paper.

“I’ve never heard any of them before I found the trunk.” Maggie took the adoption paper and placed it flat on the bottom of the container. Then she started folding the baby clothes and placing them on top. “One question I’ve had is, why didn’t my mother sign the paper? If Angus McKenna is my father, and he must be since he’s the one giving me away, who is my mother?”

“Does it really matter?” Agatha moved the trunk to the table and scooted closer to Maggie.

When her grandmother pulled her into an embrace, she leaned her head on Agatha’s shoulder.

“Florence and Joshua have been good parents, haven’t they?” The words were whispered against her hair.