Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) (6 page)

She slumped back into the chair and stared at him.
This must really be serious.
“Why? What has she done?”

Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees and studied the design in the Persian carpet as if he had never seen it before. “She hasn’t done anything wrong, if that’s what you mean. But we’ve got to make a decision about the journey she wants to take.”

The words felt like heavy blows to her chest. She had hoped everyone would forget Margaret’s whim about going to Arkansas. Even with the railroad, the trip would be long and hard. And Florence didn’t look forward to going. She didn’t want to be away from home for several weeks. That last trip she and Margaret took to visit her sister, Georgia, in Portland had seemed endless. She didn’t like being away from her own domain, and she had to admit she had missed dear Joshua as well, in spite of all his faults.

“I think maybe this is what’s bothering her, Florence. She wants to visit with your mother, and we should let her go.” His words held a firmness he seldom used with her.

“Let
her
go. Do you mean you’d let her go without us?” Florence straightened her back like a ramrod. “You don’t want us to go with her? She surely can’t go alone.”

“Maybe if we let her go without us, when she comes back, things will be better between the two of you.” His eyes pleaded with her to understand, but she didn’t.

Does he blame me for what’s happening?
She hoped not. Their girl could be so exasperating. She’d tried hard to be a good mother, but Margaret never understood that. She always bucked like a wild horse against anything Florence suggested.

Before she could voice her objections, he continued, “Your sister will be here for the party. She could stay and go along with Maggie. I’m even thinking of asking Charles to accompany them. Be their protector. We can make our plans for the business before they leave, and I can oversee the work while he’s gone. If I need to communicate with him, I can always send a telegram. Communication is easier than it was when we came west on the wagon train.”

Florence let those words sink in without a comment.
What can I say?
If she didn’t agree, the misunderstandings between her and Margaret would escalate. Perhaps Joshua was right. Her refusal would even affect her relationship with her husband. And heaven knows she didn’t need any more trouble between them.

“I’ll think about it.” That was the most she could give him at this time. “Really think about it.”

Chapter 5

Maggie had looked forward to her eighteenth birthday party for almost a year. But now that the time had arrived, she had a hard time working up enthusiasm for the festivities. Too many things pushed them to the back of her mind, not the least being her discovery in the attic several days ago.

A soft knock sounded at the door. She opened it for Ingrid, her personal maid, who also was Mrs. Jorgensen’s granddaughter.

“Miss Maggie, Grandma sent up tea and finger sandwiches. She said you should eat something before I help you dress. You hardly touched your lunch.” Ingrid set the tray on the table beside the window. “Should I pour you a cup?”

Maggie wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want Mrs. Jorgensen to keep worrying about her. “Yes. You know how I like it.”

The girl picked up the china teapot and poured the fragrant beverage into the matching cup. After stirring in one teaspoon of sugar until it dissolved, she added a teaspoon of milk. “Here you are. Do you want me to get out that pretty green dress you had Mrs. Murdock hem?”

Maggie took a sip of the tea, the warmth only slightly settling the cold dread in her belly. “Yes.”

She probably should fortify herself for Florence’s reaction to her wearing the dress. Without a doubt, her adopted mother wouldn’t like the fact that she’d countermanded her own directions to Mrs. Murdock.

While Ingrid retrieved the gown from the wardrobe, she kept talking. “And how will you be wanting your hair styled? Should I put most of it up and form a few long curls to drape over your shoulder in front? If I wind the matching ribbon through your style and accent it with some beads, you’ll look like a princess.”

A princess?
Wouldn’t it be interesting if she really were a princess? She shook her head. Not much chance of that.
No one would give away a princess
. Maybe she was the daughter of a pauper. Was that why Angus McKenna gave away his daughter? He was too poor to take care of her.

“That sounds like a good idea.” Maggie picked up a sandwich and took a bite while Ingrid collected her silk undergarments.

The first taste teased Maggie’s appetite, so she finished the piece and picked up another.

“Grandma will be pleased you decided to eat, for sure.” Ingrid arranged the hair ornaments on the dressing table beside the silver brush, comb, and mirror.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I really was until I took the first bite. Be sure to thank her for providing just what I needed . . . once again.” Maggie dropped into the chair beside the table so she could eat the rest of the delicious food. She hoped it would fortify her for the evening and all it would bring.

Why didn’t Florence notice what she needed? Maggie wasn’t really selfish or vain, was she? But shouldn’t a parent want what was best for their child, no matter how they acquired the infant? Had she only been a plaything that Florence tired of before she grew up? Her thoughts over the last days had proven torturous. But she saw no way to find out without actually asking her parents. And she wasn’t ready to do that.

Before Ingrid finished arranging Maggie’s hair, a quick knock on the door interrupted them. “Margaret, can I come in?” Her mother’s younger sister called through the door.

“Of course you can.” Maggie twisted on the dressing stool and watched Aunt Georgia enter and close the door. She loved her aunt. Having her in the house would serve as a buffer between Maggie and Florence. “When did you arrive?”

“Not very long ago.” Georgia wrapped her arms around Maggie and kissed her cheek. “I told Florence to let me surprise you after I cleaned up from traveling. The train was late leaving Portland, and I was afraid I’d miss your party altogether.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Maggie clung to her for another long moment before letting go, relishing the hug and the love it represented. But would Georgia feel differently when the truth came out?

Georgia moved to the side, so Ingrid could continue with her ministrations. “Are you all right, dear?”

Maggie stared at her aunt, noticing her sleek dark hair pulled into a figure-eight bun on her nape, so different from Maggie’s own wild, almost-untamable curls. “We’ve just been very busy getting ready for the party.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. They had been busy, but her words didn’t answer the question. Maybe Aunt Georgia wouldn’t notice.

Her aunt gave a quick nod, then sat on the edge of the bed. “So where did you get that dress? It’s not one you designed, is it?”

Should Maggie tell her? The truth couldn’t hurt. “I found it in the attic. I remembered you saying Mother had brought along some of the dresses your mother designed when she came west.” At least that was part of the truth. “When I saw the label, I knew it was one of them.” And one of the reasons she wanted to wear it to the party.

Aunt Georgia gazed up and down Maggie’s figure. “I’m surprised it fit you so well. I thought Florence was taller than you when she wore that.”

So more information had to come out. “I had Mrs. Murdock, our seamstress, hem it for me, but the rest of the dress fit just fine.”

“My sister was very thin when she was younger, which made her as small as you are, just taller.” Georgia watched Ingrid’s fingers as they fairly flew while she created the elaborate hairstyle. “My goodness, you are really good at that.”

Ingrid blushed at the compliment. “Thank you, ma’am.” She didn’t slow down a bit, continuing to weave the ribbon and green beads through the curls and anchoring them with hairpins.

When she finally laid the three long curls beside Maggie’s slim neck, she stepped back to admire her own handiwork. “Does it look all right, Miss Maggie?”

After turning her head this way and that, so she could see every part of the style, Maggie smiled. “I believe this is the best you’ve ever done. Thank you, Ingrid.”

“You’d be the belle of the ball even if you weren’t the birthday girl.” Aunt Georgia came to stand behind her. “You’re very beautiful indeed.”

“But I don’t look a bit like you or Mother.” The soft words slipped out before Maggie could corral them.

She stared in the mirror at her aunt’s startled reflection. Maggie wondered if Florence would share that same startled expression when she walked down the stairs in the dress.
Of course
,
she will. Maybe worse.
Maggie’s lips pulled into a slight smile at that thought.

•••

Florence stood in the foyer of their home beside her husband, content with the knowledge that everything looked perfect, just the way she had intended for it to be. It wasn’t every day that a family could celebrate their daughter’s coming-of-age party.

“So glad you could join us.” She extended her gloved hand to Mayor Yesler and his wife, Sarah. She loved welcoming people into their home, especially important people. This was a far cry from their first home at the end of the long wagon trip west.

Oregon City was very provincial, but just for a moment the memory of happy times there flitted through her mind. Even so, they couldn’t stay there where everyone knew her shame. That was why she talked Joshua into moving to Seattle. And even though they lost some of the more fun aspects of their life with the move, just look at the contacts they had made. They held an important place in the society of this lovely city.

“Thank you.” The mayor moved on to Joshua, and the men’s deep voices blended into the general hubbub. Probably talking about business, which was the way of most men.

Light laughter and murmuring rippled through her parlor, where the furniture had been moved aside to make room for the string quartet and dancing. As Florence turned toward the next people coming through the front door a scuffing sound drew her attention toward the top of the stairs. Georgia started down the steps. Her sister looked lovely in that particular shade of blue, and the cut of the dress really showed off her svelte figure. And then Margaret came to the top of the stairs.

Florence’s heart almost stopped beating. That wasn’t the dress she told Mrs. Murdock to make for Margaret. Instead, her daughter wore one of the dresses her mother had designed for Florence when she was younger. An off-the-shoulder style in a brilliant, emerald green silk. The brocade shimmered as Margaret descended the stairs, outlining every move her daughter made. She glanced around, and the eyes of every man in the room followed Margaret.

Florence remembered wearing the dress and never really feeling comfortable in it. Of course, it hadn’t looked as good on her as it did now on her daughter.
What has been going on in my own home without my knowledge?
After the party, she’d get to the bottom of this. However, no need to create a scene in front of all the people attending. She pasted a stiff smile on her face and accepted the hand of the next guest.

•••

Charles Stanton loved parties and had been looking forward to Maggie’s birthday celebration. Now his attention was immediately drawn to Maggie as she started down the curving staircase in the foyer. He’d always thought of her as pretty, but tonight she was more than that. The green dress showcased her womanly figure to perfection, and the color brought out her eyes. Even though he was standing a few feet away he could see every detail. The golden flecks in her eyes glittered in the light from the gilded, crystal chandelier.

He hoped to catch her eye, but her attention was fastened on someone close to the door. He shifted, and through the crowd, he spied Mrs. Caine. The women acted as if no one else was in the room. For a moment, some unspoken communication passed between Margaret and her mother. Mrs. Caine’s lips thinned and her jaw clenched before a tight smile masked her reaction. Maggie slowed momentarily and swayed slightly, concern puckering her brow.

If only he knew what was going on with them. For the first time in his life, he actually wished he could read minds. Florence Caine had been nothing but kind to him. So had Maggie. What caused this evident animosity between them?

Quickly he made his way through the throng until he stood near the archway that led into the large parlor. He propped his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. His gaze followed Maggie as she greeted people in the crowd, always polite and friendly. Soon another woman, who looked like a younger, softer version of Florence, joined Maggie. They greeted each other with wide smiles. No animosity there.

What a beauty!
Her golden hair was swept to the top of her head with tendrils caressing her cheeks. The blue silk dress emphasized her femininity and intensified the hue of her eyes. She looked like one of the china dolls for sale in the store, but she was very much alive. Now there was a woman he could be interested in. She had to be some relative, maybe Mrs. Caine’s younger sister. She couldn’t be more than a year or two older than he was. He hoped he’d get a chance to meet her.
Wonder if she lives in Seattle.
If so, why had he not met her? He might have if he had gone to church more. He promised himself he’d remedy that this coming weekend.

The two women went to the refreshment table and put a few items on each of their plates. He couldn’t take his gaze from the new woman. Then he noticed something odd about Maggie. While she continued to visit with others at the party, she never took a single bite of the food on her plate. Her fork just nudged the morsels around.

Quickly he crossed the room. When he arrived near Maggie, the other fascinating woman stood beside her.

“Are you going to introduce me to you friend?” Even though Charles was talking to Maggie, he couldn’t take his eyes off the blonde beside her.

“You mean my aunt Georgia? But she
is
my friend as well.” Maggie’s words snatched his attention.

“Your aunt?” He had guessed right.

“Yes. Aunt Georgia, this is Charles Stanton. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Since you were in pigtails.” When he laughed, Maggie didn’t join him. He wondered why. She used to like to be teased.

“You would bring that up.” The frown in her tone matched the one on her face. “Actually, sometimes Charles got me into trouble, but I have to admit that often he also got me out of trouble.”

The aunt lifted her hand. “I’m Georgia Long.”

He glanced at her ring finger. It was adorned by a dinner ring with lots of pearls, but no wedding band.
Good.
He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against the back. For a moment her eyes widened, and she looked flustered before she withdrew it. At that moment, he decided to claim a dance from her later in the evening.