Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) (12 page)

“I’d like a walk after being on the train so long.”

While they ate, the conversation bounced around the table, but mostly between Charles and Georgia. Maggie didn’t contribute much to the discussion. And she didn’t want to spend more time with them tonight. She hurried up to the room on the third floor and quickly got ready for bed. If they wanted to carry on such a blatant flirtation, let them. She would get a really good night’s sleep.

After breakfast, they took the trolley to the station to board the train bound for Little Rock. They had been riding the other train east. This one took them southwest from St. Louis. After they’d ridden through a large section of Arkansas, they could see the Ozark Mountains in the distance. These mountains weren’t as tall as the Rockies, but they had their own unique qualities. The train had crossed the Ozarks in Missouri before they reached St. Louis. The same mountains spilled from Missouri into Arkansas.

Maggie could hardly believe the train had almost reached their destination. She’d known the trip would be long, but this one had seemed endless. She couldn’t imagine how those thousands of people who crossed half the continent on a wagon train kept from going crazy. Riding the train was monotonous, but being confined to a wagon behind slowly plodding oxen had to be far worse. Maybe after they returned home, she’d ask Daddy and Mother about their journey. Now she had something with which to compare it.

•••

Florence sat on her dressing stool, fascinated as she watched Ingrid dress her hair in an elaborate style. When she gave the girl to Margaret as her personal maid, she’d had no idea she was so talented. Thinking about her daughter made her wonder where Margaret and Georgia were right now. Had they reached Little Rock? Were they all right?

Even though she worried about them on their journey, she felt more settled than she had in a long time. Could it be because Margaret wasn’t in the house? If that was the truth, why did her being gone make a difference?

She wouldn’t let her thoughts return to the night of her daughter’s birthday party. Too many painful memories would assail her, and she wasn’t ready to delve into the reasons Margaret had been like a stranger to her that night. If she ignored the situation, maybe the pain would eventually subside, and when her daughter returned home, they could discuss it dispassionately. High emotions had contributed to their impasse.

“How do you like it now?” Ingrid stood behind her awaiting her approval.

“It’s really beautiful, Ingrid. You may go now.”

The girl curtsied. “Thank you, ma’am.” She turned and left the room.

Florence leaned closer to the mirror and tried to smooth the crow’s feet beside her eyes and the grooves on either side of her lips. She remembered the smooth face that had smiled back at her for so many years. Her youthful beauty has slipped away without her noticing. Had Joshua taken note of its disappearance?

The last week and a half with him had been wonderful. Of course, he worked every day, but he hadn’t gotten home late a single time. And often, he came home early.

He’d planned several special times for them. He took her to Squire’s Opera House on Commercial Street to hear a young singer from Norway who was touring the United States, billed as
The New Jenny Lind
. Too bad the poor girl had that name tied to her performances. The phrase was all the people remembered. Right now Florence couldn’t even remember her name. Something like Mara, or Maya, or Maria, or something like that.
Magda. That’s it.

At least the girl could really sing. She sang several arias and even a couple of duets with one of the local male singers. A thoroughly enjoyable evening.

They had dined out with friends on three occasions, and she and Joshua had spent pleasant evenings at home. When they were here, he didn’t bury himself in work in his study as he had for years. Instead, they really talked to each other. He always brought up memories of times gone by when they were so happy, making them live again in her mind. And when they retired for the evening, she welcomed being cradled in his arms, receiving his love in a way that they had almost lost over the years.

Tonight they were going to a ball at the Arlington House hotel. She went to stand before her cheval mirror. This blue taffeta evening gown set off her figure to perfection. She loved the sound of the swish when she moved.
And Margaret designed it.
The thought crept into her mind. Why did she resent her daughter’s abilities? Hadn’t she enjoyed the fruits of her labor many times?

Florence hoped Margaret was enjoying her trip, and she wasn’t going to let her thoughts linger on the problems with her daughter. If she did, they would inevitably take her to that long-ago night and her own selfish desires. A blight upon her soul.

Tonight she planned to enjoy her husband’s company and push everything else from her mind.

Chapter 12

Maggie didn’t have any idea what to expect when they arrived in Little Rock, but excitement throbbed through her veins. As the train pulled into the station, she noticed the hustle and bustle of a busy town instead of a country village. Several clusters of people waited on the platform. Perhaps they were meeting arriving passengers or were there to start their own travels. A smile spread across her face. All this boded well for the time they’d be here. They wouldn’t be stuck in some backwoods place without modern conveniences.

When the train stopped, Charles helped the women gather their belongings. He went down the steps and set his luggage beside him on the platform, then reached for Maggie’s carpetbag as well. She slipped her hand into his proffered one and let him help her. Even though she had been annoyed by the way he pursued Georgia on the trip, she still enjoyed the feeling of connection when their hands met. Too bad he didn’t experience the same thing. She pulled hers away, sure he hadn’t noticed her quickened heart rate, because Charles turned his attention toward Georgia, even grasping her fingers much longer than needed.

Turning around, Maggie let her gaze rove over the area. She especially noticed the people. Many of the ladies were dressed in the height of fashion that she had seen in
Harper’s Bazar
, while others looked as if they’d just come in town off a farm. The diversity mirrored what she saw in Seattle every day.

Her aunt, who was taller than she, stood on her tiptoes and searched the crowd. “There he is.” Georgia hurried toward a tall man dressed in livery, his hat tucked under his arm.

Maggie grabbed her bag and followed as fast as she could. She didn’t want to lose sight of her aunt, who easily wove through the crowd without displacing anyone. Charles followed behind Maggie.

“There you are, Miss Geor . . . Miz Long.” The black man with grizzled hair pumped Georgia’s hand enthusiastically, while his wide smile revealed a gold tooth nestled in front. “So good to have you home again.”

Not exactly the way servants in the Caine household would act. Maggie knew Florence would not allow such a thing. Since she had a more relaxed relationship with the Jorgensens when Florence wasn’t around, she wondered if things would be different when they were around her grandmother too.

“Thank you, Tucker.” Georgia turned back just as Maggie caught up. “He’s been Mother’s driver since before I left home. I don’t think your mother ever met him though.”

Charles thrust out his hand. “Glad to meet you. I’m Charles Stanton.”

After staring at it for a protracted moment, Tucker slapped his hat on his head and gave Charles a hearty handshake. “And this must be Miz Agatha’s granddaughter.” The man’s eyes twinkled when he turned his smile toward her. “She real excited you come for a visit.”

Knowing that her grandmother had been talking about her sent pleasure streaking through Maggie. For the first time in a while, she felt wanted, and maybe even loved. And the woman hadn’t even met her yet.

He turned toward Georgia. “Tell me how much luggage y’all have.”

Charles handed over two of the carpetbags. “These belong to the women. But that’s not all. We have more in the baggage car. I’ll help you retrieve them.”

“Coach be sittin’ over yonder. I’ll just take these and stow ’em in the boot and come back t’ get the other things.” The driver whistled as he ambled across the street, swinging his arms as if the bags were very light, and Maggie knew hers wasn’t.

Georgia held out her hand for Charles’s bag. “I can take this to the coach. Maggie and I will wait there.” She glanced toward the train. “They’re unloading things right now. You can make sure they don’t miss any of ours.”

Charles let her take the carpetbag, then walked swiftly toward the train.

Maggie crossed the street with Georgia, and they made their way between other waiting conveyances—farm wagons, plain buggies, other coaches. The warm musky smell of horses wafted through the autumn wind. “The name Little Rock sounds like a village, but it’s not.”

“No. It’s the state capital and the largest city in Arkansas.” Georgia handed the last bag to Tucker, who quickly stowed it under the canvas at the back of the coach, then headed across the street to join Charles.

“The town is pretty, but what a funny name.” Maggie caught an errant curl and twisted the hair around her finger before she pushed it toward the bun it had escaped. “Why use such an unusual name? Does it have any special meaning?”

“The town originally started from a settlement on the Arkansas River. An outcropping of white rock on the bank was used by the Indians, then early travelers, as a landmark. The French called it
La Petite Roche
, which means ‘the little rock,’” Georgia explained.
“Maybe while you’re here, we can go down to the river so you can see the landmark.”

“I’d like that. I want to see everything I can while we’re here.”

Maggie realized this might be her only visit to this area, and she didn’t want to return to Seattle and regret missing something interesting. Since her life felt completely unsettled right now, she wanted good memories in case something drastic happened when she got home and talked to her parents. She dreaded that conversation, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. She didn’t want to let it spoil her day.

Because they had been sitting for such a long time, Maggie didn’t want to climb into the coach until the men arrived with the other luggage. She walked back and forth, enjoying stretching her legs by moving at a fast clip. She tried to take in everything around them. “The train depot in Seattle is by the wharf. It’s not as pretty there as it is here by this train station. I love all the trees and fall flowers. This is almost like a park.”

Georgia waited beside the door to the coach. “I guess I just take it all for granted, because I’ve been here so often. But they have planted more than I remember from the last time I was home.”

Maggie stopped short in front of her aunt. “How long were you married before Uncle Scott passed away?” She covered her mouth with her fingertips for a moment. “I’m sorry. That was too personal of a question. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Georgia patted her arm. “It’s all right. We had seven wonderful years together before his accident. It’s been long enough now that it doesn’t hurt to talk about him or his passing. Although I miss him terribly. He was the love of my life.”

For a moment, she just stared at her aunt. This was the woman who’d just spent over a week bantering with Charles. Did she even realize the man was smitten with her?

Maggie was glad her words hadn’t brought hurtful memories to her aunt’s attention. But they brought a deep longing to her own heart. Would she ever have a love-of-her-life experience? She was frightened to even consider letting anyone that close. Too many secrets were buried inside her. Maybe someday, after she found out who she really was. “How long has it been since you were here?” Maggie hoped changing the subject would help her relax.

“I was only eighteen when Scott and I married and moved to Portland. I missed my mother . . . a lot.” Georgia stared into the distance with a wistful smile on her face. “Scott understood, and he made sure I saw my mother every few years. But I haven’t been home in the few years since he’s been gone. In addition to grieving for him, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

Before she could ask another question, Maggie noticed her trunk bobbing above the heads of the people on the platform as it moved toward the street. The crowd parted in front of Charles as he approached. She knew he was strong, but her trunk was extremely heavy. He had it hoisted on one shoulder, and he carried his portmanteau with his other hand, making the feat look effortless. Tucker followed him, carrying Georgia’s trunk on his shoulder.

“Didn’t they have a hand truck you could use to get the trunks over here?” Georgia frowned as each man lowered his burden to the street.

“We didn’t want to wait our turn to use it.” Charles dusted his hands together, exhibiting no ill effects from such a great effort. “So we did it the old-fashioned way. Muscle power.”

While Tucker loaded the larger pieces of luggage into the boot, Charles assisted Georgia into the coach, then he turned to Maggie. He clasped her fingers, and once again her heartbeat accelerated. She quickly raised her foot to the step. His nearness set her mind and balance in a whirl.

Charles followed her into the conveyance and closed the door. When he dropped onto the seat across from where she and Georgia sat, he faced the back of the coach.

“Don’t you want to see where we’re going?” She couldn’t keep the breathless quality from her voice.

His smile widened. “I trust our driver. I’d rather look at two beautiful ladies.”

“As if you haven’t been looking at us for almost two weeks.” The vehicle started moving, and Maggie glanced out the window, then back at him. “Besides that, you’ve seen us at our worst.”

He leaned forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. “I’ve not seen anything but two lovely women making the most of circumstances.”

She couldn’t help noticing his muscular thighs, and his words sounded like a caress. A caress she couldn’t receive . . . and probably didn’t deserve. And perhaps he was aiming the smooth words at Georgia anyway.

Maggie took a deep breath and pushed both shoulders against the deeply cushioned seat. Despite her resolve not to get entangled in caring for Charles, his presence kept her in knots. Wasn’t her life complicated enough without all this turmoil from a man? She sighed and turned her focus to the window.

What she saw delighted her. Most of the stores were built of brick, both red and buff colored, and had arched windows. Attractive displays of goods filled the windows—clothing, furniture, incidentals, even a store that sold only leather goods.

“There are a lot more stores here than in Seattle.” She turned toward Georgia. “They might have more modern conveniences too.”

“Little Rock was here long before Seattle was established.” Georgia sounded as if she were stating the obvious, which she was.

Tucker drove the coach into a residential neighborhood and soon stopped in front of a stately home. Maggie’s eyes lit up.

“Is this where my grandmother lives?” Maggie leaned close to the window and her gaze roved over the house and expansive grounds.

“Oh, my goodness, no. This is The House of Agatha Carter—her business.”

The coach halted, and they climbed out. Maggie followed her aunt across the thick lawn toward a discreet sign affixed to one of the white columns spanning the front of the house.

Maggie traced the raised letters with her fingertips, enjoying the sensation. Was it possible that someday she might run just such an establishment? Wonder what she could call hers? “I never dreamed her business was this large.”

Georgia advanced up the steps and through the front door with Maggie and Charles tagging along.

“When I was young, she conducted her dressmaking business from the parlor of our tiny house. That’s all Florence remembers. Mother moved the business here about eighteen years ago.” Georgia stood on the polished hardwood floor in the foyer and waited expectantly. For an extended moment, the only sound was the wind blowing through the open windows and a muted murmur from the second floor.

Soon a young woman descended the stairs and stopped beside them. “May I help you?”

“You’re new since I was here last. I’m Georgia Long.”

“Welcome home!” Her gaze shifted to Maggie. “You must be Margaret Caine.” The girl couldn’t be much older than Maggie. “Mrs. Carter will be so glad you’ve arrived.” She rushed back up the stairs, leaving them standing where they were.

Maggie had a hard time believing this was a place of business. The rooms—tastefully decorated in shades of royal blue, rose, and hunter green with floral accents—looked like a regular home. She would enjoy living in a place so lovely.

“Does Grandmother live here too?” She trailed her fingers along a rosewood table set against the wall. A tall china vase with fresh flowers welcomed them from the center of the table’s lace runner.

“No. But her home is just as lovely.”

“Finally!” A woman’s voice from the top of the stairs interrupted the conversation.

Maggie watched the tall slender woman, with a mass of brown curls piled haphazardly on the top of her head, hurry down the curved staircase. Only a few white strands laced through her hair. She looked much too young to be Maggie’s grandmother.