The enticing aroma of gingerbread called her toward the kitchen. Spending time with Mrs. Jorgensen was just what she needed right now. Since she didn't have any grandparents living close by, their cook and housekeeper substituted quite well in Maggie's mind.
She pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose and sniffing like the bunny in the back garden while she headed across the brick floor toward the cabinet where her older friend worked. "What is that heavenly smell?"
Mrs. Jorgensen turned with a warm smile. "As if you didn't already know. You've eaten enough of my gingerbread, for sure."
Pushing white tendrils from her forehead, the woman quickly sliced the spicy concoction and placed a large piece on a saucer while Maggie retrieved the butter from the ice box. Maggie slathered a thick coating on and watched it melt into the hot, brown bread.
"Here's something to drink." Mrs. Jorgensen set a glass of cold milk on the work table in the middle of the large room.
Maggie hopped up on a tall stool and took a sip, swinging her legs as she had when she was a little girl. Mother would have something else to complain about if she saw her. That's not ladylike and is most unbecoming. The oft-spoken words rang through Maggie's mind. But Mother hardly ever came into the kitchen. Mrs. Jorgensen met with Mother in her sitting room to plan the meals and the day's work schedule.
"This is the only place in the house where I can just be myself." Maggie took a bite and let the spices dance along her tongue, savoring the sting of spices mixed with the sweetness of molasses.
"Ja." The grandmotherly woman patted Maggie's shoulder. "So tell me what's bothering you, kära."
Tears sprang to Maggie's eyes. "Why doesn't Mother understand me? She doesn't even try."
She licked a drip of butter that started down her finger, then took another bite of the warm gingerbread. Heat from the cook stove made the enormous kitchen feel warm and cozy, instead of the cold formality of most of the house.
Mrs. Jorgensen folded a tea towel into a thick square, then went to the oven and removed another pan of the dessert. "What's the bee in her bonnet this time?"
Maggie loved to hear the Scandinavian woman's quaint sayings.
"She won't consider letting me continue to design dresses." Maggie sipped her milk, not even being careful not to leave a white mustache on her upper lip. "I've drawn them for our seamstress to use for the last five years. As many of them have been for Mother as for me. And she's enjoyed the way other women exclaimed over the exclusive creations she wore. I don't understand why she doesn't want me to continue to develop my artistic abilities."
"Your father is a very wealthy man, for sure." The cook's nod punctuated her statement. "Your dear mother just wants what is best for you."
"Why does she get to decide what's best for me?" Maggie felt like stomping her foot, but she refrained. That would be like a child having a tantrum. She would not stoop that far now that she was no longer a child. "Soon I'll be eighteen. Plenty old enough to make my own decisions."
"Yah, and you sure have the temper to match all that glorious red hair, älskling." She clicked her tongue. "Such a waste of energy."
After enjoying the love expressed in Mrs. Jorgensen's endearment, Maggie slid from the stool and gathered her plate and glass to carry them to the sink. "You're probably right. I'll just have to talk to Daddy."
The door to the hallway swung open.
"Talk to me about what?" Her tall father strode into the room, filling it with a sense of power.
"About my becoming a dress designer."
A flit of pain crossed his face before he smiled. "A dress designer?"
Maggie fisted her hands on her waist. "We've discussed this before. I want to go to Arkansas and see about learning more at The House of Agatha Carter."
Her father came over and gathered her into a loving embrace. "I said I'd think about letting you go. There are many details that would have to be ironed out first. But I didn't say you couldn't go."
Maggie leaned her cheek against his chest, breathing in his familiar spicy scent laced with the fragrance of pipe tobacco. "I know. But Mother won't let me. Just you wait and see."
He grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. "Maggie, my Maggie, you've always been so impatient. I said I'd talk to her when the time is right. You'll just have to trust me on this."
His eyes bored into hers, and his lips tipped up at the ends. She threw her arms around his waist. "Oh, I do trust you, Daddy."
"Then be patient." He kissed the top of her head, probably disturbing the style she'd work so hard on this morning.
Mrs. Jorgensen stopped slicing the gingerbread and held the knife in front of her. "I thought you weren't going to be home for lunch, Mr. Caine."
"I'm not. I've only come by to pick up my beautiful wife. We'll be dining with some friends at the Arlington House hotel downtown." He gave Maggie another hug and left, presumably to find her mother.
"Would you be wanting another piece of gingerbread, kära?"
Maggie shook her head. "I don't want to ruin my lunch. I have some things I need to do. Can I come back to eat a little later?" She hoped her father could prevail against Mother's stubborn stance on the question of a trip to Arkansas.
Mrs. Jorgensen waved her out the door. "You're probably not very hungry after that gingerbread."
Maggie went into the library to retrieve her sketch pad, then headed upstairs to her bedroom. She wanted to get the drawing on paper again before she forgot any of the details. She pulled her lacy panels back from the side window and scooted a chair close. With a few deft strokes, she had the main lines of the dress on the thick paper. Then she started filling it in. As each line appeared on the drawing, she felt an echoing movement in her spirit. Deep inside, she danced through the design as it took shape, much faster than the first time. She was so glad she could recall every detail.
While she drew, her thoughts returned to Grandmother Carter. Everyone said she took after her grandmother . . . everyone except Mother. Why isn't she happy about my talent?
Maggie wandered through her memories, trying to recapture how it was when she was a little girl. She remembered Mother playing with her when they lived in the smaller, but comfortable house in Oregon City. They didn't have servants then, but the three of them laughed and enjoyed life together. Then for some reason, her mother had started talking to her father every chance she got about moving to a larger place. Now that Maggie looked back on those memories, she realized that her mother seemed almost frantic to get away from where they lived, as if something were wrong with the town. Maggie never understood why.
She couldn't have been more than five years old, but some of the events stood out. The hurry to leave town. The long trip. For quite a while after that, she missed playing with her friends. And she didn't make new ones when they arrived. No other small children lived in the neighborhood. Even when she started school, she stayed to herself. She had been shy as a young girl.
After they moved to Seattle and her father bought one of the empty buildings and opened Caine Emporium, Mother changed. She became more distant, almost cold. She was no longer the laughing woman. If Maggie didn't know better, she'd think something made Mother bitter. Maybe that was one reason she wanted to design this special dress. To brighten her mother's life. Bring back the woman who sometimes flashed through her memory at odd times, making her long for the warmth she had luxuriated in as a small child.
Finally, the drawing met her approval. Just in time to eat lunch. Maybe this afternoon she could finish the other sketch with the changes to make the dress more appropriate for her mother than herself.
Once again the kitchen welcomed her, and she enjoyed eating there with Mrs. Jorgensen. If Mother had been home, they would have had the meal in the formal dining room, complete with china, crystal, and silver. Such a fuss for an ordinary day.
•••
"Margaret." Her mother's voice rose from the foyer below. "I'm home."
Looking at the names of people she'd placed on the invitation list, Maggie finished writing Charles Stanton's name and put the pen down. "Coming, Mother."
She rushed out of her room and stood at the top of the staircase. "Did you want me?"
"Yes, dear. I thought we could get some shopping done this afternoon." Her mother still wore her gloves and cape.
"Is it cold?"
Mother nodded. "It's a bit nippy, so wear something warm."
"I'll get my things." Maggie hurried back to her room and gathered a light jacket, a handbag, and her gloves.
When she arrived in the foyer, Mother stood tapping her foot impatiently. "I had hoped we could buy most of the things we'll need today."
Maggie bit her tongue to keep from reminding her that she wasn't the one who had frittered away so much of the day. If Mother wanted to go shopping, why didn't they do it earlier? She could have gone along for the lunch with Daddy. But evidently Mother preferred spending time with Daddy instead of her. She took a deep breath and followed her mother to the coach sitting in front of the house.
Mrs. Jorgensen's son, who was their driver, stood beside the open door, ready to assist them into the conveyance.
"Erik, please take us by the Emporium." Mother took hold of his hand as she stepped up into the vehicle.
Maggie followed suit. "Why are we going to the store? Are we going to shop there?"
The door snapped shut, and Erik climbed into the driver's seat.
"I forgot to get money from your father when we were at lunch." Mother settled her skirts as the coach lurched forward. "I believe your father is signing papers with young Charles Stanton this afternoon. It will be nice to see him again. Did you add him to your guest list?"
Maggie nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She hadn't seen Charles since she was about sixteen, but she still remembered the girlish secret infatuation she'd had when she was younger. He'd been so handsome, and kind too. Would he be changed since he'd graduated from university? She would soon find out.
She settled back into the carriage seat, suddenly looking forward to the afternoon's events.
Chapter 2
Charles Stanton stood in the office above the furniture store he’d recently inherited from his grandfather. With his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, he studied the whitecaps on the water of Puget Sound, barely visible from his position. The movement of the waves soothed him even though he wasn’t close enough to hear them lapping against the shore. It was a sound that always calmed him, and that’s what he needed right now.
Am I doing the right thing? He’d asked himself that question more than once during the recent negotiations.
When he turned fourteen, Grandpa started teaching him about the business, grooming him to eventually take it over. Charles never considered such a thing would happen when he was only twenty-two years old. Maybe his grandfather had somehow sensed he wasn’t long for this world. Two years ago, when Charles graduated from Territorial University, Grandpa increased the depth of Charles’s training. Even on his deathbed, Grandpa assured Charles he didn’t have anything to worry about. Grandpa trusted him with the business he had built. Charles only wished he felt as certain.
I can do it. He repeated the phrase in his mind more than once. He stood taller and lifted his chin. After all, he was smart and well trained. And his grandfather had entrusted him with a fine furniture store. He was on top of the world, and he needed to enjoy it.
Turning from the vista, he crossed to the large cherrywood desk where his grandfather had held sway as long as he could remember. Charles spent much of his childhood playing between the desk and the bookcases that lined two walls of the expansive room. Father had been as involved in the store as Grandpa back when Seattle was a raw settlement, not the modern city it was today. Then the unthinkable happened. Charles’s mother and father perished in a cholera epidemic when he was just ten years old. Those memories piled upon his more recent grief became almost too much to bear today. He blinked away the tears and drew his hands along the smooth surface of the desk as he approached the chair. Then he dropped into the seat and picked up the contract.
Buck up, man. You can do this. Actually, it was almost a done deal. This afternoon he would sign papers that would combine his furniture store with Joshua Caine’s mercantile. This merger should improve business for both stores, which sat side by side on Second Avenue. He believed shoppers would like having access to such a vast array of merchandise without going outside, especially with all the inclement weather in Seattle.
He pulled out his father’s pocket watch and glanced at the polished face. Time to get going. Charles stuffed the contract into a large envelope. His lawyer, Harvey Jones, would bring the other copy when they met at Joshua Caine’s office. He shrugged into the jacket of his suit, then folded an overcoat over his arm. The winds blowing from the Sound could reach all the way to the bones this time of year, especially later in the afternoon, and he wasn’t sure just how long the meeting with Joshua and Mr. Jones would take. He added a beaver hat and descended the staircase that went down the outside of the building.
Mr. Caine’s office also occupied the upper floor of his store. After completing the merger, they would connect the two offices, and Charles wouldn’t have to go outside to talk to his partner. On rainy days, that would be especially welcome.
His soon-to-be partner quickly answered his firm knock. Although Charles was tall, Joshua Caine equaled his height. His kind eyes were almost brown, to match the suit he wore, but tinges of green shone through. Threads of silver along the sides of his brown hair made him look distinguished, but not too old. Charles guessed he was nearing the half-century mark.
“Come right in, young man.” Joshua pulled the door open wide. “Your solicitor is already here, and I’ve been going over the completed document.” He rounded his desk and sat in a fine leather chair.
Taking a more utilitarian chair beside Harvey Jones, Charles leaned forward in the hard wooden seat. “Does the contract meet with your expectations?” he asked the lawyer. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but he had to know.
Before Jones could answer, a soft knock sounded at the door. Charles wondered who would be so bold as to disturb their important meeting.
“Who’s there?” Joshua Caine turned his attention toward the door that crept open a bit.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir.” The assistant manager of the store poked his head inside. “But Mrs. Caine and your daughter want to speak to you a moment.”
A slight frown flitted across his Joshua’s face before he broke out with a wide smile. “Gentlemen, I’ve made it a practice to always welcome my wife when she comes by. Please excuse me.”
Interesting. Charles had never considered making a decision like that. But he wasn’t married yet. Maybe that was something all married businessmen did. He was sure Grandpa never would have turned Grandma away either. He filed that information away in his mind for his own future. Who knows, maybe he’d soon have a wife of his own.
“That’s quite all right.” Charles stood and walked over to the windows, staring out toward the Sound.
The hinges squeaked slightly when the manager opened the door all the way.
“Joshua, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Charles could see Mrs. Caine approach her husband, who smiled down at her.
“Charles, I didn’t know you would be here.”
He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Turning, he stared into the incredible green of Maggie Caine’s eyes. For just a moment, he wondered if she still went by that nickname. She had really changed since the last time he saw her. No pigtails to pull now, and where were those lovely copper dots across her nose and cheeks he’d loved to tease her about?
“Maggie.” He kept his voice quiet so it wouldn’t intrude on the Caines’ conversation. “So good to see you. How have you been?”
“Just fine. I don’t believe I’ve seen you since you finished
university, and that was over two years ago, wasn’t it? Are you going to another church?” Maggie smiled up at him with a hint of concern in her eyes.
Evidently, her caring personality hadn’t changed, even though she had.
“I must admit I’ve been remiss in not attending services.” That admission cost him a lot. Why hadn’t he started back to the church? The last time he’d been inside one was for Grandpa’s funeral. “But I do still study the Bible and pray.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” One red brow rose in a quirk, just as it always had. “I’d hate to think that you had walked away from your faith. You were so strong when we were younger.”
Her words brought a veritable kaleidoscope of memories racing through his head. Even though he was four years older than Maggie, as children, they were often involved in the same activities and events. He had picked on her when she wore pigtails and teased her when she was more of a tomboy, but he’d always enjoyed being around the pretty girl. Now she was so different. He would have to get used to seeing her this way.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t at your grandfather’s funeral.” Tenderness filled her gaze. “Mother and I had traveled to Portland to visit with her sister. We didn’t find out about his passing until after we arrived back home.”
He lowered his gaze to the shiny hardwood floor. “After he died, I didn’t want to go to church services and have everyone sympathize with me.”
Her dainty hand landed as soft as a butterfly on his arm. “You’re all right now, aren’t you? But I’m sure you still miss him.”
“Every day.” He wouldn’t have said that to anyone except Maggie. She was like the little sister he never had.
She took a deep breath. “And now you own a thriving furniture business.”
“Yes, Grandpa trained me well before he was gone. I want to make him proud of me.”
“I’m sure he would be, and I hope the Lord lets him know about your success.”
Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) Page 3
