Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters)

by Lena Dooley Nelson

  Joshua pulled out her chair and gently moved her the correct distance from the table. He even unfurled her napkin and placed it in her lap, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. She loved that feeling, and delicious tingles danced up her spine. Then he took his seat and clasped her hand in his. He bowed his head and praised God for the years they had been blessed to be together.

  Florence had never imagined Joshua felt that way about their marriage after all these years. An ache started in her chest. Would he feel that way if he really knew what she was like deep inside? She blinked back tears before they could escape. Tonight was too perfect for her to mess it up.

  Mrs. Jorgensen entered with the first course. She carried in a tureen and set it on the table. Then she ladled a creamy pumpkin soup into each of their bowls. The blended spices lent perfume to the air. In addition, the cook arranged hot vols-au-vent around the edge of the plate.

  “I believe you like these.” Joshua lifted one of the meat-filled pastries and fed it to Florence.

  She couldn’t say a word as she enjoyed the excellent seasoning. When she finished chewing it, she picked up one of his and fed it to him. “It’s quite tasty, isn’t it?”

  His smile of agreement was quickly followed by him grasping her hand and licking the sauce that had seeped onto her fingers. The sensations of his tongue on her fingers while his eyes stared into hers with adoration would have buckled her knees if she had been standing. As it was, flutters in her midsection sent heat roaring through her veins.

  Memories of the two newlyweds feeding each other the same way flooded her thoughts. When he pulled her closer and tasted her lips, she couldn’t hold anything back when returning his caress. So easily, they soared into passion the way they had that first night when he’d introduced her to the delights of the relationship between a husband and wife.

  Breathless, she finally leaned back in her chair. “Our soup is getting cold.” She wondered if he could hear her, the words were so soft.

  “But we aren’t.” The chuckle that followed his pronouncement was deep and intimate.

  While they continued the meal of filet of beef, dilled carrots, and hot bread, Florence kept remembering why she’d married this man so many years ago. And she felt sure he remembered why he had chosen her. The meal took an inordinate amount of time. Time well spent in giving and receiving many kinds of caresses among the nibbles of food.

  After they finished their slices of the wonderful spicy apple cake, Joshua pulled her up from her chair. Erik, Ingrid, and Mrs. Jorgensen quickly made the table and everything on it disappear, and the couple stood alone in front of the fireplace. As Joshua enfolded her in his arms, she leaned against his strong chest. With her ear pressed against him, she heard their hearts beating in identical rhythms. That’s how their life should have been all these years. It would have except for that fateful night eighteen years ago.

  A lifetime ago when she was too young and too selfish to think about anyone but herself. How she hated that woman who turned her own life topsy-turvy and never righted it. The foundation on which it was sitting had a large crack that could open at any moment and reveal all her foibles. She fought to keep from sobbing.

  Joshua’s arms tightened around her, and he leaned his head to kiss her hair. “I love you so much, Flory. You changed my whole life when you agreed to marry me.”

  She turned her face up and received his ardent kiss, hungry for more before the chance for them slipped away. Someday soon, she would have to tell him the truth, but she hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to reveal the depth of her depravity to him.

  When she was so breathless she could hardly think, Joshua put his hands on her shoulders. “Turn around, Flory. I have another surprise.”

  She obeyed, missing his touch when his hands left her. After only a moment, he slipped something around her neck. The metal felt cold against her heated skin. Her fingers touched the jewel-encrusted necklace. “What is this?”

  He dropped another kiss against the back of her neck. “My anniversary gift to you. It reminded me of your eyes.”

  Florence went into the foyer and stood before the oval gilded mirror near the front door. She’d put it there when they moved into this house so she could check how she looked before she went out. Now she wanted to see her necklace. Staring at her own reflection, her eyes widened. The sapphire stones matched the color of the silk dress. She knew she had never looked this good before. Joshua was right. The stones and dress really played up her eyes.

  She’d heard it said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Florence was thankful that wasn’t completely true, because the woman who looked back at her didn’t reveal the ugliness hidden deep inside.

  •••

  Florence awoke alone in their bed. Joshua had gone to work, leaving her asleep after their wonderful night filled with surprises, followed by the kind of intimacy they had missed for such a long time. The memory of the ecstasy sent a shiver of awareness up her spine. She picked up his pillow and hugged it tight, inhaling the familiar scent that meant Joshua, a mixture of St. Thomas Bay Rum shaving lotion and a musky male scent that was essentially his alone.

  Her joy was too painful. Joshua was such a good man. He deserved a good woman, and Florence knew she was not good. Far too long, she’d been nothing but a bitter woman who was only concerned with herself and what she wanted. All that time Joshua had been building a business that provided her the things she thought she desired. But now she knew that material things weren’t what she needed.

  The time since Margaret left had been filled with Joshua trying to fulfill her deepest desires. Joshua loved her in spite of herself. He didn’t hold her bitterness and quarrelsomeness against her . . . but she did. She was the reason God’s greatest gift to them, their precious daughter, had wanted to go away for a while. What if Margaret never returned? It would be all Florence’s fault if she decided to stay in Arkansas with her grandmother.

  Why couldn’t she have been the kind of mother her mother had been to her? Even if she didn’t agree with something Florence did, her mother wouldn’t have ever tried to make her daughter into someone she really didn’t want to be.

  That one night with her hateful thoughts had changed Florence forever. Everything that happened after that was colored by her choices. She insisted Joshua not tell Agatha or Georgia that Margaret was adopted. She nagged Joshua until he agreed to leave Oregon City where people knew about the adoption. Establishing a life in Seattle that was built partly on a lie had been her idea, but Joshua hadn’t been very insistent that they be completely truthful.

  Florence wished he had been, but she wouldn’t put the blame on him. It rested squarely on her shoulders, and it had become a burden too great for her to bear. Tears clogged her throat, but she’d held them back for so many years, they didn’t fall now.

  Why had she been so hard on Margaret when she had that silly green dress altered to fit her? Of course, she looked better in it than Florence ever had. Even though she had been jealous, that wasn’t the real reason.

  A sudden thought grabbed her heart and squeezed like a vise. What if Margaret looked at other things in the attic? She probably didn’t, but if she did, could she have found the white chest Florence had buried under so many other castoffs?

  Florence jumped out of bed and dressed faster than she had in a long time. As she left the room, she caught herself just before she crashed into Ingrid bringing a tray with a pot of tea to her.

  “Are you ready for some . . . ”

  “Not right now.” She quickly interrupted the girl. “Just take it down to the kitchen. I’ll come there to get it. I have something else to do first.”

  Florence watched confusion cloud Ingrid’s eyes. She shouldn’t have been so brusque with the girl.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ingrid turned away and started down the backstairs.

  Florence hurried to the door to the attic. She thrust it open and climbed the steep stairs. Morning light streamed in through th
e dormer windows. Even though dust motes twirled in the streaks of light, she noticed that the attic had recently been cleaned. No trails in the dust to tell if Margaret had moved anything else.

  She glanced around and tried to remember exactly where she’d hidden it. So many wooden boxes and trunks were stored in the vast open space, she might have a hard time finding it. A long rope stretched across a section of the attic. The clothes hanging there were covered by dingy sheets, looking like dirty ghosts from her past. She pulled back the edge of the end sheet. Nothing was stacked behind them.

  Trying to remember what was stored in each container, she eliminated some of them. Then she spied the haphazard stack in a dark corner. Older blankets lay across them. She pulled them off. As she dug deeper and deeper, she found things they had worn on the wagon train. Each garment carried a load of memories. Memories that weighted her down even more. Even the dress she’d been wearing that fateful night when Angus McKenna gave Margaret to them. She remembered the feel of the infant cradled against her shoulder. The way the tiny girl nestled close, trusting her.

  Florence shook her head. She didn’t have time to think about that now. She had to find out. Finally, she came to the familiar trunk.

  With each belonging she brought out into the light more and more unpleasant thoughts assailed her. As she dug back into the past, she feared that all her lies would be revealed as well. When she reached the bottom without finding the white chest, she knew. Margaret had to have found it . . . and opened the Pandora’s box of secrets Florence had kept hidden for so many years. Now there would be no way to get them all back out of the light into the darkness where no one could see them.

  She left the mess scattered on the floor and hurried down the stairs, tripping more than once on the steep steps. When she reached Margaret’s room, she searched high and low—everywhere a chest that size could be hidden. She opened the wardrobe, and the green dress hanging there mocked her. Behind it was an empty space where something could have been stored. Did her daughter hide the chest in there? Did Margaret take the chest to Arkansas with her? Should she ask Ingrid?

  Immediately she knew that wasn’t a good idea. If Margaret hadn’t told Ingrid, Florence didn’t want the servant to know. She went back to the bedroom she shared with her husband and sat in the chair beside the window. The memories that had been chasing her landed in the center of her mind. Every detail of that time eighteen years ago played through her mind. Her blaming God for her childlessness. Railing at Him because He gave three children to Mrs. McKenna. Wishing she could have one of the woman’s babies.

  And then the woman’s death, which hung heavy on her heart, closely followed by God’s indescribable gift. Finally, the tears she’d held in through all the intervening years gushed forth like the waves battering the shores of Puget Sound during a storm. She wept alone, wishing she could go back and do things differently this time. Would she ever regain her daughter’s trust, or was it too late?

  Chapter 15

  The day following their anniversary celebration Joshua had a hard time keeping his mind on business. Still, it was essential that they finish the construction in the building as soon as possible without causing the customers undue stress. Today three or four things went wrong, keeping him at work longer than he’d planned to stay. All he really wanted to do was get home to Florence.

  Last night had turned out even better than he’d hoped it would. The special meal was delicious. The servants pulled it off flawlessly. Flory had bought him a very thoughtful gift for their anniversary. He’d cherish the gold watch until his dying day. She’d loved the sapphire necklace. It was the last thing she took off before she went to bed with him. He dared not think about what followed, or he would be out the door and on the way home for more of the same.

  The Flory he’d known and loved as a young woman had returned last night with all the passion they’d shared. He was sure her heart was softening so much that when Maggie came home, she’d even treat their daughter in a totally different way. Everything he’d wanted to happen while Maggie was gone was finally coming to pass.

  And Flory wasn’t the only person changing. So was he. His focus, which had been completely on work for so long, had returned to the place where it belonged. Yes, business was important. Yes, he wanted to take care of his family financially. But more importantly, now he wanted all the facets of his life to be in the proper relationship with everything else.

  God first. His wife and family second. The business and everything else following behind those two things.

  Finally, all the problems at work had been taken care of, and he was on the way home. He pushed all the business details into the compartment in his mind where they belonged. While Erik drove the buggy, Joshua let his mind dwell on his still-beautiful wife waiting for him there.

  When Erik stopped the carriage, Joshua jumped out and hurried toward the front door. He let himself in, expecting to find Flory waiting downstairs for him, but she was nowhere to be found. He took the steps two at a time and hurried down the hallway, thrusting the door open with a bang.

  Florence stood beside the bed. She turned her face toward the door when the knob hit the wall. When she flinched, he grabbed the door and stabilized it, wishing he’d been more careful.

  Then he noticed her face. Not the smile he’d been expecting. Instead, her tear-ravished expression tore at his soul. He rushed toward her and pulled her into his arms. “Flory, what’s wrong?”

  She leaned her head against his chest a moment. “Joshua, I must tell you something.” Her voice trembled as did her body.

  The cold, flat tone of her words told him that something was terribly wrong. What could have happened since he left her asleep this morning, her face still rosy from their lovemaking? Dread fell like a heavy cloak on his shoulders. Lord, make me the husband she needs right now, whatever the problem is.

  “What is wrong?” He tried to keep his tone loving and hide the fear that clawed at him.

  A sob shattered the stillness. “I don’t know where to start.”

  This wasn’t sounding promising. What could have happened while he was gone? “Maybe at the beginning would be good.”

  Her trembling increased, and he pulled her even tighter against him. A man of action, he found it hard to wait for her to speak.

  “Margaret . . . ” Her voice broke on that one word, and she didn’t continue.

  The question that had been burning in his mind for a long time came to the forefront.

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand, Flory.” He hesitated to ask, because he didn’t want to make her feel bad again. But he wanted to know, needed to know. For Maggie. “Why did you start being hard on our daughter?”

  He wondered if she was going to answer, because she didn’t say a word for so long.

  “I’m not proud of this either. But . . . ” She let her voice trail away. “Remember how you told me for so long . . . it didn’t matter to you that we didn’t have any children? That our love was enough?”

  “Right.”

  Where was she going with this? If he lived a million years, he’d never learn to understand the way a woman’s mind worked. Men were decisive. A woman’s mind took the long way around a subject. That must be what was happening here.

  “When you doted on Margaret so much, I thought you’d only said that to make me feel better.” The words came out in a rush this time. “So I decided I really was only half a woman. That idea festered like a splinter in my soul, making me into a bitter woman. I was trying to balance your spoiling by being harder on her, maybe harder than I should have been. Now you know, and I’m not proud of it.”

  Now they were getting somewhere with this discussion. “You do know that after the enemy of your soul fed you one lie and you believed it, he kept on telling you others.”

  She nodded. “Of course, I realize that now. Thanks to you.” She stared up into his eyes.

  He was glad he had his arm around her. “And we’ll have no more
of those kinds of secrets between us, will we?”

  Pain and fear entered her eyes, and she dropped her gaze. He could tell something else still bothered her. For a moment all was quiet as he waited silently, praying for this woman he loved with all his heart. He couldn’t imagine what had caused her so much distress, but he was ready and able to fight the battle for her. Be her protector. Supernatural strength from God flowed through him, preparing him to face whatever was to come.

  Finally, she raised her head and turned her anguished gaze toward his. “Margaret found the chest of things I kept from the wagon train.”

  He didn’t understand why that would upset Florence so much. She must have read his hesitancy, because she pulled away and paced across their bedchamber. She jerked back the heavy draperies and stared out into the waning sunlight. Her profile didn’t reveal what was amiss.

  “The adoption paper was in the bottom of that chest, along with the daguerreotype of her mother that Angus McKenna gave us.” Florence turned back toward him. “I’m sure she’ll recognize the resemblance.”

  He went to her and pulled her back against him, nestling her head under his chin. “Why is this so distressing to you?”

  “Remember, I talked you into keeping the truth from her.” Her words were ragged around the edges. “I’m afraid that was a mistake. What if she hates us for lying to her?”

  For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why that would happen. “But we’ve been good parents to her. Why would she hate us?”

  She pulled away and stood before him, wringing her hands. “You’ve been good to her, but I have been too hard on her, at least the last few years.”