Twisted River

by Kelsey Gietl

  ~~~

  Eyes closed against the morning and blankets tugged against her chin, Maggie pressed her back into the mattress beneath her and silently recited her daily mantra. That life was not mine. It was all a dream. When I open my eyes, everything will be upright again.

  She turned her head and slowly opened her eyes, the most tender of smiles easing across her lips. Hugo lay on his side facing her, already awake with a small smile to match her own. “You’re still here, Maggie.”

  “So are you.”

  This couldn’t be real. That she loved someone who also loved her. That she made love to him without conspiracy attached, without ulterior motives drawing her to his bed. The movements had been slow and strange and not as satisfying as she had experienced on other occasions, but it meant so much more. Hugo was her husband. They would have their lives to find perfection. Last night wasn’t a symphony, but it had been a song, a beautiful melody composed specifically for them.

  As Maggie lay in the same bed as her husband for the first time, she held onto those emerald eyes and leapt arms outstretched into the endless space between them. Space she needed to fill with her stories; words that wouldn’t flow quick enough. Tales of the men who once loved her, stories of how she ruined them, ways she sold her own soul in an attempt to save her heart. It was exactly as Reuben predicted when they arrived in New York one year ago.

  Someday you’ll meet someone who not only makes you face your fears, but helps you embrace them. And him you won’t want to deceive.

  Even when he had despised her, he still wanted her happiness. What a fool she was to not understand what he offered. How she could throw it back in his face, she would never know. But she had also been a different person then.

  Maggie slipped her arms around Hugo and rested a cheek against the wispy hair of his chest. Underneath, his heart beat steadily. She would never have suspected she could find love with a man like him. Or how, upon hearing the unraveling of her life’s story, he would merely brush the hair from her eyes and capture her body all over again. That such a man would impossibly be her husband or that she would want him to be.

  “I could live like this forever,” she breathed. The morning sun glinted off the wedding band he returned to her on Christmas, and she lifted her face to kiss him soundly. “I want to love you forever.”

  Hugo smiled against her lips. “Good. Because that’s how long you’ve got me for.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  The South London Botanical Institute lay on the lower side of the city, a lone establishment in a broad stretch of open fields. Another day of drab skies and saturated dirt roads melded with Reuben’s already discouraged mood and left the two-story brick Victorian even more unimpressive than it already was. He raised the borrowed umbrella as he stepped from the taxi’s passenger seat and opened the rear door.

  “M’lady?” he said, offering assistance to Tena. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she stepped from the taxi and raised her own black umbrella without meeting his eyes. “You can’t possibly stay cross with me forever, Tena.”

  Due to the previous night’s volatile dinner, all four traveling partners had found themselves in complete agreement come morning. They would not return to England a second time. Which meant that this was their only opportunity to decipher Laurence Archer’s enigmatic life. If they didn’t learn anything in the next few days, they wouldn’t learn it, come what may.

  Tena shifted her gaze to where Hugo was assisting his wife from the motorcar. “If this is about Abigail, Reuben, you’ll need to give me more time.”

  Didn’t he know it. One didn’t learn that sort of information and expect glowing acceptance the following morning.

  “Only partly. I also wanted to apologize for my outburst over Mr. Troughton. Although I may not agree with your approach, I’m willing to support your decision. If you fancy him, it’s surely none of my business.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Truly?”

  “I want to fix this rift between us, so I’ll do whatever it takes. I broke our friendship when I left last summer, and I don’t believe you’ve ever fully forgiven me for that. But can’t you find it in your heart to try?”

  She focused on the brick building at the other end of the walk. One front window was aglow; otherwise, the house appeared uninhabited. Hugo shut the auto’s opposite rear door and Reuben pressed ahead before they were interrupted. “Please, Tena. Don’t make a grown man beg.”

  At last, she nodded. “I will try.” Not the response he was hoping for, but at least it wasn’t a flat-out rejection either.

  After depositing their umbrellas in a stand near the door, a thin woman showed them through the semi-shadowed entryway of the Botanical Institute into the house’s sitting room. Now converted into a miniature lecture theatre, chairs sat in rows with their backs to the windows. Green and white wallpaper hung the length of the room, complimenting the fireplace carvings with its floral pattern.

  “I’m afraid Dr. Schweitzer’s office is in a bit of disarray for entertaining guests,” the woman said with a chuckle. “What business should I convey?”

  “Personal matters,” Maggie said. She bounced Abigail against her shoulder as she walked the room. The baby had been especially fussy on the ride over and hadn’t slept all morning.

  The woman frowned. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “It’s a matter of a will,” Tena said. “Our father’s, Laurence Archer. Were you familiar with him?”

  The woman’s lips flipped as quickly as they had lowered. “Oh my, yes. We were all quite familiar with Mr. Archer and terribly troubled to hear of his passing. He offered such a generous contribution when we first established in ’ten. Visited twice that year and brought news of his lovely daughters. To meet you both at last. What a joy.”

  “Of course, a pleasure for us as well. Father was a magnanimous donor,” Tena said with an easy smile, but Reuben knew her expressions better than this woman ever would. For every puzzle piece they slid into place, a new hole formed in the picture. How far exactly did the mysteries of Laurence’s life extend?

  The woman clasped her hands to her chest. “These dear men must be your husbands?”

  “Yes,” Maggie snapped. Abigail continued to whine against her shoulder. “Please, ma’am, we’re on a schedule. Is Dr. Schweitzer available or not?”

  She stiffened at Maggie’s unladylike tone, which Reuben could only assume did not match Mr. Archer’s well-spoken stories. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll fetch Dr. Schweitzer now.”

  “No need, Mrs. Allan. I’m here.”

  “Very good, sir.” With a nod, Mrs. Allan squeezed past him into the hallway.

  With brunette hair as peppered as his beard, the man now filling the doorway carried himself as securely as the leather attaché tucked beneath his arm. Fine wrinkles couldn’t break the sophistication in his face, nor could narrow spectacles filter his surprise at their appearance. When he next spoke, there was a slight German lilt to some inflections, although faint enough to suggest he had lived abroad a good many years, perhaps even the majority of his life.

  His eyes flickered from Maggie to Tena and back again. An inordinate amount of fear registered there. “Why are you here?”

  Maggie didn’t respond. Her face was ashen. Abigail wailed.

  “Did Mr. Weston send you?” Dr. Schweitzer asked. “You tell him that dead men tell no tales and neither will I.” He turned for the door.

  “Please, sir,” Tena spoke up. “We’ve traveled all the way from America to finalize our father’s financial obligations. All we want is to make certain his wealth is in deserving hands. If your research was important to our father, then it’s important to us.”

  His expression softened only slightly. “Your father’s vested interest extended to all areas of the Institute, not only mine.”

  “What of his donations to your work at the Palm House?” Reuben asked.

  Dr. Schweitzer’s scowl returned with a deadened stare to match. “As of Decem
ber, I’ve concluded my research at the Royal Gardens.”

  “But why would our father invest in that at all?” Tena asked and quickly amended, “That is not to say that botany isn’t important; however, our father never expressed any interest towards it. He preferred to invest time in books rather than the outdoors.”

  “Your father had his reasons. I can assure you they were sound. Take comfort in knowing that.” He tipped his chin. “Now, you must excuse me. I’m afraid I have an appointment at Imperial College I am already tardy to.”

  “Please, sir, one more minute of your time,” Tena chased after him, her voice edging on begging. Abigail’s cries had finally died down to a mere whimper, and she shoved Maggie forward as Dr. Schweitzer collected a hat and umbrella from the coat rack. “Maggie,” she ventured. “Surely, you have something to include?”

  But her sister remained as silent as the secrets in their father’s grave. Reuben frowned at her continued silence. Something was amiss.

  “He’s dead, Dr. Schweitzer,” Tena said. “Surely it no longer matters if it’s discussed?”

  The botanist plunked the hat onto his head and looped the umbrella around his forearm. “Listen, miss, I am truly sorry for your loss. Your father was a man of exceptional character and a fine friend. For my part, he will be greatly missed; however—” When Tena again attempted to argue, Dr. Schweitzer talked over her in that no-nonsense voice. “However,” he repeated, “as you yourself have stated, the man called Laurence Archer is deceased, and it no longer matters. Now, good day.”

  He tipped his hat and turned away. Tena grabbed her umbrella from the stand and followed down the front steps, leaving Reuben rushing to catch up. “No,” she cried through the drizzle. “That’s not enough. Father hid this from us for our entire lives. Why couldn’t he trust us with it? Did he have another family in London? A better daughter? Was he having an affair with you?”

  Dr. Schweitzer turned so quickly, Tena barely stopped before slamming into him. His eyes flashed, and when he stepped towards her, Reuben positioned himself between them.

  “Stand down, doctor.”

  Dr. Schweitzer ignored him and spoke only to Tena. “First off, fräulein, judge not those whom you do not understand. Furthermore, what you should already realize about your father, if you claim to know him as you do, is that he was fully devoted to his family. No woman, man, or possession could ever drive him from you. If you want to know what your father’s motives were, only your mother can tell you.” His sights shot to Maggie who now stood in the front doorway, staring down at this imposing figure. For a second, his gaze seemed to flicker to something more compassionate, then hardened, so much so that Reuben believed he had only imagined it. The botanist’s glare swung back to Tena. “Do not approach me again.”

  For an instant, they were trapped in Dr. Schweitzer’s enormous shadow then he cranked his parked motorcar and spun mud in his retreat.

  Tena whirled on her sister. “Explain yourself, Maggie Elaine. After all your grousing with me over uncovering every blasted secret, and then you didn’t say a word. Why wouldn’t you help me?”

  “I hoped it wasn’t true,” Maggie murmured. She handed Abigail to Hugo and rubbed her eyes as though still uncertain of what she had seen. “I prayed you were right. That the significance would turn out to be nothing.”

  “Right about what?”

  Maggie stared in the direction of Dr. Schweitzer’s disappearing motorcar without an ounce of emotion. “That was him, Tena. The man from Shaw’s Garden. The man from my dreams.”

  FORTY

  Returning to Fontaine after over a year away was how Tena imagined it might feel to return home after being away at war. Nothing looked quite the same because she was no longer the same.

  This far from London the weather fared more pleasant, and girls in white dresses danced in the sunshine of the town square. Their pigtails swung as they wrapped multicolored ribbons around the ten-foot maypole. It would be but one of many upcoming rehearsals for the town’s lavish May Day festival in two weeks time. She missed those days of frivolity, whispering secrets with her friends about who would win the prestigious title of May Queen. Every young girl wished it for themselves, each silently jealous of the one who actually received it.

  Except for once. Three years ago, Maggie was chosen for flowers in her hair and it was the only time in Tena’s then seventeen years that she felt such admiration for her elder sister. Within the year, Maggie was supposed to bring honor to the Archer name through an esteemed betrothal. Then the spotlight would have shifted and finally, Tena’s chance would have come. Their daughters should have danced on May Day together.

  How frivolous they were then. As if flowers and ribbons mattered compared to the Pandora’s Box they cracked open at the Institute.

  Ignorance had been ecstasy. Now Tena was a stranger in her own life story.

  An unfamiliar housemaid showed them into the Archers’ parlor, now reupholstered in solid shades of tan and crimson instead of the pale florals of her childhood. As expected, Laurence Archer’s chosen country landscapes had been exchanged for fresh cream wallpaper and heavy tapestries. She could only cringe at how her mother must have altered the upstairs bedrooms.

  Her own eyes ingesting the unfamiliar décor, Maggie eased Abigail to the crook of her arm and claimed the sofa nearest the window. Hugo quickly sat beside her, leaving Tena and Reuben to the settee nearer the fireplace.

  “Where is Olivia?” Maggie asked the maid.

  The youngest member of staff at twenty-nine, Olivia had been more than a housemaid and later lady’s maid. She was a humorous addition to the staff, always smiling, and an overall lovely person—as close to a friend as a servant could expect to rise. After Laurence’s death, when staff was significantly reduced, Olivia stepped into forgotten tasks usually meant for footmen and lesser maids.

  “Olivia left service,” the new maid explained. “My name’s Sarah. I started here about six months ago.” Still younger than their mother by many years, Sarah seemed a fine enough companion, but simply put, she was no Olivia.

  Another unwelcome adjustment.

  Beatrix Archer appeared to be the one element that hadn’t changed a bit in the past year. When their mother breezed into the parlor a moment later, she still carried her thirty-eight years with the same regal precision and begged the affection of all who might care to gaze upon her. Brunette locks curled delicately against the base of her neck with pearled combs the only hint of silver. Her green tea gown hugged curves like a woman half her age.

  “Mr. Radford,” she said, her lips flat. “You did not inform me you were coming.”

  “Why would I need to inform you of anything?” Reuben asked. He leaned into the sofa, crossed one leg over his opposite knee, and crooked his eyebrows high. “You’re certainly not my mother.”

  She raised her trim brows to match his. “Yet you appear to have taken quite the interest in my daughters again. If you’re searching for my blessing, you’ve wasted a perfect use of ship’s passage.”

  Reuben frowned. “Let’s skip the nonsense, Mrs. Archer. Alois Schweitzer—how do you know him?”

  To their mother’s credit, she didn’t allow an ounce of astonishment to appear on her face. The only indication that she hadn’t been expecting this turn of events lay in the slight widening of blue-grey eyes within her otherwise calm expression. She strode to the call rope although, with Sarah having only left the room, summoning her would have been more easily achieved by the use of her vocal cords. Except that was not how things were done here.

  Beatrix sat in the armchair directly to the left of Tena and smoothed her delicate skirt over her knees. “Seeing as you have interrupted me at an hour normally calling for High Tea, I cannot have this discussion without refreshments.”

  “We do not require tea,” Maggie said. “We require an explanation.”

  “You will wait for tea, or you will receive no explanation.”

  Ten silent minutes later, S
arah entered carrying a tray laden with a steaming teapot and five cups with saucers. Setting the tray on the table, she carefully poured one for each of the sisters and added completely inaccurate amounts of cream and sugar. She turned to Hugo, “How will you take yours, sir?”

  “I would prefer coffee,” Hugo replied. “Do you have that here?” Maggie gave a quick shake of her head. “Then tea it is.” He accepted the cup from Sarah and visibly struggled with the desire to grimace.

  After preparing the final cups, with a quick curtsy Sarah removed herself and the tea tray from the room.

  “So, Maggie, I see you’ve gone off and married a Yankee?” Beatrix asked as she reached for her tea. She gingerly tested the temperature and finding it too warm, returned the cup to its saucer.

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “This is Mr. Hugo Frye and this—” She smoothed a hand across her daughter’s dark curls. “—is our daughter, Abigail.”

  “And you, Tena dear, I suppose you’ve married him, have you?” Beatrix gave a mighty roll of her eyes, and Tena felt her temper flare. Reuben had made a fine life for himself in America. He was far from unworthy.

  “No,” she said. “No one since Charles.”

  Beatrix stirred her tea with a sweet saccharine smile. “How terrible it was to hear of young Mr. Kisch’s passing. Although, that is the price you pay, dear, for not selecting a worthy partner.”

  Reuben jerked forwards and only the arm Tena lashed against his chest kept him from launching off the sofa. “I want to be rid of you as soon as I can,” he spat. “I’ve tried again and again to make you see reason, and I’m not wasting anymore time on a venomous shrew.” Even through his jacket, Tena felt his heart pulsing, keeping time with the one that thudded in her own chest. What had she honestly expected? A tearful reunion painted with apologies? Not from her mother.