by Kelsey Gietl
She steadied her arm. “Now please tell us how you became familiar with Alois Schweitzer.”
Finally, Beatrix deemed her tea worthy to drink. After a long agonizing sip, she said, “How did you even find out about him?”
“That’s not important,” said Maggie. “We know there’s some dreadful secret that everyone’s hiding. So enough delay, Mother. Time to tell.”
“Very well.”
“You won’t even deny it?” Tena sputtered. Her arm dropped and she hoped Reuben slapped the smirk straight off her mother’s face.
“There’s little point now, is there? I promised Laurence I would tell you when you asked. You’ve asked, and I’m obligated to tell.” With another sip of tea, she turned back to Maggie. “As my eldest, you will promise not to use it against me, won’t you?”
“Per the day you washed your hands of your motherly duties, you’re not exactly in a position to demand such a promise, are you?” Reuben said.
Beatrix smiled around the lip of her cup. “Refuse then. My daughters seem to be securely in your pocket, Mr. Radford, so by all means, convince them to turn their backs. The truth, however, remains with me.”
“Believe me, if I held the influence, this would already be resolved.” Reuben shoved all ten fingers through his hair and stood up, but instead of throwing a right hook to Beatrix’s face, he strode across the room to stare out the window overlooking Union Street.
“Agreed,” Tena said.
Maggie nodded. She ran the tip of one finger over the same seam in her dress until Hugo finally cupped her hand inside his.
“I love you,” he whispered. He looked up at Beatrix. “They agreed. Now please break the news as gently as you can.”
“It all began in the summer of 1892. Alois was a botany student at Kew, fresh off the boat from Hamburg and studying under one of my father’s friends, a man by the name of Dr. Raymond. He introduced us one afternoon after a lecture my mother and I attended. The veiled enlightenment of flowers, I believe was the topic. Nonsensical, but how it changed my life all the same.
That entire summer we carried on our affair. At the same time, I allowed myself to be courted by the son of my father’s wealthy bank manager. Laurence was endearing with a kind smile. It was obvious from the first that he was absolutely enraptured with me, and I, of course, cherished the idea. We were the highlighted couple of every function, the ones to watch—similar to how Lloyd Halverson became with you, Maggie. Bets were placed on how and when Laurence would ask for my hand. He was a handsome match. Yet, I continued my affair.
One month later, I discovered I was three months heavy with child.
I knew my father would never approve. My mother was from humble means, and my father saved her from the life of mediocrity Alois possessed. Disappointing him would have been the ultimate humiliation. Rather than openly defy them, I ended things even though it broke my heart.
When Laurence proposed, I accepted immediately. He loved me despite what I’d done. More importantly, he had money enough to care for me and my child. I thought perhaps in time, I could learn to love him as I had loved Alois.
Two months after you were born, Maggie, I took you to meet your father, and it was as though no time had passed. Gentle and caring, he brought out a desire in me I never felt before or since. Shortly after, I learned I was carrying again.
Alois didn’t seem to mind that I was married. He understood how I only wed Laurence to please my parents. He was delighted to have me any way he could, and I brought you to see him every chance I could. He believed he was getting the very best of me, and being young and foolish, I believed he was giving me the same.
Until the night before we moved from London to Fontaine. Four years after Tena was born, Laurence received an invitation to manage Fontaine’s largest bank. London would be too far for me to travel regularly, at least not without drawing suspicion, but I couldn’t bear the idea of losing Alois a second time. By then, he had graduated university and was situated quite nicely within the staff at the Royal Botanic Gardens. He could now give me the life I wanted.
It was the Ides of March when I told Laurence; I remember the night so clearly. I handed you both off to the nanny for bed, walked into his study, and slammed my traveling case on his desk. ‘Laurence,’ I said. ‘I’m having an affair and I’m leaving you for him.’
He tugged a ledger out from beneath my case and looked it over. “For Schweitzer,” he said calmly. I’ll admit I was taken aback that he knew. He never told me how he discovered my lover’s identity, but we were never willing to share much with one another. He had his secrets as much as I had mine, and that was the way we were.
I told him, ‘Yes, and I’m taking the girls. You cannot stop me.’
‘Why would I try?’ Laurence set down his ledger and stood to face me. ‘Nothing I say would likely affect your decision, Bea. I have some business to attend to tomorrow morning leaving you to pack. I only ask that I spend the evening with my daughters.’
I, of course, had no intention of allowing him to work you girls into a frenzy over leaving without him. He wouldn’t return from the bank until nearly six, so the following afternoon, I packed everything as quickly as I could, bundled you girls up, and summoned a taxi straight to Alois’s flat as we planned.
Except when I arrived, he had changed his mind. He said he had time to consider and realized what a terrible mistake we both made. He argued that we would ruin my husband’s life.
‘Laurence cares nothing for me!’ I argued. ‘He knows I do not love him.’
‘But we cannot take his children.’ Alois’s expression was so stern, I remember that clearly. Never in the many years we were together did he ever seem tall, but on that day, he was a mountain. I sat in his flat while you girls played in the next room, and he glowered down at me. We were through.
‘But Maggie is yours!’ I cried in one final attempt to sway him. ‘Would you deny your own blood?’ I think this was perhaps the only time I’ve wept with such desperation. To look back on it, I acted like a ridiculous child. Nevertheless, by the time Laurence returned home, my face was powdered, and he believed the decision to stay had been wholly mine.”
“What about Tena?” Reuben asked when Beatrix finally concluded her story. “Why didn’t she matter in your argument?”
Beatrix set her empty teacup in the saucer and daintily poured herself another cup. “For king and country, Mr. Radford, you certainly are thick. Tena belongs to Laurence. I was happy to leave her with him if need be.”
Tena felt Reuben’s gaze level on her from across the room, but her eyes were moist and her throat sticky with rejection. At one point or another, she had been abandoned by nearly everyone she cared about. At least her father still belonged fully to her. Her heart bled for the woman who was now suddenly her half-sister.
She was grateful when Reuben said the words she wished she could. “If you had a heart, you would have left them both behind.”
“As well I should have. Laurence was a doting father, I will grant him that one praise. I never despised him the way I abhorred Alois for abandoning me to a life of—”
“Of what?” Maggie cut in. She slammed her teacup onto the table, and it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “Dr. Schweitzer didn’t abandon you to anything! He gave you a wonderful life with Father and with us. I now understand how you developed your German prejudices—although stereotyping an entire nationality due to one man’s folly is absurd—but how could you extend that contempt to the rest of us? How could you not tell us?”
“You never asked.”
Simple as that.
With a derisive snort, Maggie stood and handed Abigail to Hugo as he rose to meet her. “Thank you for the tea, Mother. We’ll take our leave now.”
Beatrix stirred her tea as though she had all the time in the world. “A truth like this would have ruined our good name. You would have lived a very different life, Maggie, without privilege and without options. Instead, you received the best
of everything. Can you honestly say you did not enjoy it?”
“I had privilege, certainly, but I never had options. That life may have been ample enough for you, but it certainly wasn’t for me.”
Beatrix smiled. “I am pleased you are not like me. Mr. Frye didn’t need to save you like I allowed Laurence to save me. Trust me, Maggie, that’s something you would have always resented him for. However ...” Another stir of the spoon. “You could never resent anyone as much as the child who looks exactly like your greatest mistake.” Her eyes settled on Abigail, clutched in Hugo’s arms. “Thank goodness you will never experience such contempt for her.”
Such deafening silence was never heard. Maggie rocked back dumbfounded, trying to take it all in and failing. Say something, Maggie, Tena thought. You’re made of ash and fire. You can tear people down at the drop of a hat. This was only one of many days dedicated to protecting Abigail’s parentage. If Maggie couldn’t defend her to their mother, how could she manage it for a lifetime?
“Get out,” Hugo spat, taking them all aback. Disgust dripped from those two words and he appeared to want nothing more than to channel Reuben’s inner need for violence.
“This is my house, Mr. Frye.”
“Have you taken me for someone who still cares?” Hugo placed a protective hand on Abigail’s back. “You won’t make accusations about the paternity of my child. I won’t stand for it.”
“Whoever questioned that, Mr. Frye, except for you this very moment? Who else could even be the father when my daughter hasn’t entertained another suitor in over a year? At least none I’ve been informed of.” Her gaze flitted to Reuben for less than a second, barely enough to notice, but Tena knew her sister did. Maggie’s expression crumpled in a ball of emotional wreckage.
“You know?” She edged closer to Hugo, and his face burned hot with anger or embarrassment, which Tena couldn’t tell.
“Oh, Maggie, I’m your mother, of course I know. Babies always resemble their fathers. It’s what saves men from turning out their offspring the day they’re born.”
Setting down her teacup, Beatrix stood to stare Hugo down from her height several inches above him. “You really are squat, aren’t you? Unsurprising my daughter would choose you. Her tastes were never very refined.”
Hugo glowered. “I doubt her tastes mattered much once you disowned her.”
Beatrix shrugged and held out her hands. “I would enjoy holding little Abbie.”
“I’m certain you would.”
“She’s my granddaughter. She belongs with family.”
“Then I sure as a buttered biscuit won’t be giving her to you.” Hugo wrapped both arms around Abigail to hold her into his chest. In her sleep, her tiny fingers grasped the edge of his vest and she released a small hiccup.
“My, my, Mr. Frye, such temper. That was certainly not what I was expecting from Mr. Radford’s description of you in his letters.” She smiled innocently as both her daughters’ lips parted in surprise. “Oh, my, you didn’t know? Mr. Radford’s written me all year.”
Maggie shook her head, edging still closer to her husband. “You’re lying. Reuben would never—”
“Oh, no?’ Beatrix walked to the sideboard and opened the drawer to remove a thick stack of envelopes tied with pale blue ribbon. “You already stole my most nefarious secret, Maggie. Why would I need to deceive you about a silly thing like fifteen letters?”
Tena leapt from the settee to yank the bundle from Beatrix’s fingers. She didn’t need any more revelations. Every inch of her was already shaking from shock at learning her father wasn’t her father, then relief at learning he still was, and disgust over her mother’s persecution towards Charles for sins committed by someone else.
“Mother, have you no shame at all?” she yelled, and Abigail immediately let out a shriek. Tena didn’t mind. At least one of them should be allowed to weep openly. “You loved a German man the same as me. You should have understood my wants better than anyone. But if you weren’t happy then no one could be. Embittered until the very last. And this?” She waved the letters in her mother’s face as she struggled not to break down. Reuben would leap to her rescue, and she couldn’t have that. “This is simply more of the same. Well, congratulations on mastering the big reveal.”
She turned to Reuben. Her breath rose until she feared she might be overcome. “What was the point, Reuben? You know how we despise her. What exactly did you hope to gain?”
“I only wanted ...” Reuben began. He folded his arms and blew out a breath. “Whatever I wanted isn’t about to happen now.”
“You really shouldn’t be so hard on him,” said Beatrix. “The boy had gumption to even bother.”
“I believe we’re finished here,” Hugo said firmly. “Mr. Radford, could you ring for a taxi? I saw a telephone in the hallway. Maggie, follow me.” He took Maggie’s hand while trying to bounce away Abigail’s tears with the other.
They were nearly out the door when their mother rushed after them. She placed a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “You cannot blame me for hiding it. I only did what I believed was best for you.”
“No, you only did what was best for you.” Surprisingly, Maggie still didn’t shrug her off. Her lips formed a sad smile. “But I don’t blame you, Mother. It’s exactly what I did too.”
Still attempting to calm Abigail’s whimpers, Maggie and Hugo walked from the room and their mother ascended the main staircase, leaving Tena and Reuben shoulder to shoulder in the doorway.
“Tena—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand, effectively silencing him. Then she stalked towards the kitchen, her thoughts on baking pie rather than his betrayal.
FORTY-ONE
Laurence Archer’s study was the absolute last place Maggie wished to be and the only place she longed for as much. He wasn’t her father, but on all those lonely nights of her childhood, he had been. Now lost in the room’s emptiness, devoid of his belongings and his laughter, she felt unbelievably small. Like a child locked in the cupboard of her nightmares, wondering who would bother to open the door.
Her head reeled. Her mother, a woman who never seemed to care for anyone but herself, actually loved someone once. As a result, half of Maggie’s blood belonged to a stranger.
How different life would have been if she had known the truth from the beginning. If Tena had known. If the world had known. Maggie would have been a societal outcast, while Tena became first in line for the parties, the proper suitors, the best of everything. They would never have moved to America, and her baby wouldn’t be here. Her beautiful, bright, wonderful Abigail.
Her father’s joy ...
Laurence Archer was not her father.
Maggie was the reason Beatrix Archer lost Alois in the end. Why her mother hated Germans. Why her mother hated her. What then would become of Abigail with Maggie for a mother?
She met Hugo’s eye as he closed the study door, Abigail finally rocked to sleep in his arms. She honestly didn’t know what to do, how to act, what she should be allowed to think or feel or say. Without Laurence Archer as her father, she didn’t know who to be.
Stale air coated her throat like chalk dust. She threw open a window, and the fresh breeze ruffled the curtains. The sweet fragrance of peonies brought memories of a floral May Day crown tangled in her hair.
Hugo met her where she stood, so close his forehead pressed against hers while their now sleeping child snuggled between them. No, not their child, she corrected. Hers. Reuben’s. But not Hugo’s. Never Hugo’s.
She turned away, moving to Laurence’s desk where her fingers lighted upon the now empty top. He used to keep a lamp against the right edge to disguise the time her seven-year-old self wrote too hard with his fountain pen and carved her name straight into the wood. Maggie traced the lines of each letter with her fingertip. Those marks should have been inscribed onto Alois Schweitzer’s desk; his voice should have soothed her to sleep; his hands should have lifted her up for hugs—a father who whispe
red “Gute nacht” rather than “Goodnight.”
Whom might she have been with him for a father? Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps it would have all turned out the same. Maybe she only set into motion a path that had always been.
Abigail released a contented sigh. Hugo had folded her blanket to barricade her against the sofa back. One tiny fist clasped the cloth, and with a shudder, she drifted back to sleep. She was beyond beautiful.
Void of Abigail, Hugo’s hands slid freely to Maggie’s waist. He eased her into him, his lips a mirror to her own, meeting like no one’s ever had. Not because he carried innate talent or had been schooled on how to place his hands. His lips weren’t as supple and pleasing as Derby’s and his fingers didn’t caress her as Lloyd’s had. He couldn’t breathe the same poetry Reuben could. Hugo’s goatee tickled her chin, rough and scratchy, yet his touch made her feel like they had been that way for years.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said. She longed to focus anywhere else except those tender emerald eyes, but confound him, he was always in her line of vision.
“Why are you so short?” she demanded.
He frowned. “Heredity. Now tell me what you’re actually thinking.”
Why couldn’t Father tell me the truth in his letter? I never would have married you. I would have given up Abigail before I even saw her. I wouldn’t be so infernally weak.
“Heredity.”
“Maggie, please don’t be like that. No one is here except us, and I love you.” He had said those words so many times since last night, and she wondered if he was saying them now to convince her or to convince himself. The ease with which he released them led her to believe he never needed any convincing. Her spirit bled just a little bit more.
Stealing her hand, he laid it palm down on his chest, right against the pounding of the heart she cared so much for. “It’s yours and no one else’s.”
That was when the tears came. Hot and feverish, unable to disappear despite the erratic sweep of her palm. She couldn’t even blame pregnancy this time. She could only blame herself.