by Kelsey Gietl
“She’s giving away Abigail?” Reuben choked. That turn of events he was not expecting. Maggie was so blasted adoring of that little girl; how could she give her up? On the other hand, it afforded him the perfect escape. He wouldn’t need to worry about where his daughter fit into his life, or if she even should. Yet, now that he had her, he couldn’t fathom life without her somehow in it.
Hugo nodded. “Maggie fears she’s too much like her mother. Perhaps there’s some truth to that, but you can influence her otherwise. She trusts you. You are Abigail’s father, after all.”
Shaking his head, Reuben glared at him. “You’re an idiot if you think that.”
“Don’t call me an idiot,” Hugo spat with unusual vehemence. His finger crooked between Reuben’s eyes. “I may be short in stature, but I’m not simple. You are, however, if you don’t believe Abbie is yours. Look with your own eyes, she has the same ones!”
“I know she does, but that doesn’t make her my daughter, and you well know it.”
“You swine.” Hugo shoved Reuben as hard as he could. The gesture barely moved him an inch. “I’m not a violent man, Mr. Radford, but I’m going to wallop you into tomorrow.”
Reuben sighed. “No, you’re not, because I can bring you to your knees in one and a half moves.”
He didn’t even see the punch coming. Hugo’s fist slammed into Reuben’s cheek with enough force to clack his teeth and make his eyes water. Although, he was still far better off than his assailant, who now leaned against the stair rail in pain. Reuben bent to check for broken bones, but Hugo pushed him away. He cradled his hand against his chest and lowered himself onto the steps. People angled past, muttering annoyances at the blocked staircase.
“Come on, Mr. Frye.” Reuben pulled Hugo up by the elbow and directed him to a wooden bench on the platform. Reuben rubbed his cheek, only mildly affected even though Hugo had thrown everything he had into that punch. At last the man had found a bit of gumption, although it was puzzling why then he continued to act like a coward.
“Maggie and I won’t work,” Hugo moaned as he fell onto the seat cradling his wounded fingers. “God knows how I hate it. To lose another wife—plus my child—and it’s my own fault? Did you know we literally signed a contract? We wrote down how we would wed for seven years and split everything fairly when the term was over. Business partners, that’s what she called us. Not even friends, but partners. Certainly never meant to be more.”
“But you love her now.”
“Why though? I shouldn’t. She’s awful. Look at what she did to you. That bout with Mr. Halverson? That’s just—that’s—well ...” He released a breath and winced when he attempted to run damaged fingers through his hair. His hands returned to his lap. “You didn’t deserve that,” he admitted. “I’m sorry it happened to you, but you must know you weren’t the only one she toyed with. She looked in my eyes and told me every horrible thing she did and who she did them to, and do you know what I thought? I thought, stupidly, how can I not love this woman?”
“She looked you in the eye?”
Hugo’s eyes were as straight up wild as his hair. “Yes! And I thought, apple pie, she’s so honest, she must love me. She wouldn’t lie to me like she lied to everyone else, would she? I must be different. Oh yes, I’m different by gum, and it’s not an asset.”
“Except she looked you in the eye,” Reuben insisted. “She never looks anyone in the eye.”
“Who cares about that? Isn’t it just another trick?” Hugo sighed. “Mr. Radford, I never thought myself incompetent or unworthy until Maggie’s actions reminded me how my first wife left me too, without so much as a backwards glance. Emma came from the wealth of Connecticut and stayed for less than she deserved, to remain depressed caring for three children while I traveled the country.”
“This isn’t the same. Maggie does what Maggie wants. It’s different with you.”
Hugo stared at his wedding band like it was a foreign object. “It’s not. It’s only business; isn’t that what they say? At least that was the rule we made.” Hugo’s voice took on a desperate plea. “Please, Mr. Radford, you can offer them so much I never could. If I’m out of the picture, you can sway her to keep Abbie.”
With a start, Reuben realized that the man he was speaking to now wasn’t so different from the man he once had been. Perhaps everything he went through had led him to this very moment. If he couldn’t change time for himself, then maybe he could at least change it for someone else.
“Mr. Frye, sometimes we lie to save ourselves and sometimes to save someone else. But it’s both this time. The past can haunt us like nothing else, torture us until we believe the lies it tells. We’re not good enough, strong enough, smart enough, deserving enough. So we change. We wall off our hearts from the very people we’re trying to save. Then one day we discover that our lies have become the truth, and it’s too late to turn back because what we want is gone forever.”
The last call sounded, and Hugo stood. Reuben couldn’t let it end like this.
“Fear and love are so similar, Mr. Frye. We can do some indescribably regrettable things due to either.”
“Sometimes both. Take care of my girls, Reuben.” And with those words, so reminiscent of Laurence Archer’s, Hugo was gone.
FORTY-THREE
The saccharine scent of blueberry wafted over the kitchen as Tena slid the pie plate from the oven into her mittened hands. Laying it to cool, she replaced the mitts on their hook and cast another glance through the open doorway. The hallway still lay deserted. She had demanded that Cook and the two kitchen maids leave while she worked, and they hadn’t returned even as the minutes ticked past the usual start to dinner preparations. Maybe they were as afraid of her as they were her mother. More likely Beatrix told them she would dine out and not to associate with the infidel she used to call her daughter.
By her continued absence, Beatrix Archer had made her statement loud and clear—she wouldn’t apologize. Repentance expressed openly, even if wholly fabricated, was reserved for those who could still provide something she wanted. Tena was no longer one of her mother’s wanted things.
With a roll of her shoulders, she returned to Reuben’s letters spread across the preparation table. She unfolded the final correspondence, dated the same night Mr. Goodfellow announced the existence of her father’s secret will. The words were poetic, their insistence profound. Reuben was a writer for more reasons than a regular salary.
Mrs. Archer,
Allowing your daughters to sail without their mother’s love was your gravest mistake.
There will come a day when you may see that a woman’s strength doesn’t stem from wealth, privilege, or securing the proper husband, but from the ability to see past the surface as you cannot. Charles enhanced all the beauty Tena has to offer. Her smile, her grace, every step she took with him embodied the same love Laurence had for you. For your daughter, being German was the same as being English. True love is blind to such insignificant difference, and I pray that each of us can hope to one day discover that type of great affection ourselves.
This is the last I will speak of it—seek forgiveness from your daughters. Life is already far too trying to encourage additional isolation.
Sincerest Regards,
Reuben Radford
Fourteen letters preceded that one, full to bursting with more of the same. In between details of Maggie’s marriage and Abigail’s birth, Reuben told Beatrix in no uncertain terms that she should view her youngest daughter exactly as he always had. To him, Tena was some warrior version of herself who survived shipwrecks, buried fathers and fiancés, and tended to everyone she loved.
Except that wasn’t how Tena viewed herself. She did those things because she had to, not because of some extraordinary strength. Most days her heart still felt battered by hurts that healed too slowly and doubted if the wounds would ever fully mend. The last person she saw when she looked in the mirror was a heroine.
And yet, she wished she
were. To be a person who settled into the bumps in the road and overlooked the mistakes of the past. Who could forgive her mother without expectation. Someone kind. Someone courageous. Someone Reuben could always admire.
Today was the fifteenth of April, one year since Titanic.
She would admit it now. She had loved him for too long.
When Charles was alive, he liked to often remind her how entranced he was the night they met at the Winchesters’ Christmas party. It was the only night he ever witnessed her as a flawless beauty, entirely different than every other day. How truly lucky he was that, even in all her splendor, not a single man in the room noticed but him.
Except Tena never had the heart to tell Charles he wasn’t the only one. Reuben noticed too. He always noticed her, every day, even when Charles didn’t. He became the axis her world spun on, the balm that soothed her soul, the piece of her she couldn’t be without. After all the trials they had been through, there wasn’t anything she didn’t believe they couldn’t overcome together. She would cross an ocean for him, and he would turn the tides to keep her safe. The man she loved when she believed love had been all but lost.
He witnessed her ugliest moments and still thought her exquisite.
“I thought I smelled pie.”
Reuben strode into the room and braced his hands on the table across from her. He winced as he forced a smile and gingerly rubbed his jaw where a rough red splotch painted the skin.
“What happened to you?” Tena asked, feeling flustered.
Reuben rolled his jaw. “Hugo happened to me.”
“Hugo Frye? He’s too reserved.”
“Then I guess a bit of me rubbed off on him.” He started opening drawers and closing them as quickly.
“What are you searching for?”
“Peace of mind. Aha!” He pulled a fork from the drawer and made haste to the still steaming pie.
“You’ll burn your mouth.”
“Since when has that ever stopped me?” He dug into the center, removing a heavy forkful. Steam billowed while blueberry syrup dripped onto the tabletop. Rueben wiped it up with his finger and licked it clean. “Mmm, blueberry.” His brow furrowed. “Whose favorite is blueberry?”
“Mine.”
The fork paused midway to his mouth. Then he ate the entire amount still steaming and swallowed without a blink. “I suppose there are some things I still don’t know about you,” he said quietly.
“How could I expect you to know everything?” She reached for his hand, but he shifted away and took another bite of pie instead.
“Hugo’s left Maggie.”
“Excuse me?” She knew Maggie to be rash, but Hugo? He seemed so genuine in his affection towards her sister.
After another bite, Reuben finally looked at her. “That’s why he hit me. When he told me to accept responsibility for Abigail, I refused. I called him an idiot, and he called me a swine. Then he decked me.”
“Why would he want you to take Abigail?” Reuben threw her a very pointed look and dug out another heaping bite of blueberry. “Oh, I see. He thinks she and Maggie belong with you.” She shook her head. “That’s nonsense. Hugo loves them; I’m certain of it.”
“He does, and it sounds mental, I know, but only from the outside.” Another bite of blueberry and Reuben finally lay his fork down. “I saw myself in him, Tena. I finally understood who I’ve been for so long. I never realized what it looked like before, living so in fear of losing things. I was so desperate to hold on that I made stupid decisions ... ones that pushed the people I loved even farther away.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Reuben.” Tena lay her hand palm down on the table and her fingertips nearly brushed his. It was an invitation, and one she wanted him to take. He meant the world to her and she was ready for him to know.
“Reuben, I—”
Her words were overshadowed when he spoke at the same time. Their fingers remained an inch apart. “Tena, I need to ask your forgiveness.”
“You already apologized—”
“No, just listen, please. It’s not only for what happened with Mr. Troughton or Abigail or moving out last July. I’m sorry for everything. For what I did with Maggie and not telling you about the letters to your mother. I’m sorry your father gave me the money. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Charles died and I’m sorry I told you Hazel meant more to me than she did. My life has been full to the brim with missed opportunities and words left unspoken. I never wanted you to be one of them, and I fear now that I disappointed you more than anyone. I wonder if that’s all I can ever do.”
“Oh, Reuben, do you honestly believe yourself so incapable of honor?"
Tena rounded the table to steal the stool beside him. She leaned closer even as he edged away, worry prominent in his narrowed gaze. Her fingers slid over his and held them there. “I read the letters, Reuben. You tried to change my mother’s mind for no ulterior reason than my happiness. That is the definition of honor. A man who would do that is someone I could stand beside forever.”
“What are you saying?”
Surprisingly, her pulse remained steady beneath the close ribbing of her dress, although each beat flooded her veins with a warmth she hadn’t felt for a year. “What I’m saying is, I want the man who noticed me first to be the one who notices me last.”
~~~
Reuben didn’t know how it happened. One second he felt lower than the road, and the next Tena’s soft lips were on his, her arms around his waist delicately pulling him towards her. He remembered the kiss they shared at the Grand Basin, the one meant for Charles, the one he stole. That moment had been frantic, desperately charged in a way this was anything but.
She was the girl who always stood on the sidelines and always played second fiddle to her sister, but could still light worlds with her stare. Reuben had cowered behind his heart of hearts, fleeing that gaze lest he might learn to love her too.
Yet he always had. Denying it never made it any less true. She was his beacon of hope in the dark stretches of his life. Exactly who he wanted her to be. Not a distraction from Maggie or a replacement for Hazel, and at long last, he could believe he wasn’t Charles’s replacement either.
All these years they stood mere inches from each other and yet never noticed the wall that separated them. Now that wall had been torn asunder, and they were finally seeing each other for the first time.
He wasn’t perfect, neither was she, and it no longer made a difference if they were. The realization made him love her more than he knew was possible.
Tena’s eyes shone with her pale fire, exactly as they had in his dream limbo and more stunning than anything he would ever see again. He wanted to capture that gaze in his mind forever and the incredible knowledge that it was directed at him. Those eyes made him believe in the impossible more than any book ever could.
Reuben didn’t want to settle for mere adequacy anymore. He no longer wanted what made sense.
He simply wanted her.
FORTY-FOUR
Maggie was halfway to London before Tena and Reuben even realized she was missing. She left a note with Sarah explaining her whereabouts to them; however, she didn’t tell her mother goodbye. There were no appropriate words left to say.
When she disembarked the train, she glimpsed a flash of crimson hair, but when the man turned, his face was unfamiliar. It only affirmed that their decision was the right one. One day Hugo would win Emma back. One day sooner still Maggie’s heart would forget she ever cared.
Reuben may have believed that time changed things. Except she simply wasn’t one of those things.
After all, how could one stop a flower from seeking the sun? It was simply in its nature.
~~~
The taxi rolled to a stop outside the South London Botanical Institute, a light drizzle falling upon the darkening road. Swaddling Abigail’s blanket tighter, Maggie bundled the child against the rain, paid the driver to wait, and stepped onto the muddy street. Ladies hustled from
the Institute with black umbrellas held high, fussing about their dress hems being sullied as they were helped into waiting taxis and private motorcars. Maggie edged sideways to allow them passage before ducking inside.
In sharp contrast to the outer weather, the entry hall greeted her with warmth, and bright lamps lit the lecture theatre from which the last of the ladies were exiting. It was set up exactly as it had been that morning—rows of wooden chairs facing a small podium. Only now there was a blackboard containing diagrams of tropical plants being erased by a man with grey-tipped hair and a voice she once believed was only part of her dreams.
In silence, she observed his stance, the firm cut of his chin, and the determined way he held his form. The rag in his hand circled the board, erasing the names of plants even she didn’t yet know, and she considered him fifteen years ago removing his connection to her with the same ease.
Edging past those still conversing while they pulled on traveling coats and gloves, she hurried to the end of the hall and stepped through the back door, quickly pulling it closed behind her.
Although relatively small, the glass-enclosed conservatory in which she now stood contained an abundance of plant life. She had noticed the building’s extension on their approach that morning and speculated since if it held more than flora and excess humidity. It played like a miniature Palm House with expansive fronds rising against the ceiling and colorful floral flares filling the space between. Although, unlike the Palm House at the Royal Botanic Garden, the compact space brought an intimacy that left Maggie’s fingers tingling as she reached out to stroke the edge of a scarlet flower. A year ago, her father stood in this very space, never guessing she would ever do the same.
Shifting Abigail to her shoulder, she descended the few stairs and made her way down the aisle. Brushing away one plant then another, she searched along every wall and while she found a great many flowers that turned her head, none that shared her name. None that matched the surreal Magdalena.