Georgia waited beside the door to the coach. “I guess I just take it all for granted, because I’ve been here so often. But they have planted more than I remember from the last time I was home.”
Maggie stopped short in front of her aunt. “How long were you married before Uncle Scott passed away?” She covered her mouth with her fingertips for a moment. “I’m sorry. That was too personal of a question. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Georgia patted her arm. “It’s all right. We had seven wonderful years together before his accident. It’s been long enough now that it doesn’t hurt to talk about him or his passing. Although I miss him terribly. He was the love of my life.”
For a moment, she just stared at her aunt. This was the woman who’d just spent over a week bantering with Charles. Did she even realize the man was smitten with her?
Maggie was glad her words hadn’t brought hurtful memories to her aunt’s attention. But they brought a deep longing to her own heart. Would she ever have a love-of-her-life experience? She was frightened to even consider letting anyone that close. Too many secrets were buried inside her. Maybe someday, after she found out who she really was. “How long has it been since you were here?” Maggie hoped changing the subject would help her relax.
“I was only eighteen when Scott and I married and moved to Portland. I missed my mother . . . a lot.” Georgia stared into the distance with a wistful smile on her face. “Scott understood, and he made sure I saw my mother every few years. But I haven’t been home in the few years since he’s been gone. In addition to grieving for him, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
Before she could ask another question, Maggie noticed her trunk bobbing above the heads of the people on the platform as it moved toward the street. The crowd parted in front of Charles as he approached. She knew he was strong, but her trunk was extremely heavy. He had it hoisted on one shoulder, and he carried his portmanteau with his other hand, making the feat look effortless. Tucker followed him, carrying Georgia’s trunk on his shoulder.
“Didn’t they have a hand truck you could use to get the trunks over here?” Georgia frowned as each man lowered his burden to the street.
“We didn’t want to wait our turn to use it.” Charles dusted his hands together, exhibiting no ill effects from such a great effort. “So we did it the old-fashioned way. Muscle power.”
While Tucker loaded the larger pieces of luggage into the boot, Charles assisted Georgia into the coach, then he turned to Maggie. He clasped her fingers, and once again her heartbeat accelerated. She quickly raised her foot to the step. His nearness set her mind and balance in a whirl.
Charles followed her into the conveyance and closed the door. When he dropped onto the seat across from where she and Georgia sat, he faced the back of the coach.
“Don’t you want to see where we’re going?” She couldn’t keep the breathless quality from her voice.
His smile widened. “I trust our driver. I’d rather look at two beautiful ladies.”
“As if you haven’t been looking at us for almost two weeks.” The vehicle started moving, and Maggie glanced out the window, then back at him. “Besides that, you’ve seen us at our worst.”
He leaned forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. “I’ve not seen anything but two lovely women making the most of circumstances.”
She couldn’t help noticing his muscular thighs, and his words sounded like a caress. A caress she couldn’t receive . . . and probably didn’t deserve. And perhaps he was aiming the smooth words at Georgia anyway.
Maggie took a deep breath and pushed both shoulders against the deeply cushioned seat. Despite her resolve not to get entangled in caring for Charles, his presence kept her in knots. Wasn’t her life complicated enough without all this turmoil from a man? She sighed and turned her focus to the window.
What she saw delighted her. Most of the stores were built of brick, both red and buff colored, and had arched windows. Attractive displays of goods filled the windows—clothing, furniture, incidentals, even a store that sold only leather goods.
“There are a lot more stores here than in Seattle.” She turned toward Georgia. “They might have more modern conveniences too.”
“Little Rock was here long before Seattle was established.” Georgia sounded as if she were stating the obvious, which she was.
Tucker drove the coach into a residential neighborhood and soon stopped in front of a stately home. Maggie’s eyes lit up.
“Is this where my grandmother lives?” Maggie leaned close to the window and her gaze roved over the house and expansive grounds.
“Oh, my goodness, no. This is The House of Agatha Carter—her business.”
The coach halted, and they climbed out. Maggie followed her aunt across the thick lawn toward a discreet sign affixed to one of the white columns spanning the front of the house.
Maggie traced the raised letters with her fingertips, enjoying the sensation. Was it possible that someday she might run just such an establishment? Wonder what she could call hers? “I never dreamed her business was this large.”
Georgia advanced up the steps and through the front door with Maggie and Charles tagging along.
“When I was young, she conducted her dressmaking business from the parlor of our tiny house. That’s all Florence remembers. Mother moved the business here about eighteen years ago.” Georgia stood on the polished hardwood floor in the foyer and waited expectantly. For an extended moment, the only sound was the wind blowing through the open windows and a muted murmur from the second floor.
Soon a young woman descended the stairs and stopped beside them. “May I help you?”
“You’re new since I was here last. I’m Georgia Long.”
“Welcome home!” Her gaze shifted to Maggie. “You must be Margaret Caine.” The girl couldn’t be much older than Maggie. “Mrs. Carter will be so glad you’ve arrived.” She rushed back up the stairs, leaving them standing where they were.
Maggie had a hard time believing this was a place of business. The rooms—tastefully decorated in shades of royal blue, rose, and hunter green with floral accents—looked like a regular home. She would enjoy living in a place so lovely.
“Does Grandmother live here too?” She trailed her fingers along a rosewood table set against the wall. A tall china vase with fresh flowers welcomed them from the center of the table’s lace runner.
“No. But her home is just as lovely.”
“Finally!” A woman’s voice from the top of the stairs interrupted the conversation.
Maggie watched the tall slender woman, with a mass of brown curls piled haphazardly on the top of her head, hurry down the curved staircase. Only a few white strands laced through her hair. She looked much too young to be Maggie’s grandmother.
“I’m getting to see my only granddaughter.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she enveloped Maggie in a tight hug.
Relishing the enthusiasm her grandmother expressed, Maggie wound her arms around the woman. Warmth and comfort flowed over her soul. This welcome was just what she needed.
When Agatha finally released her and took a step back, she gently touched Maggie’s hair. “We haven’t had a redhead in the family that I know of, but look, Georgia, she inherited my curls.”
The words sent ice through Maggie’s veins, and she shivered. She didn’t inherit anything from Agatha Carter. Not her ability to design dresses, not even the curls. If her grandmother thought so, she couldn’t know the truth either. Why hadn’t Florence told her own mother about the adoption?
For a moment, Maggie felt light-headed, and she had a hard time taking a breath. This visit might prove to be more difficult than she’d ever imagined. Maybe coming here was a huge mistake.
Her grandmother didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. But she did notice Charles hovering behind them. “And just who is this young man?”
Maggie glanced at him, but his attention was trained on A
gatha, instead of her. “This is Charles Stanton. He and Daddy are combining their stores right now, so they are partners.”
“You don’t say. That’s interesting.” Agatha thrust her hand toward him. “Welcome to The House of Agatha Carter. I assume you are also my daughter and granddaughter’s traveling companion.”
Charles gently took her hand, but Agatha gave his a vigorous shake, much like any businessman might. “That’s been my pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you, and I’m glad to finally meet you, Mrs. Carter.”
She studied him a long moment. “I can see that Joshua made a good choice for a partner and for a man to travel with our daughters. Welcome to Little Rock.”
Her grandmother turned from him and linked arms with Maggie. “Let’s go home. I can show you around here another day. Tucker’s wife, Shirley, has a banquet prepared in your honor. I hope all of you are hungry.”
Maggie let herself be ushered out the front door, along with Charles and Georgia. Tucker stood beside the coach awaiting their arrival.
On the ride to the house, Agatha and Georgia carried on a lively conversation. Maggie listened to the two women with half an ear, all the while wondering what it would feel like to actually be a part of this family. She hated living a lie. A lie not of my own choosing.
“There’s the house.” Maggie glanced in the direction Georgia indicated.
Although the structure wasn’t as large as the Caine mansion on Beacon Hill in Seattle, neither was it just a bungalow. The two-story white clapboard had windows along both the first floor and the upstairs. Dormer windows in the roof indicated an attic as well. Each window was flanked by dark blue shutters, and the rocking chairs scattered across the front porch matched. With curtains fluttering behind the open windows, the whole thing looked homey and welcoming to Maggie.
Tucker drove the coach up the white gravel driveway and stopped beside the front of the house, at the end of a brick walkway. After everyone exited, he drove on toward the back of the building. Evidently there was a coach house and maybe a stable back there. Perhaps tomorrow she could check them out. Florence never let her go around the horses in the stable back home. But she wasn’t here to monitor Maggie’s every move. She could do anything she really wanted to without censure.
“Well, come on in my house, girls.” Agatha herded them across the walkway, then turned around. “And I should have said for you to come too, Mr. Stanton.”
Charles was already right behind them. “Just call me Charles, Mrs. Carter.”
“And I’m Agatha.” She gave a quick nod. When she smiled, tiny lines crinkled beside her eyes, revealing she wasn’t as young as she looked.
Maggie couldn’t help liking this hospitable woman. How she wished Agatha really was her grandmother. Then the thought cut through her. Maybe I have grandparents somewhere who don’t even know about me. She stopped short, overwhelmed by the idea.
Charles grabbed her shoulders to keep from running into her. “You should let people know when you’re going to stop like that, Maggie,” he whispered into her hair near her ear.
His breath felt warm against her skin, and those errant curls that had made their way out of her bun tickled when they moved. She wanted to reach up and push them back where they belonged, but she didn’t want to chance encountering his face. After the way he’d acted on the train, she didn’t want to experience such a personal touch.
“I’ll try to remember to give some kind of signal next time.” Heat rose up her neck and settled in her cheeks. She was sure they flamed red. No telling what he’d think about that.
She hurried to catch up with Agatha and Georgia on the porch. Charles kept pace with her.
A dark woman, dressed in black with a white apron and a white ruffled cap on her head, opened the door right before they reached it. “Miz Agatha, this your grandchile?”
Agatha put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “She sure is.”
“Ain’t she a pretty little thing?” The woman held the door wide open for them to enter. “And who is this strappin’ lad? Her gentleman friend?”
Maggie didn’t think her cheeks could blush any more than she already had, but even more heat flushed her face all the way to her hairline. She hoped she wouldn’t start sweating. She was mortified, knowing all that red skin would clash with the flaming hair. She dropped her head, hoping no one would notice.
Charles took charge of the situation. He held out his hand to the older woman. “I’m Charles Stanton, Mr. Caine’s business partner.”
“That’s right nice of you.” She stared at his hand for a moment but didn’t take it. “I’ll have dinner on in a jiffy.”
Maggie knew that Florence wouldn’t have let any of her servants speak so casually with guests in their home, but Shirley and Tucker seemed to be just as much a part of the family here as the Jorgensens were at home.
In Seattle, more Indians and Chinese worked as servants than black people. Maggie couldn’t remember seeing a single one in the homes of their friends. Of course, Mother refused to use any of these people in her house. She had to have Europeans.
Maggie never understood why that made a difference to her mother. But then she often had a hard time understanding her at all. And it wasn’t any wonder, since they came from different backgrounds. If only Maggie knew what hers was. With a name like McKenna and with her red hair, evidently she was Scottish. She had studied about them coming to the United States over two hundred years ago, with many of them settling in the mountains in the eastern part of the country. She wondered what caused Angus McKenna to come west. Would she ever know?
Chapter 13
Maggie thought she would probably sleep late as her grandmother urged her to after their long evening. However, the aroma of coffee mixed with bacon and biscuits enticed her from slumber early the next morning. She quickly donned a navy skirt and a shirtwaist with tiny navy stripes on a white background. After brushing out her sleeping braids, she pulled her hair back and tied it with a white ribbon. As usual, many curls sprang forward, framing her face. At least they didn’t fall in her eyes. For just a moment, she wished she had Ingrid with her to dress her hair.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she headed toward the kitchen, bypassing the empty dining room. Charles sat at the kitchen table, his elbows propped on the top and his chin resting on his clasped hands, visiting with Georgia. For a moment, she stopped and enjoyed the view. Relaxed like that, he appeared younger than she knew him to be, and totally at home in the kitchen. She wondered if he spent time in the kitchen of his own mansion. Maybe he had, since his grandparents reared him after his parents were gone.
“So everyone is up early. Right?” Maggie hated to disturb them, but she wondered where her grandmother was.
Shirley set a filled plate in front of Georgia. “Miz Agatha done left to go to work before any of you got up.”
“Something smells wonderful.” Maggie snatched a tiny piece of crispy bacon from Georgia’s plate. Her aunt slapped at her hand.
“Don’t you worry none. I fix you a plate right now.” The black woman bustled toward the stove and commenced filling a plate with way too much food for one person.
“I won’t be able to eat that much after what we had last night.” Maggie slid into the chair between Charles and Georgia at the small square table.
“Don’t you worry none about that. We feed the dog what you don’t eat.” Shirley set the plate of steaming food in front of her. Scrambled eggs, biscuits, and bacon, just as her nose had alerted her.
Maggie picked up the biscuit and split it, dipping half-melted butter to slather on. Then she glanced at the array of other spreads—honey, apple jelly, strawberry jam, and sorghum molasses. The molasses shone such a dark brown color that it was almost black, and threads of it dripped from her spoon when she tried to put some on the biscuit.
Georgia glanced from Maggie to Charles and back. “Maggie, do you want to go to The House of Agatha Carter today or later?”
“Today
would be good for me.” Maggie really wanted to see what happened on the upper floor of her grandmother’s business.
“Then I shall accompany you ladies.” Charles gave one of his bows, and Shirley laughed.
“What time do you want to leave?”
“Tucker ain’t got back from runnin’ errands for me.” Shirley started picking up the empty plates from the table. “He be back anytime now.”
Maggie arose from her chair. “How about we all get ready so we can leave as soon as he is free?”
After Georgia and Charles agreed, Maggie followed them as they climbed the stairs. She wondered if they had been flirting at the table before she came down. Maybe Georgia wouldn’t carry on in front of Shirley. At least Maggie hoped not.
•••
Maggie memorized the route to the business while Tucker drove them in an open surrey. While the horses high-stepped it up Main Street to Fifth, then across to Pulaski, Maggie took note of the stores she wanted to visit before they went home. Many interesting things caught her eye, especially one called Les Chapeaux with a window filled with various styles of hats for women. After they turned on Pulaski, they passed more residences than stores until they reached The House of Agatha Carter.
Tucker stopped the carriage and turned toward the passengers. “You sure, sir, you want to spend most of the day with the ladies? Lots of fabric and fripperies in that house.”
Charles chuckled. “You’re probably right, Tucker. What did you have in mind for me?”
“Well, I could show you around some places that won’t be interesting to the ladies.” He gave them a gentle nod. “If you ladies don’ mind.”
“Now, Tucker, don’t go taking Charles anywhere that he’ll get into trouble.” Georgia arched a teasing eyebrow at Charles.
Tucker gave a laugh that sounded almost like a snort. “You know me better than that, Miz Long. I’m a God-fearing man myself. Won’ fine me in none o’ those places.”
Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) Page 12