Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters)

by Lena Dooley Nelson

  “Me either, or I would tremble at the consequences.” Charles sent a glance Georgia’s way, implying he would more enjoy the consequences than tremble at them, but Georgia was looking away. Maggie caught the look and frowned.

  Grow up! she telegraphed toward him.

  The smile slid from his face, and suddenly he was all business.

  “Let me escort the ladies to the door, and I’ll come back. We can go wherever you want to take me.” Charles assisted Maggie to descend, then Georgia. He pulled Georgia’s hand through the crook of his elbow and swept up the sidewalk.

  As soon as they reached the front door, Georgia quickly entered, but Charles stayed on the front porch. Maggie didn’t even glance at him as she followed her aunt into the house. Thank goodness he’s not staying here all day. With him gone, maybe she could keep her mind on what she wanted to learn from her grandmother.

  As they entered, Agatha walked regally down the stairs, the queen of this realm. “Oh, good, you’re here. Let’s take a tour of the downstairs first.”

  Maggie eagerly tried to take in everything as her grandmother led them through the sitting room. “Here’s where I often meet with clients for the first time. And when husbands come to see the dresses we’re making for their wives, I have newspapers and magazines available for them while the women are dressing. I really don’t let any of them come upstairs. It would cause too much of a commotion and disturb the women working.”

  That intrigued Maggie, even as she imagined men sitting in the matching wing-back chairs, reading the paper while they waited. Or lounging on the sofa upholstered in a coordinating floral pattern. No lace or tassels on the pillows thrown carelessly along its length. “Just how many women do you have working for you?”

  Agatha stopped walking. “It depends on the season and whether we have many orders. I do almost all the designing, but I’m training two young women in the art of crafting patterns. They might take over some of the design work eventually.”

  Georgia gave an unladylike huff. “Mother, you know that day will never come.”

  Agatha gave a decisive nod. “It might. You never know what will happen. Now let’s go through here. The dining room is used when we have a lot of orders to be filled quickly. I have Shirley come here to cook for the women. That way we don’t waste any extra time.”

  The solid oak table was long with ten Windsor chairs around it. A tablecloth that coordinated with the rest of the decor in the downstairs draped the table, and dishes and silverware were set at each place as if awaiting the diners.

  Maggie imagined having a business where she would need a large dining room and a cook to feed the workers when they had a lot of work. Too bad Mrs. Jorgensen worked for Florence. She’d be a wonderful asset to her company . . . if she ever had one.

  “So do you have ten women working here now?” Maggie knew that if Agatha could afford to hire that many workers, she must be making a comfortable living.

  Agatha stood beside Maggie. “See that portrait?” She indicated a painting on the wall of the dining room. A woman stood with her hand on the back of one of the wing-back chairs in the parlor. Her federal blue gown had a jabot with a frothing of lace. Her hair was smoothed back, its length gathered in a snood attached to a jeweled comb at the top of her head. “That’s Lizzie Quaile Berry, wife of the former governor, in a dress I designed for her. She had me create most of her wardrobe. She was good for my business. I had more than ten women working for me that year, because a number of other women in Little Rock wanted dresses designed by me after they saw what I made for her. But we usually only have around eight or ten working at any given time. The new governor isn’t married, so I don’t have to contend with so many political requests.”

  Maggie took a deep breath. How wonderful it must be to design clothing for someone as important as the governor’s wife. Would Maggie ever get the opportunity to be as successful as her grandmother is? The money involved wasn’t what interested her as much as the opportunity to use her talents to make clothing that would help women feel beautiful. She wondered if that would ever happen. Not if Florence has her way.

  After they went through the kitchen, Agatha led them to a room on the opposite side of the downstairs. “This was a bedroom, but I use it as a dressing room when a husband wants his wife to model the clothing for him. We also use it when I have some dresses already made up for women to choose from. That’s not always the case, but when we don’t have pressing orders, we do make a selection. Some women like to come in and try on various styles to see what suits them best.”

  Next her grandmother led them toward the front of the house. “The room on this side of the foyer is what I consider my office, but it looks more like a library.”

  Maggie had to agree with her assessment. Books lined two walls of the large room. Light from outside filtered through the many panes of the expansive window on the front of the house. She could imagine herself sinking into the plush upholstered chair and curling up with a good book. Before she left Little Rock, she planned on checking out Agatha’s bookshelves to see what her grandmother liked to read. She wondered if their tastes were similar. Of course, she doubted that Agatha would ever pick up a dime novel, and Maggie had been known to read a few of those. She loved the strong heroines, hoping someday to be like them.

  “Now let’s go upstairs.” Agatha led the way. “I had the second floor extensively remodeled to meet my needs. There were several bedrooms up here, and I connected the three across the back into one large workroom.”

  When they went through the doorway, Maggie noticed Georgia was already there talking to one of the women sitting at a treadle sewing machine. When the seamstress saw Agatha, she leaned over her machine and started running fabric under the needle. Even though she kept her eyes on what she was doing, she continued to carry on the conversation. Maggie doubted she could do those two things at the same time. But if she learned to run one of the machines, perhaps she could, too.

  “As you can see, the cutting table is on this side.” Agatha gestured toward the right where a heavy table, its top covered with heavy canvas, took up a large area. “I designed the kind of table I wanted and had a carpenter build it for me. He had to actually cut the lengths of lumber and build it in this area. It’s too large and heavy to move up the stairs. I guess when I’m gone they’ll have to dismantle it to get it out of the house.”

  “Maybe someone will want to purchase your business and keep it there.” Maggie wished she could be that person.

  Two women had fabric spread across the table and were arranging pattern pieces on top, weighting them down with ornate pieces of silverware, more table knives than anything else. Maggie hadn’t ever wondered how they kept the pattern pieces from shifting when they cut out the garments. Now she knew how her grandmother did it.

  “How’s everything going?” Agatha went over and checked on the progress of the women’s work.

  Maggie watched the way they interacted with her grandmother. They showed respect, but also exhibited a sense of equality with her. If Maggie ever opened a business of her own in Seattle, that’s the kind of relationship she would want with her workers, mutual respect. Perhaps that’s one of the things she had always craved. Respect.

  Agatha walked toward the other half of the room. “As you can see, I have six of these Singer treadle sewing machines. We don’t always need to use all of them, but usually at least four are utilized at any given time.”

  As she said, four women of a variety of ages worked at the machines, each one using a different type of fabric.

  “These are my regular workers.” Agatha stopped by one of the machines. “Loraine has been with me for a long time.”

  The woman smiled up at Agatha, but didn’t stop running the fabric through the machine. Her legs rocked the treadle at a fast rhythm. She must feel as though she were running. Using one of these saved a lot of time, but probably wore the women out by quitting time.

  Maggie tucked each morsel of inform
ation into her brain. After she got home tonight, she planned to write down all they had seen, discussed, and done. If she were ever going to start a business like this, she wanted to know as much as she could about what it would take.

  Agatha led the way through another door that opened into a large room toward the front of the house. Two women sat in rocking chairs doing handwork. Other padded rocking chairs were scattered around the area.

  “The machines aren’t able to take care of the finer details like buttons, buttonholes, hems, and adding anything decorative, so I have women who are excellent with hand sewing. These two are my regulars.” Agatha picked up a folded blouse with rows of ruffles edged in lace down the front. “You did a good job on this, Etta.”

  The woman she had complimented smiled, but continued to make tiny stitches on the hem of a skirt. Maggie leaned close so she could see just how tiny her stitches were. She lifted the edge where Etta had already finished the hem. From the outside of the garment, the stitches were invisible.

  “Such beautiful work.” Maggie knew Mrs. Murdock, although a very good seamstress, couldn’t produce this quality. For a moment she wished her mother could see this place. Then Maggie’s heart lurched. She’d never be able to share her joy in designing with the woman who reared her. Therein lay many of her problems.

  Agatha led the way out on the landing at the top of the staircase. Two doors were on the other side of the landing. She went to the one closest to the workroom and opened the door to a fairly large room without a single window. “This is the storeroom.”

  Maggie gasped. She’d never seen so much fabric or lace or thread, even in a store. “Where do you get such a variety?”

  “Since I use so much material, I often order from the manufacturers. Seldom will a store carry the complete selection of what I use.” Her grandmother stepped into the small space left in the room. If more than two people had been there, they wouldn’t have fit inside. “I’ve even gone to New Orleans to meet some of the ships that come into port. I’ve bought fabric at the dock before. And I’ve been known to draw a design and send it to a manufacturer to have the fabric made just for me. It costs more, but I have clients who are willing to pay the price for something unique.”

  She had never considered something like that. So many thoughts danced through Maggie’s brain. So many options available to her, too. Would she be fearless enough to buck Mother’s restrictions? Could she actually open a business like this? If only she knew.

  “I want to show you one more thing.” Agatha led her out and closed and locked the door. Then they went to the other door, which was locked as well. “This is my designing room.” She opened it wide, allowing Maggie entrance.

  With the windows on the front of the house like the ones in the handwork room and the parlor downstairs, light filled the room and spilled out into the hallway. Everything in the room was utilitarian. A comfortable chair, a table with sketch pads and charcoal sticks and pencils, and two kinds of furniture Maggie had never seen.

  “What are these?” She laid her hand on a wooden cabinet with three rows of fairly small flat drawers. Two of these cabinets sat side by side against the back wall.

  “Those are letter and drawer filing cabinets. I use them to store my designs. Without them, everything in this room would just be a jumble.” Agatha opened one of the top drawers and let Maggie look inside.

  She could see how helpful something like this would be, but she’d never seen one in Seattle. Of course, she didn’t know what was in the offices at the many businesses.

  Another type of wooden object flanked these filing cabinets, each set in a back corner of the room. “So what are these?”

  Agatha turned the wheel on the outside of the one closest to them. She stopped it and turned it the other way, then reversed it once again. The thick door popped open and a large shallow metal box hung on the back of the door. Inside, several vertical dividers filled one side of the box. A shelf was a few inches down from the top and ran all the way across. Two shelves divided the other side section. Each of the areas created were filled with bundles of papers that fit the size of the space.

  “It’s a safe, where I keep the most important of my business files.” Agatha shut the door and gave the wheel a twirl. “I couldn’t get along without these either.”

  Maggie gestured to the room. “Thank you for showing all of this to me.”

  “Georgia tells me you like to design dresses, too.” Agatha studied Maggie’s face, making her feel almost uncomfortable.

  Maggie didn’t want her grandmother to realize the turmoil going on inside her, so she looked back at the room. “Yes, I design clothes. And I really want to do the same thing you do here . . . but maybe in Seattle.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Agatha clasped Maggie’s arm. “But you wouldn’t have to do it there. Wouldn’t you like to stay with me awhile and work with me? I could help you learn everything you need to know about the business.”

  That idea hadn’t even occurred to Maggie. What would her parents say if she suggested such a thing? But it is something to consider.

  “You don’t have to decide right now.” Agatha put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “If you decide you’d like to do that, I could contact your parents and extend the invitation.”

  All kinds of possibilities opened in Maggie’s mind. But she knew she needed more time before she would dare to raise the issue with her parents.

  “I will think about it,” she promised. “It would be a wonderful opportunity. Thank you.”

  This idea went along with her previous thought about wanting to be the person who could buy her grandmother’s business at a later time. Could she see herself staying here in Arkansas? Only time would tell.

  Chapter 14

  Florence picked up the fourteen-karat-gold, Elgin Monarch pocket watch with the train engraved on the cover. This would be the perfect gift for Joshua. Today was their twenty-sixth anniversary, and he hinted they would have a romantic dinner together tonight. These last two weeks had been wonderful, with him coming up with all kinds of interesting things for them to do. She almost felt like the young woman she had been when they married. If only she could forget that one night on the Oregon Trail when her heart was so dark and her thoughts so evil. But the memories wouldn’t stay in the forgotten recesses of her mind. A lone tear made its way down her cheek.

  The clerk behind the counter stared at her. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  She mustn’t let him know what she was thinking about. “Yes.” She pulled her hanky from her sleeve and dabbed it against that side of her face. “Today is my anniversary, and I was remembering the day we wed.”

  He nodded. “So will this be your gift for your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  She quickly paid the man, and he wrapped the box in white paper and handed it to her.

  “I hope he appreciates it.”

  “Oh, he will.” She slipped the package into her handbag and hurried out to the coach.

  Erik Jorgensen jumped down from his perch and opened the door. “Would you like me to take you anywhere else, ma’am?”

  “No, I’m ready to go home.” She wrapped her coat even tighter around her. The air today had a decided nip to it.

  When they arrived at home, Erik opened the coach door and escorted her to the front door. “If you don’t need me anymore, Mrs. Caine, I have an errand to run for your husband.”

  “That’s fine. I’m not going anywhere else.”

  After she was in the house, she told Ingrid to bring hot water upstairs to the bathing room. A nice hot bath would warm her, and she’d be fresh for when Joshua came home. He hadn’t said anything about going out anywhere, so she didn’t know how to dress. Maybe Mrs. Jorgensen would know. Before she started upstairs, she went into the kitchen to ask her, which was unusual for her since they usually met in Florence’s sitting room to discuss the week’s meals and other things. Mrs. Jorgensen was busy spreading white, fluffy icing on a cake.


  “I don’t remember us talking about you making a cake today.” It did look good though.

  “No, ma’am, but Mr. Caine asked me to make one.” Her movements were no longer smooth. They jerked as if she were nervous.

  “So we are dining at home tonight?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Interesting. Well, she mustn’t keep bothering their cook. Florence slowly ascended the curved staircase, trailing her fingers along the smooth, wooden banister, wondering what sort of surprise Joshua had cooked up.

  After she had bathed with the rose-scented soap she kept for special occasions, she dried off and put on her wrapper. When she went into her bedchamber, Ingrid was just laying a gorgeous blue brocade dress across the bed.

  “Where did that come from? I haven’t seen it before.” Florence ran her fingers across the soft fabric and realized it was made of silk.

  “I believe Mr. Caine had Mrs. Murdock make this for you. Erik just brought it to the house.” Ingrid headed out the door.

  Florence sat on her dressing stool and looked at the lines of the new garment. They looked vaguely familiar. Where had she seen something like this? Then it hit her. The last drawing she saw Margaret making. But Florence distinctly remembered tearing up that drawing. A pain pierced her heart. What had she done? Had Margaret been drawing the dress for her? How could I have treated her so shabbily? So much of her life was filled with regrets.

  By the time Joshua came home, Florence was dressed in the wonderful gift, and Ingrid had created a flowing hairstyle with a lacy snood. Joshua had always loved Florence’s hair down instead of up, and it had been a very long time since she’d worn it that way. Since he had planned things to please her, she’d decided to make him happy too. With more than just a fancy pocket watch.

  He led her downstairs to the parlor. A linen-draped table was set in front of the fireplace, where flames leaped and played, chasing the shadows away and warming the room. Lighted candles on several tables around the room joined the light from the candelabrum surrounded by flowers in the center of the table. Instead of having places set across from each other, they were on adjoining sides. Silver, crystal, and china sparkled in the ambient lighting. Just the way she liked it.