Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters)

by Lena Dooley Nelson

  While Agatha pointed out the things she liked, Maggie couldn’t keep pride at bay, no matter how hard she tried. When her grandmother suggested changes, every time Maggie recognized how much better the design became by just changing a line here or there.

  She was so engrossed in what they were doing that the arrival of lunchtime surprised her. And she felt she had been given a priceless gift by her grandmother. After she put the sketch pad in her bag, she gave Agatha a hug.

  “Thank you so much.”

  Her grandmother returned the embrace and sealed it with a kiss on the cheek. “My pleasure. You have a real gift. I hope you’ll pursue your dreams relentlessly.”

  “I intend to.” Maggie gathered up her things and followed her grandmother to the coach.

  A cold wind blew from the direction of the river, and more and more leaves released their hold on the branches to dance in the capricious wind. The end of autumn was fast approaching.

  “It’s a good thing you’re leaving tomorrow. You’ll want to get across the mountains before the snows come. Sometimes the tracks are impassible for days at a time.” Agatha patted Maggie’s knee. “I don’t want to worry about you. Be sure you have your father send a telegram, so I’ll know you arrived home safely.”

  Maggie assured her that she would. The thought of being snowbound in any of the towns they’d come through in the mountains wasn’t a pleasant prospect. She shivered at the thought.

  Her grandmother took her back to the hotel for lunch, just the two of them. However, they quickly finished the delicious meal and returned to The House of Agatha Carter.

  After spending most of the afternoon learning about keeping up with appointments and finances, Maggie and her grandmother headed to the house, which appeared to be deserted. Agatha went through the kitchen and out the back. Maggie followed her.

  “Tucker, where is everyone?”

  “Shirley needed to go to the store, and Mr. Stanton and Miz Long decided to go ’long. I be pickin’ ’em up later.”

  As the two women walked back into the house, Agatha put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you privately anyway.” She led the way into the parlor.

  Maggie couldn’t imagine what her grandmother wanted to talk about, but she’d treasure this time, just in case anything changed after she got back to Seattle. She sat in the chair that faced the sofa, and Agatha took her place at the end of the couch.

  “Margaret, dear, your time here is drawing to a close. I’ve seen your interest in my business and witnessed your designing skills. I would still love to have you stay here and learn the business, perhaps even take it over someday. What do you say?” Agatha dropped her hands into her lap and quietly waited.

  Maggie stared at the pattern in the Persian carpet, so like the shawl she had bought for Florence. She sat there stunned. She had considered staying to learn the business. But staying permanently? Her mind whirled at the thought.

  “If you think your parents would object, I would be happy to pose the question to them myself,” Agatha continued.

  Maggie shook her head, then to her dismay, tears filled her eyes.

  “My dear, what is it?” Agatha asked. “I thought you would welcome the idea, but certainly if you’d rather return home . . . ”

  “That’s not it,” Maggie choked out. “I would love to stay. It’s just . . . ” She found herself unable to continue.

  “I believe I’ve come to know you very well in the short time you’ve been here.” Agatha paused, and her brow wrinkled in concentration. “I know something is bothering you. I’ve prayed for you and whatever the problem is, but I’ve not gotten any peace about it. I believe the Lord wants me to ask you. Do you feel you can tell me about the problem?”

  Maggie tried to clear the knot in her chest. Pain radiated from it, almost as if she was having a heart problem. “I don’t know where to start.” She blew out a breath.

  Agatha chuckled. “I’ve always found the beginning to be a good place.”

  “I’m not even sure when it began.” Maggie’s thoughts jumbled together, and she took a moment to let them settle. “I’ll tell you about what I found not long before my birthday.”

  “Whatever you want to do, child.” Agatha’s soothing tone calmed Maggie.

  She explained why she went into the attic and how she found the green dress. “And then I noticed several trunks.”

  “And you explored them?”

  Maggie recognized that Agatha had strong discernment, especially in this instance. “Yes.”

  “What did you find that disturbed you so much?”

  Maggie recounted the clothing that had to be what her father and mother wore on the wagon train, and then the little white trunk buried deep inside a larger one. By now, tears streamed down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the palms of her hands. Agatha extracted a hanky from under the edge of her sleeve and handed it to Maggie. “What was in that little white trunk?”

  Wiping her eyes, Maggie rose from her chair then handed the handkerchief back. “I want to show you.”

  She hurried from the parlor and up the stairs to her bedchamber. When she came back, she carried the small trunk. She sat on the other end of the sofa from her grandmother and placed the trunk between them.

  After lifting out the blanket, she handed it to Agatha. “Did you knit this?”

  Her grandmother inspected the piece, unfolding it and turning it over and over. “This is pretty, but no, I never learned to knit.”

  “Does Georgia?” Maggie handed her the sweater and cap. “I’ve never seen Mother knit anything either.”

  Agatha laid the things in her lap. “None of us has ever knitted, that I know of. Maybe a friend of Florence’s did this.”

  Maggie moved all the other baby garments from the trunk, revealing the framed photograph and a piece of faded paper. She handed the picture to her grandmother. “Do you know this woman?”

  Agatha studied it then turned her attention to Maggie. “If I didn’t know this is too old, I’d think it was a picture of you. Where did you get it?”

  “I found it in this trunk along with this.” She carefully picked up the brittle, yellowed paper and handed it to her grandmother.

  Agatha scanned the words. Shock widened her eyes, and she quickly returned to the first line. Now she took her time reading every word. Then she dropped the hand holding the paper in her lap. “My dear Maggie! They never told me.” Agatha sat there, her stunned expression a good match for what Maggie had been grappling with for the last few weeks.

  “They never told me either. And I didn’t have the nerve to tell my parents yet that I found it.” Maggie picked up the photograph again. “This must be my mother, whoever she is.”

  Agatha gazed down at the photo, then glanced up at her. “It took months for the wagon train to reach Oregon. When we received word that Florence and Joshua had a daughter, we assumed she’d finally had a baby. They’d wanted one for such a long time. Florence has always loved children.”

  Her grandmother stared off into space as if seeing the past. “By the time she was seven years old, she would ask to hold the new babies at church. I worried that she would drop one, but she was so careful with them. My beloved Drake died while I was carrying Georgia. Florence had just turned thirteen when she was born. She helped me so much with her baby sister.”

  All this information about the family made Maggie long to be a part of it. And Agatha revealed a different side of her mother that she’d never considered.

  “Why didn’t they tell me you were adopted?” Agatha stared at Maggie. “I thought you inherited my designing ability and my curly hair.”

  The words stung Maggie. She winced.

  Agatha reached across the open trunk and took Maggie’s hand. “Oh, you poor child. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just so surprised. I’m thinking out loud. You are my grandchild in every way that counts. No one can take that away from us.”

  Her grandmother’s words wen
t straight to Maggie aching heart, pouring over it like a soothing balm. She wanted to belong to Agatha.

  “Do these names mean anything to you?” Her grandmother held up the paper.

  “I’ve never heard any of them before I found the trunk.” Maggie took the adoption paper and placed it flat on the bottom of the container. Then she started folding the baby clothes and placing them on top. “One question I’ve had is, why didn’t my mother sign the paper? If Angus McKenna is my father, and he must be since he’s the one giving me away, who is my mother?”

  “Does it really matter?” Agatha moved the trunk to the table and scooted closer to Maggie.

  When her grandmother pulled her into an embrace, she leaned her head on Agatha’s shoulder.

  “Florence and Joshua have been good parents, haven’t they?” The words were whispered against her hair.

  Maggie straightened. “Well, I have memories of happy times in the past, but for the last few years, Flor . . . Mother has really tried to change me a lot. That makes me think there was something wrong with my real mother. Or why else would she not want me to be myself?”

  Agatha patted her hand. “The last few years a child is at home are always difficult for a mother.” She turned a distant stare toward the window. “She wants to hold on so tightly just at the time she needs to start letting go.”

  Maggie heard the conviction in her grandmother’s words.

  Agatha clasped her hands in her lap and gazed down at them. “When your mother and Joshua decided to move west, my heart was broken. Their last months here were not pleasant, because I could not give them my blessing before they left. And now your mother appears to be doing the same to you.” She sighed. “Remember, Maggie, your mother is only human. She may have wanted you so badly to be her own baby that she never wanted to even think about your adoption. I’m not saying what she did was right, but I do know she must have a deep mother’s love for you. And now that mother’s love is trying to hold on so tight that it’s in danger of smothering you.”

  Maggie nodded, trying to absorb her grandmother’s words, trying to understand the hurts and secrets of a woman she’d always known as only “Mother.”

  Agatha took charge again. “Obviously you can’t stay here with this issue unresolved between you. I do think you need to return home and talk to your parents face-to-face about what you’ve discovered. The discussion will help both of you to see each other as God’s children, created by Him for a special purpose, and that will help your mother to loosen her grip a bit. My offer to you still stands, but first, go be reconciled with your mother.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.”

  Agatha opened her arms, and Maggie went to her, letting herself be enfolded. Her grandmother drew her closer and began to rock back and forth. She crooned a nameless tune and rubbed Maggie’s back. How soothing it felt. She didn’t even try to stop the tears that cascaded from her eyes. Tears of relief, that she had someone to share her burden. Tears of fear, of not knowing what would happen next. And tears of joy, feeling the unconditional love of this amazing woman . . . her grandmother.

  Chapter 19

  Charles chuckled as he descended from the coach and helped Georgia alight. He’d enjoyed this shopping excursion with Tucker and Shirley. They each had a quick wit. Shirley didn’t let any of the merchants cheat her on anything she purchased. The coach held several wooden crates of foodstuffs along with more than one tow sack. She must plan on feeding an army. Charles knew he, Georgia, and Maggie wouldn’t be there long enough to consume all this food. After he assisted Georgia, she headed into the house, but he stayed to help Tucker carry in the boxes.

  “Now you go on, Mr. Stanton. I’s gonna tote this stuff inside.” Tucker hoisted a crate onto his shoulder and picked up one of the burlap bags bulging with vegetables.

  “I know you will.” Charles agreed but instead of following the man’s suggestion, he also carried a crate and a burlap bag as he headed toward the back door.

  When the two men reached the kitchen and set their burdens on the table, the driver headed back outside. Charles crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the cabinet, watching Shirley make short work of emptying the wooden boxes.

  Georgia was filling the teapot with hot water from the well in the stove. Then she dropped tea leaves inside and put the lid on so they would steep. Since the air had turned rather chilly while they were gone, tea sounded good to Charles, especially if it was accompanied by some of Shirley’s delicious cookies.

  Georgia turned toward him and arched her brows. “Would you like cookies with your tea?”

  “Sure.”

  She went to the cabinet, took out an embossed tin, and placed a few cookies on a plate. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks, glad that he and Georgia had found a way to interact without it being affected by his idiotic blunder. He couldn’t believe how cocky he had been, thinking that no woman was immune to his charm. He spent extra time with God every day since then trying to tame his foolish pride.

  He viewed Georgia with new eyes now. “Today was interesting, wasn’t it?”

  “I always enjoy being with Tucker and Shirley.” After checking the tea, she filled the cups and set them on the table before she settled onto one of the kitchen chairs. “When I was young, I often spent more time with them than Mother, especially if she had lots of orders.”

  “Tucker said your mother and Maggie are here, but I don’t hear a sound. Do you think they’re taking naps?” He felt something wasn’t quite right and wondered where that feeling was coming from.

  “Not my mother.” Georgia took a sip of the hot drink. “She has more energy than I do.” She held the plate of treats toward him. “Cookie?”

  Charles shook his head. “I think I’ll see if I can find them. Maybe they would like to join us for tea.”

  As he searched through the lower floor of the house, everything was quiet until he approached the parlor. Muffled crying and someone softly humming stopped him in his tracks. He wasn’t sure whether he should go farther or not. Lord, what do I do now? When he didn’t feel compelled to leave, he approached the archway that opened into the formal room.

  Agatha sat facing the archway, with her arms around Maggie. He wondered if her grandmother had uncovered Maggie’s secret.

  Just then, a board under his foot squeaked. Agatha opened her eyes, her gaze homing in on him. She sat on the sofa with Maggie cradled against her chest. Without saying a word, he lifted his hands from his sides, palms out, and shot her a questioning look. He hoped she understood that he didn’t want to intrude where he wasn’t wanted. But deep in his heart, he hoped she wouldn’t turn him away. He clamped his teeth together and shoved his hands into his pockets before Agatha could notice how tense he was. When their hostess didn’t motion him to go away, he held his ground.

  Agatha kissed Maggie on the top of her head, then she whispered words he couldn’t hear. After a moment, Maggie shook her head, eased away from her grandmother, and mopped the moisture from her face with a soggy hanky. He wanted to offer her his fresh handkerchief. Before he could reach for it, she turned watery eyes toward him.

  •••

  “It’s all right.” Maggie slowly rose to her feet and swayed slightly. “Come on in, Charles. You’re going to find out all this anyway, so it might as well be now.” She only hoped he would be as understanding as her grandmother had been. The warm glow of Agatha’s complete acceptance still lingered in her heart, and she felt as if she could face anything right now.

  Charles went to the chair across the table from them and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other, but then let it fall, as if he was having a hard time getting comfortable. Then he breathed out a large whoosh of air. She had never seen him so hesitant before, and it was all because of her, she was sure. Maybe he had also noticed something was amiss with her.

  She dropped back on the sofa and clasped her hands in her lap. Agatha glanced her way. “I’ll leave you two alone to sort this out,
and go find Georgia. Is that all right with you, Maggie?”

  “Yes.” Maggie gave a flat, dull answer.

  “Charles, where is Georgia?” Agatha’s question sounded brisk, businesslike.

  “In the kitchen.” Charles’s words held no clue as to how he felt right now. Maggie wished they did.

  As Agatha walked away, he leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees. On this trip, she’d seen him sit that way before when he was deep in thought.

  “What’s going on, Maggie?” His gaze bore into hers.

  His tender tone brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back. She needed to just tell him right out and get it over with. “A while before my birthday, I found out I’m not who I thought I was.”

  At the bewildered expression on his face, she tried again. “I found a picture of a woman who is probably my mother. There’s also a paper from an Angus McKenna giving me to Joshua and Florence Caine.” Please, please, understand and don’t make me go into all the details. If she had to repeat everything, she’d melt into another puddle of tears.

  “I see.”

  “Do you? I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Sleek and agile as a cat, he rose from the chair and started toward her. Then he stopped. “May I sit by you?”

  She scooted the white chest away from the edge of the oval coffee table centered on the rug in front of the sofa. Then she patted the cushion beside her. His smile looked like the sun breaking forth from behind storm clouds as he slid down beside her. She felt drawn to him, but still apprehensive.

  “I found her.” Agatha entered, followed by Georgia.

  Her aunt pulled Maggie into an embrace. “Mother said something was wrong, but she didn’t go into details. Let me help you, Maggie.”

  They all shifted so Georgia could sit on the other side of Maggie from Charles. With as few words as she could get by with, Maggie spread out the story and illustrated it with the paper and picture.

  Georgia picked up the photograph and stared at it. “This looks just like you. She has to be your mother. But where is she?”