Scent of Magnolia

by Frances Devine

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-62029-126-9

  Copyright © 2012 by Frances Devine. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  one

  Georgia, February 1892

  Helen Edwards flung the gown, for she couldn’t rightly call the ruffled, silk expanse of elegance a dress, into the growing pile on the floor of the cluttered third floor storage room. At least, it was a storage room now, whatever it might have been in the Quincy Family past. Bending, she pulled another sheet-wrapped gown from the ancient trunk, releasing a fragrance of spices and mothballs. Her breath caught in her throat as she shook out the lovely blue silk and held it in front of her.

  She bit her lip as she gazed into the oval, French mirror that stood in the corner. If only her hair was blond or black or even red. Her brown locks pulled up in a severe bun, appeared mousy against the shining blue fabric. She sighed and focused on the dress. Should she try it on? How embarrassing if anyone should walk in and catch her, the proper, spinsterish school teacher, primping in who-knew-how-many-decades-old fancy clothing. She cocked an ear. Hammering and other noises from the west wing assured her that Albert and his helpers were busy with the third floor renovations. The Cecilia Quincy School for the Deaf would soon be moving their classrooms from the second floor of the old renovated mansion to the third with its much needed space.

  Quickly she spread the gown across the trunk. Unbutton-ing her sensible, dark brown, garment, Helen lifted it over her head and laid it across a straight-back chair.

  A moment later, the sky-blue silk slid down her small frame. She closed her eyes for a moment and ran her hands across the smooth, billowing yards and yards of the skirt. Then taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. Her breath caught. Why, she looked young. No where near her thirty-two years.

  A gasp from the doorway was the only warning that she wasn’t alone.

  “Oh! Miss Edwards. You’re so beautiful. You look just like a princess.”

  Her cheeks blazing and heart thumping, she turned to the ten-year-old girl standing in the doorway, her blue eyes enormous.

  “Please shut the door, Molly.” She was careful to enunciate and look straight at Molly so the child could read her lips.

  Molly Flannigan hastened to obey and then stepped over to Helen. Her hand reached out. She jerked it back. “May I touch it?”

  Helen gave a nervous laugh. “Of course you may. Then I have to change back into my own dress before someone else comes in here. By the way, what are you doing up here?”

  “Miss Wellington sent me to find you. She wants to talk to you about something.”

  “Very well. Would you like to help me put these things away? Then we’ll go downstairs together.”

  Molly chattered in her slightly high voice and clipped off words as she helped return the garments to the huge trunk. She exclaimed over each one. “But who do they belong to?”

  “I’m not sure. They’re very old, so their owners must be long dead by now. I suppose they belong to Dr. Trent.” Helen smiled, wondering what Dr. Trent Quincy’s new bride, Abigail, would think of them. Helen couldn’t wait to show her. It would be like Abigail to cut them all down into dresses for the little girls and fancy vests for the boys.

  Helen wrapped the blue gown in its old white sheet and placed it on top of the others. Sighing, she closed the lid with a thunk then walked down the hall with Molly.

  “I sure wish I knew who owned those dresses. They must have been awfully rich.” Molly shook her head in emphasis, causing her long black braids to wave from side to side.

  “I suppose they were,” Helen said. “It’s my understanding the school’s original benefactress, who was our own Dr. Trent’s grandmother, was quite wealthy.”

  “Is she the one who freed all her slaves?” Molly turned her eyes up to her teacher.

  “That’s right.” Helen nodded and gave the girl’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m pleased you remember the facts you’ve learned about the history of our school.”

  Molly’s eyes danced. “Mrs. Alexandra Quincy, widow of Mr. George Quincy, freed all her slaves ten years before the Civil War began. She gave them all land and a cabin and the opportunity to work for wages if they wished. Soon afterward, she moved into a small house on her property and told her son, Thomas, to make the big house into a school in memory of her youngest daughter, Cecilia, who was deaf” —her expression sobered—“completely deaf like me. And they named it the Cecilia Quincy School for the Deaf.”

  “Excellent, Miss Flannigan. Perhaps you can recite those facts during the end of the year program.”

  “Really?” She giggled as they rounded the corner to the main hallway.

  “Yes, really.” Helen gave a gentle pull to one of Molly’s braids.

  “Miss Edwards?”

  “Yes?”

  “I won’t tell anyone you tried on the dress.”

  Warmth rushed over Helen’s cheeks. “Thank you. It would be rather embarrassing if anyone knew.”

  Molly nodded her head. “You want to know a secret?”

  “Only if it’s yours to tell and you want to.”

  “It is.” She swallowed. “I used to try on Mama’s dresses. You know, after she went to heaven.”

  Helen’s heart lurched, and she paused at the head of the stairway, blinking back tears. “Oh, sweetheart. I understand. It must have made you feel close to her.”

  Molly swallowed again then nodded. “Pa walked in one day and saw me. He hugged me really tight. But when I went home again at the end of school, they were all gone. And so was her picture.”

  Helen put her hand on Molly’s shoulder. “I’m sure your father thought that was best for you.”

  “I know. He said we had to move on. But we’d see Mama again some day.” Her lips quivered. “Do you think that’s true? Will I ever see my mama again?”

  Gathering the girl into her arms, Helen sent a silent prayer for the right words.

  “Your mother knew Jesus and so do you. Yes, I believe someday you’ll see her again.”

  A sigh of relief escaped from Molly’s lips. “I believe so, too. It’s just sometimes it seems so long. And. . .I can’t remember exactly what she looked like anymore.”

  The conversation remained with Helen as she went about her Saturday chores. She wondered if Molly’s father knew what his daughter was going through inside. Probably not. He’d seemed distracted ever since his wife had passed away two years before.

  ❧

  Patrick Flannigan, with a grin he couldn’t hold back, drove his buggy down the street toward home. He couldn’t recall the name or the words to the tune he whistled, but its jolly rhythm matched the satisfaction he felt inside. Who would have thought his small leather shop would gain so much popularity. The last year he’d seen a steady increase, but in the past four months business had boomed. He’d need to hire more hands soon.

  He stopped in front of the white frame house he’d called home since he and Maureen had married fifteen years ago. She’d have loved the improvements he’d made, especially the additions to the kitchen and the screened-in back porch.

>   But he knew, if she could see what was transpiring down here on earth, she’d be thrilled that he’d be bringing their little Molly back home soon. The school had been good for her. It had helped keep her from grieving too much. And she’d continued to learn things that would be helpful to her as she grew up. Her lip reading had improved and her speech was much better. He’d been tickled when she came home for Christmas and showed him the sign language she’d learned.

  But it was time for her to come back home and live with him. Now that he could afford to hire more help he wouldn’t have to work such long hours. And he could pay someone to care for her when he was away at work.

  Hurrying inside, he picked up the clutter around the house then changed his clothes and packed a small bag. An hour later, he’d left his horse and buggy at the livery near the train station and was on the train headed out of Atlanta.

  He sank onto a cushioned seat near the back of the car, grateful that the railroad now went through Mimosa Junction, a small town near Molly’s school. Otherwise he’d be driving his buggy or a wagon all the way. Contentment washed over him at the anticipation of his little girl’s joy when he told her the news.

  ❧

  Scuffling sounded through the room as the children entered and began to settle at their desks. Tommy Findlay pretended to trip and fell into his seat. A smattering of giggles greeted his comedic acting talent.

  Helen, who stood next to her desk, decided to ignore Tommy’s attempt to get attention.

  “Boys and girls, please get settled and take out your history books.”

  All obeyed except Tommy, who hadn’t been watching her lips. When he noticed everyone else, he hastened to remove his own book from his desk and look at the blackboard to find the page number. He darted a look at Helen, and relief washed over his face as he saw her indulgent smile.

  When the books were opened, the children turned their attention to Helen’s lips, waiting for further instruction.

  “I’d like for you to read pages 102 through 107 and answer the questions on page 108. If you need help, please raise”—a knock on the door interrupted her—“your hand. You may begin now.”

  She stepped to the door and opened it to find one of the maids with her hand raised as if to knock again.

  “Yes, Sally May?”

  “Miz Wellington ast me to ast you to send Molly to her office right now.” She gave a quick curtsy then added, “If you please, ma’am. I’m s’pose to walk with her.”

  “Very well, just a moment please.”

  Helen walked over to Molly’s desk where the girl was already reading her assignment. She touched the girl on the shoulder.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Curiosity filled Molly’s eyes.

  “Miss Wellington would like for you to come to her office, please. Sally May is here to escort you.”

  Molly’s eyes widened. “Am I in trouble? I haven’t done anything naughty, Miss Edwards. Truly, I haven’t.”

  “Of course, you haven’t. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Put your things away, please, and go with Sally May.” Helen patted Molly on the shoulder and waited for her to get her things in order then walked her to the door.

  Helen’s eyes followed the two down the hall. When they started down the stairs, she shut the door and returned to her desk.

  A little twinge of worry tickled at her as she went about her duties and helped the children who needed her. It wasn’t like their director to call the child out from her studies. Helen only hoped there was nothing amiss. Molly didn’t need another tragedy in her life.

  Molly didn’t return, but soon Sally May tapped on the door again, this time with a note from P. J. Wellington, informing Helen that Molly was spending the afternoon with her father and asking her to come to the office at the close of the school day.

  When she dismissed the children at three, Helen slipped into her room for a moment to freshen up. She poured water into the washbowl and dabbed the cool liquid on her face. A glance in the mirror assured her all her brown curls were tamed and secured in the bun at the back of her head. She smoothed her skirt then walked downstairs to the director’s office and tapped before opening the door.

  P. J. Wellington stood at a window gazing out across the side yard. She turned when Helen entered. Her drawn face sent a wave of dread through Helen.

  “Please have a seat, Helen.” She sat in her chair behind the desk and sighed.

  “You’re frightening me, P.J. What in the world is wrong?” She frowned. “Not another death in the child’s family?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Although it may very well be the death of Molly’s future.”

  Helen sat with her hands tightly clasped in her lap and waited.

  P.J. slapped her hand on the desk. “Patrick Flannigan is removing Molly from the school.”

  “What?” Helen sat up straight. “But why? Does he have complaints about our curriculum or something else?”

  “No.” The fiftyish woman reached over and patted Helen’s hand. “He had nothing but praise for Molly’s training and education.”

  “Then why take her out?”

  “It seems Mr. Flannigan’s business has prospered and now that he can take care of his daughter’s needs—including a nanny, it seems—he believes she should live at home with him.” She gave Helen a sympathetic glance. “I know you’ve grown fond of Molly. I’ve only been here a few short months and I care about her. And she’s thrived under your tutelage. But he seems to have his mind made up. I imagine he misses her and feels guilty for leaving her here as long as he has.”

  “But he visits often and she goes home during the summer and on holidays.”

  “I know. But apparently his mind is made up.” She paused for a moment. “Perhaps you should try reasoning with him. After all, you’ve been Molly’s teacher for more than two years.”

  “What is that, compared with being her father for nearly eleven?” She bit her lip. “Oh, P.J., Molly is such a bright child. And she’s even shown an interest in teaching when she’s older.”

  “Children often have dreams at her age that don’t last.”

  “I know that. But at least she has dreams. I hate to see them dashed because of a lack of education.” She sat up straight. “Where are they now?”

  “He took her for a drive in his rented carriage. He promised to be back by supper time.”

  Helen stood. “Pray, P.J. Surely one of us can make him see reason. At least we have to try.”

  “I’ll pray, but I’m afraid I’ve already said all that I can to the man. I’ll have to leave any reasoning to you, my dear.”

  As Helen sat in the parlor and waited, she lifted her heart to God. There must be a way to make him understand how important education was to a deaf child. Surely he would see. She’d make him see.

  “Now what are you pining about, Miss Helen?”

  She raised her head to see Virgie, long-time retainer, who had been born into slavery but now ruled the household staff with iron tempered with the gentility of love.

  “Oh, Virgie. Molly’s father wants to take her home with him for good. How can I convince him he’s wrong?

  Virgie eased her thin body down next to Helen on the settee. Her soft brown hand patted Helen’s. “Have you asked the Lord?”

  “Yes, I was praying before you got here.”

  “Did you ask Him the same thing you asked me?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.”

  “What makes you so sure that’s what’s best for our Molly girl? Maybe the good Lord has a different plan. Maybe not. But you might ask Him what He wants instead of what you wants for that child.”

  two

  Where in the world were they? They’d been gone all afternoon. Helen paced her second-floor bedroom. Laughter floated up the stairs and in through her open bedroom door. She hurried out the door and glanced down the open staircase. Sissy, a young maid, had the newly hired Flora in tow. They disappeared down the first-floor hallway leading to the kitchen.


  She turned to go back to her room but paused at the sound of carriage wheels. She stepped back out of sight and waited until the front door opened. Relief surged through her when Molly walked in followed by her smiling father.

  Helen smoothed her skirt and patted her hair then started down the stairs. She arrived at the bottom just as Molly and Mr. Flannigan turned from hanging their coats on the coat rack.

  “Miss Edwards!” Molly, with one braid loose and her black curls flying, hurried across to her and grabbed her hand. “We drove the carriage really fast. It was so much fun.”

  “That sounds like fun, Molly. Why don’t you run upstairs and straighten your hair and clothing while I talk to your father.”

  “Can we take Papa up to the third floor and show him where the new classrooms are going to be?”

  “If he’d like to see it, I’m certain we can.”

  “Oh no.” Molly snapped her fingers. “I promised Lily Ann I’d help her with her arithmetic.”

  “Perhaps someone else wouldn’t mind helping her,” Helen suggested with a smile.

  Molly’s eyes brightened momentarily then her shoulders slumped. “No. I promised. Would you show Papa around while I help Lily Ann?”

  “Now, Molly”—Mr. Flannigan gave an embarrassed laugh—“I’m sure Miss Edwards has things to do.”

  Helen hesitated. Perhaps this was her opportunity to speak to Molly’s father uninterrupted. She threw him a brief smile. “Actually, I’m free until supper. I’d be happy to give you a tour of Quincy School’s latest project.”

  “Thank you!” Molly threw her arms around her father’s waist. “I’ll see you in a little while.” She hurried up the stairs.

  Helen watched Mr. Flannigan as his eyes followed Molly. She could only call his expression adoring. There was no doubt in her mind that he loved Molly.

  When he turned to look at her, his smile was almost boyish and his green eyes sparkled. Apparently, Molly got her deep blue eyes from her mother.

  “Well, Mr. Flannigan, shall we go up, too?” Helen gave a nod toward the stairs.

  “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.” His smile broadened as he offered his arm.