Rhett shook his head, but his phone buzzed to life in his pocket, putting off the confrontation momentarily.
He pulled the thin device out, and—without looking at the screen—answered.
“I need something.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
It was her.
He played along. “Oh?”
The front door opened in front of him, and Maggie stepped out, her phone to her ear. “Heat,” she answered him.
Rhett felt blood pulse through his body. “Heat?” he replied, his voice cracking on the line as he glanced around, keeping an eye out for the kids. His gaze returned to Maggie, whose fingers, he noticed for the first time since he’d reunited with her weeks earlier, were all bare.
She nodded and purred back into the line. “Hot water, I mean.”
His body relaxed and he smiled broadly up at her, dropping the phone to his side. “What do you mean, hot water?”
“We don’t have any. And,” she answered, her eyes dancing circles as he walked back to the porch, and stood at the bottom, staring up at her. “Can you help me install a water heater?”
“Sure,” he answered. “Tell me a day and time. I’ll be here.”
“Today. Now,” she answered, stepping down toward him.
He sucked in a deep breath. “All right. Well, we can hit the hardware store in town, see what they have. We could always start tomorrow. I could check out one of the wholesale warehouses in Louisville, if you—”
She held up a hand. “Rhett, I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
“Why don’t you stay here?” Maggie waved a hand out.
Rhett fell back a step. “Aw, no. I can’t do that, Maggie. You’ve got a full house. And I have my studio. And a new place popped up on the market just north of the city. I’m heading over to check it out in the morning...”
But she wasn’t going to take no for answer. “Rhett, stay here. You can sleep in the parlor once we move the mattresses upstairs. The kids won’t care. It’ll be fun, and I could really use your help for a few days. I’d hate for you to drive back and forth.”
“Maggie, I can’t. You’re still—” He caught himself. That wasn’t the real issue. The real issue was something else. “I have a place in Louisville. And my rentals are there. Besides, Maggie, I’m no live-in handyman. You know?”
She nodded slowly. “I see.”
“No, no. It’s not what you think. I would love to live with you.” His chest constricted and his pace quickened. The truth was pushing through, and all Rhett wanted was for them to confront it. But right then? Right there?
“But what?” she answered, her palms open.
He racked his brain for a good answer, fully aware that he could never tell her the real reasons. Because he loved her. Because she was still married. Because he was a provider and could never live in her barn like some sort of hired man.
“Oh,” she said at last. “I get it.” The light went out of her eyes, and she took a step back. “You don’t... you don’t want to...”
He frowned. “Wait, Maggie, what? No, it’s not—”
“You don’t want to complicate things. I’m still married. It’s weird. I... get it. I can find someone else.”
It was the impetus he needed. Maggie couldn’t afford to find someone else. She didn’t need one more thing on her plate.
And just like that, when it occurred to Rhett that his living at the farm wasn’t about who he was as a man but instead about who he was as a person, he knew what he had to do.
“You know what?” he replied before she made it to the first step, ready to wave goodbye forever. “I’m being ridiculous. Of course I can stay here.”
Her face lit up and she rushed into his arms, knocking him backwards. It was a full-on hug. The one he worried he couldn’t handle.
“But on one condition,” he said as she pushed back, glowing with excitement.
“Whatever it is, sure,” she answered, clapping giddily.
Rhett smiled and jutted his chin out past the house toward the barn. “I’ll stay in there.”
Chapter 33 — Maggie
They agreed he would start in two weeks.
In the meantime, more trips to Becky’s for hot showers. And each of those trips was more than just a quick pop in and out. It would include an oversized down-home meal—the boys certainly didn’t complain about that—in addition to a new round of convincing Memaw that Becky’s “impulse chicken” (whom the kids had taken to calling Greg) in fact added to their family. There was no more need for Memaw to nag and ridicule Becky about it. Maggie declared over and again she was happy to keep the chicken.
She had a farm after all.
And, in fact, she considered getting a few more.
March was near at hand, and Maggie figured that since she’d gotten back on track with her clients—it turned out the kitchen was just as good a place to do hair as anywhere else in Hickory Grove, Indiana. She now had enough extra money to start settling in for the long haul.
With no mortgage and a forest’s worth of trees to harvest for the fireplace, bills were lower in the farmhouse than they’d ever been in a dual-income house on Pine Tree Lane. And, what was more, if Maggie could put up a little money to secure real, working livestock, then she could start supplying their own groceries right there at the farm.
That wasn’t to speak of a garden or any crops—though the latter was not likely to happen.
Still, Maggie turned out to be something of a green thumb. Especially with the help of her growing children who seemed acutely interested in country life, much to Maggie’s happy surprise.
Using the outhouse was the biggest adjustment, but Maggie had to admit it was tenable. At least for a little while longer—until Rhett was to show up with his truck bed full of tools.
Maggie spent her days painting as the kids came and went from school. Briar, who had since convinced her mother to get a kitten, mostly occupied herself in the parlor, playing house with the little cat while Maggie passed from room to room, touching up spots she had missed.
Thoughts of Rhett filled Maggie’s head, but she pushed them away as hard as she could. Though she no longer wore her wedding band, and though Travis had signed his paperwork, she was still married for the time being. They still had to appear for court and take parenting classes. It would be a few months until the deal was done.
But even more than an incomplete divorce, Maggie had her children to think of. Two daughters and two sons. And she did not want to set the example that a woman was only happy when she was with a man.
Sure, partners could enhance one’s life, Maggie reiterated over breakfast on the one morning Dakota had, much to her surprise, brought it up. However, the Engel family needed time to take care of each other first. They needed time to unpack. Time to settle.
The kids had all scoffed at that. Ky even said, “We’ve already done all that!”
But her answer came quickly: Rhett would be living there soon enough. And once he moved in, nothing would change.
Other than their plumbing situation.
Of course, none of those rationalizations changed what Maggie felt deep down. What her heart told her.
But God had opened a window for the now single mom. And she was committed to doing things right.
And doing things right took time.
Especially, when one was waiting for a divorce.
But then, late in the afternoon of Friday, a phone call came in.
IT WAS BECKY, WHO DECLARED she was on the speaker phone with Zack Durbin, Esquire.
And they had news.
“You were never married.”
Maggie fell into the armchair in the parlor, only half listening as she bit down into a crisp, red apple.
Becky started to repeat herself until Zack took the phone and did it for her. “Maggie, this is Zack. Your marriage license was never filed in the state of Indiana. Do you know anything about that?”
Maggie nea
rly choked. “What?”
“Just what I said. There is no record of your having married Travis Wayne Engel in the state of Indiana. Did you get married across state lines? In Louisville, maybe?”
“We got married at Little Flock right here in town. It was a private ceremony. Marguerite kept it that way since I was pregnant.” Her voice trembled through the recollection. “We signed the paper. I remember it. We even have a certificate from the church,” she said, standing and darting to the staircase to head upstairs and grab the offending document.
“Did you send it to the county to be recorded?” Zack asked urgently.
Maggie stalled at the top of the staircase. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I never went to the courthouse or anything, if that’s what you mean.”
“Did Travis?”
“Did he what?” Maggie asked, her mind shuffling through history and catching up to the present, desperate to understand.
“Did Travis have your marriage recorded? Did Marguerite send it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know.”
“You got married here, at Little Flock Catholic? In Hickory Grove?” Zack emphasized the final words of his question.
Nodding her head vehemently, she answered, “Yes, I’m positive. A private ceremony. Father Dan. Little Flock. Yes.”
“Maggie, do you know what this means?” Zack asked, his voice quiet and patient.
Overcome with confusion and elation, she replied that no, admittedly, she did not.
“I already left a voicemail with Travis’s attorney to confirm, but if you two didn’t have the marriage recorded, then it’s akin to fraud.”
“Fraud?” Maggie gasped. The implications swirled around her. Was she a criminal? Was Travis?
“It’s okay; it’s okay. This has happened before. You won’t get in trouble, but it makes anything in your life tied to your marriage null and void. It grants you, effectively, an annulment.”
She swallowed and her eyes glassed over with tears. “I’m not married to Travis?”
Becky came back on the line through the speaker, her voice a whisper. “You never were, sweetheart.”
RHETT ARRIVED JUST when he said he would. His truck bed boasted only a few large boxes. On the trailer hitched behind him was everything else.
And truly, everything. Lawn mower, weed eater, metal tool chest tied into submission onto the floor of the trailer.
And, sitting squarely in the middle of it all, two massive boxes.
One water heater.
And one toilet.
He was a hero.
Maggie greeted Rhett with some distance, offering a broad smile and a hello, and then calling forth Old Gray, who she proceeded to give a good belly rub.
Rhett hollered a hello to the kids, who were prancing about, delighted at the unseasonably warm winter day.
The children waved happily back and carried on.
Gretchen was at the back of the property with Theo, stacking firewood.
Briar’s kitten perched on the top of the porch, eyeing Old Gray with circumspection.
“Think they’ll get along?” Maggie teased Rhett, gesturing to the two pets.
He grinned. “Opposites sometimes attract. They’ll figure it out.”
Maggie nodded. “I have good news and bad news,” she announced, anxious to spill everything to him, now that she had him there in person.
“Oh?” he replied.
“Which do you want first?”
Rhett inhaled then let out his breath as though the matter were a serious one. “I abide by the low expectations rule, usually.”
“What’s that?” she answered, nearing him as he worked to free his tool chest from its pinned position on the bed of the trailer.
“Always start with the bad news. Then, everything that follows is good.”
“Oh, so you’re that type, huh?” She held out her hand for the ropes he’d finished loosening. He passed them over, and she began to wrap them in wide loops from her shoulder to elbow. It was one of those rare talents Maggie possessed—rope-looping—back when she had the energy to tackle yard work at Pine Tree Lane.
That same energy had returned to her recently, and she’d welcomed it.
Rhett took the bait. “What type?”
“The patient type. You can hold out. You aren’t afraid you might die and miss the good stuff.”
He chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way...”
They locked eyes for a moment, and then the shrill of children’s laughter broke in.
Maggie went on. “Okay, the bad news. I still haven’t gotten the lock to bust open on the barn. I have no idea what is in there, and I have done exactly nothing in the way of setting up for you.” She felt her cheeks grow warm.
It was an honest admission, but it wasn’t her style. She liked to have things ready for guests. Her work station was always primed for clients. But she didn’t have the tools or time to see about cracking into the barn.
It had fallen off her to-do list.
Rhett didn’t react much, though. “No big deal. I can get it open. It’ll be a fun adventure,” he added with a wink.
“You can sleep in the parlor until we have the barn set up,” she added, nervous.
He simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the task of righting the chest of drawers and centering it on his dolly.
“What’s the good news?” he asked at length, now easing the teetering chest down the ramp.
Maggie rushed in to steady the left side and helped him drop the unit to the ground.
Again, their gazes caught, and she answered him. “It’s Travis. The divorce. It, well...” Maggie had practiced how she was going to deliver the news all night and all morning, but there she was, fudging it all up.
“What is it?” Rhett pressed, his face falling a little.
She shook her head. “Um, what I mean is... well, we aren’t married. We never were. He didn’t file the license. Everything was a sham, inadvertently.”
Rhett’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open a little. He asked for more information, and she unloaded it, explaining that she’d used the church certificate for her name change with various entities, such as beauty school. But, she never did get around to updating her name on her driver’s license or social security card due to pure laziness.
And that was it. Maggie’s life was so small and so centered around those who already knew her that she needed no further proof that she belonged to Travis.
Or, at least, that was the case for so many years.
But it worked out. And when she went to claim the farmhouse, her name wasn’t an issue, because Marguerite hadn’t left the property to Dirk Devereux and Margaret Engel.
She’d left it to Margaret Devereux.
Even though Maggie had been “married” to Travis for years by the time the old woman had written it.
“Do you think...?” Rhett began.
Maggie lifted her shoulders. “Maybe. I guess Travis told his attorney that, back then, that my aunt said she’d deliver the license to the courthouse for us. But she never did.”
RHETT’S RELIEF AT HER news was palpable, as though he had an answer to a question he’d been waiting years to ask. But never did.
Turned out, he didn’t need to ask. He just needed that patience he so clearly possessed.
Now, as they finished unloading his truck, they turned their attention to the new project at hand: the barn.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Rhett muttered, pulling a conveniently packed bolt cutter from beneath the back seat of the cab of his truck.
Maggie followed him silently, breathing in the almost-spring air and exhaling it deeply.
Things were good. The kids were happy. Gretchen had quit night classes and started working on her “craft,” as she cleverly referred to it. Mostly, the poor thing hadn’t gotten far. The old Singer was missing parts, and Maggie was useless in trouble-shooting.
Fern Gale had come over to help, suggest
ing they order a new machine and start over again. But Gretchen refused, asserting that she was meant to use the Devereux heirloom.
She’d searched high and low in the few cupboards and cabinets of the old farmhouse, coming up empty each day. She’d begun researching which parts to order, but she was hesitant to spend her hard-earned money just yet.
Gretchen’s budding hobby aside, the boys were in better spirits than they’d ever been. The fresh air clearly did them something good, but it was more than that. Like a burden had been lifted. The burden of an unhealthy marriage (or, relationship, as the case may have been) between their parents, perhaps.
Surprising to Maggie, was how excited they were to welcome Rhett to the property. They’d cleaned their room from top to bottom and begged their mom to get a new dog bed for Old Gray. She’d declined, to their crushing disappointment, but now she was having second thoughts. Maybe they would need a dog bed since Rhett and Old Gray might be in the farmhouse with them.
Presently, the chickens (yes, they’d “adopted” more) squabbled in the distance, and Maggie noticed the boys off in the distance, trying to catch Rhett’s attention as they whipped a baseball back and forth, a rhythmic thud echoing over to the barn as the ball hit each leather mitt in succession.
Briar whined briefly, then gave up and went off to search for Lady Kitten, her new best friend.
Rhett saw the boys and called out to them. “Nice form, guys!”
Maggie could have sworn Ky’s face reddened with pride.
Dakota, more assured, answered, “Come play in a while, Mr. Rhett!”
The question hit Maggie in the heart, and it occurred to her that she never once saw Travis play with either boy. And, of course, never his daughters.
“I sure will!” Rhett hollered back. “Give me half an hour, all right?”
Dakota and Ky both threw a thumbs up, and Maggie allowed herself solace. Even if Rhett was only there for a spell—even if he was only ever a live-in handyman—at least the boys would have a man there. A good man. A role model.
Rhett popped the padlock with relative ease and looked back to Maggie. “She’s ready,” he declared, a playful grin dancing on his lips.
The Farmhouse Page 13