Maggie's Strength

by Kimberly Grist

  Maggie’s Strength

  Kimberly Grist

  Copyright © 2019 Kimberly Grist

  Published by Forget Me Not Romances (a division of Winged Publications)

  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 author or Forget Me Not Romances.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To father’s everywhere who encourage their daughters to be all they can be.

  Joshua 1:9 King James Version (KJV)

  9 Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.

  Chapter 1

  May 1890 – Carrie Town, Texas

  Twenty-year-old Maggie Montgomery opened the heavy drapes in Dr. and Mrs. Benton’s front parlor. The morning sun cast a warm glow on the gold-colored walls and the bright white gingerbread trim. The slight aroma of beeswax and linseed oil sent a faint reminder of Maggie’s effort to give the beautiful hardwood floors a soft gleam.

  Wrapped in both a shawl and blanket, Beatrice Benton sipped tea while resting on her camelback sofa. Her mahogany hair, twisted into a bun, contrasted with her pale skin, the remnant of her bout with influenza followed by pneumonia. Maggie studied the dark shadows under her employer’s blue eyes and the gauntness of her face.

  “Are you still cold?” Maggie lightly squeezed Mrs. Benton’s hand.

  “No, I feel fine.” She glanced toward the open window. “It seems odd to be wrapped up in blankets in Texas on a beautiful spring day like this.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m looking forward to sitting on the front porch and taking a closer look at the garden you and your mother have been working so diligently on.”

  Maggie beamed. In the months since she’d come to help Beatrice regain her strength Maggie had grown to love her. “I’m excited to show it to you. But are you sure you feel well enough to venture outside?”

  Beatrice Benton, affectionately known as Mrs. Doc, nodded and extended her hand. “If you’ll help keep me steady, I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Lean on me now as much as you need to. I’m stronger than I look.” Maggie slipped her arm around the frail woman’s waist.

  Mrs. Doc was several inches taller than Maggie’s five-foot-one-inch frame. “You don’t have to tell me,” she laughed. “You’re not as big as a bar of soap, but you’re strong in more ways than one.”

  They stepped onto the wraparound porch and strolled past the entrance used for Dr. Benton’s patients and meandered toward the side yard. Mrs. Doc gasped as she gazed past the large oak to the garden seat with a swirled heart design. “You made me a bench?”

  “Papa did most of it, but he let me design the pattern, and I shaped the hearts. I knew how much you liked Mama’s.”

  “One day soon I hope to be well enough to visit your father’s blacksmith shop.” Mrs. Benton’s eyes twinkled. “I’m especially interested in watching you work in it.”

  “I would love that, and so would Papa. Perhaps this fall when the weather begins to cool down, you’ll feel up to a visit. In the meantime, we can come up with some designs that you might like to see me make.”

  “I want to get closer.” Mrs. Benton eased down the steps to the garden, clutching onto Maggie’s arm. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the landscape.

  “The echinacea will soon be blooming a purplish pink cone. The rosemary, thyme, lavender, lemongrass, and peppermint are thriving between the brick pavers.” Maggie motioned toward the tilled soil near the oak tree. “We also planted some gingerroot. Not only will your garden be aromatic, but we’ll also harvest the herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes. This time next year you won’t recognize the place.”

  “It’s beautiful now. I look forward to learning more about herbs. Your mother’s recipe for the ginger tea and honey has done more to help me with this nagging cough than anything else we’ve tried. You’ve certainly made a believer out of me.” She chuckled. “When I wrote to my son about the value of some of the teas you were making, he wrote me back a scathing reply and told me to leave the doctoring to professionals.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped. “Tea and honey have been used for hundreds of years as a cough remedy.” Her eyebrows narrowed. “Did you not tell him Dr. Benton approved of it?”

  “Of course, I did.” Mrs. Doc’s mouth curved upward. “My husband was the same way when he first graduated from medical school. So sure that the newest medications available were the only way to go. Never mind that they are often unavailable or in limited quantity here in the west.”

  ~

  Dr. Benjamin James Barton, Jr. stretched his cramped legs in relief as the conductor announced the train’s upcoming stop in Carrie Town. It had been nearly six months since he’d seen his parents. He was anxious to see his mother and to put a stop to the backwoods remedies Miss Maggie Montgomery was plying her with.

  He frowned as he recalled their latest letter, which outlined the virtues of the young woman. He’d become so alarmed he’d resigned his position at a large hospital and internship under the professor of otology, who worked with Alexander Graham Bell on hearing research.

  As the locomotive slowed to a stop, B.J. searched his mind, trying to conjure up a picture of Maggie. According to his mother, she and her family had relocated to Carrie Town last fall after her sister Molly had given birth to twins. The first time he saw Maggie, he had mistaken her for a young boy. She was often seen working in her father’s blacksmith shop wearing overalls. Petite, with blond hair and freckles, she certainly seemed harmless, but if he had learned anything outside of medical college, it was that women weren’t always what they seemed.

  B.J stepped onto the train platform, spotted the luggage handler and quickly arranged to have his suitcases delivered. With medical bag in hand, he strode the four blocks home. The minute he rounded the corner his eyes lit on the bay windows trimmed in white, which sparkled from the two-storied Victorian. A hint of the aroma of lavender welcomed him as he opened the gate of the picket fence. He stopped short. “Mother, what are you doing outside?”

  Beatrice Benton glanced up and stretched out her arms. “B.J., why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?”

  His long legs ate up the distance between them. He bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek as she wrapped him in a warm embrace. “Where is your young nurse that you adore so much? Come, you shouldn’t be out here in this wind.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve only just sat down. Maggie went into the house to fetch my bonnet.”

  Though she looked frail, his mother’s eyes gleamed as he assisted her to her feet. “Humor me. Let’s get you back inside the house.” He guided her up the steps, onto the porch and pushed open the door to a loud thunk and a shrill cry.

  Chapter 2

  “My goodness, are you all right?” Mrs. Doc’s voice cracked.

  Maggie’s hand went to her forehead and felt the knot already forming. Pain shot from her palms to her upper arms. She took in a sharp breath. “I think so.” She blinked and tried to sit up.

  “Don’t move. Let me make sure you haven’t broken anything.” Brown eyes flecked with gold met hers. His dark eyebrows drew together. “Are you experiencing any pain?”

  “Almost all of me hurts at the moment.” Maggie offered a half smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. If you could just help me up.”

  The young man knelt and positioned two fingers on Maggie’s right wrist.
A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead underneath his bowler hat. She felt her breath hitch. His eyebrows shot up. “Does your wrist hurt?”

  Maggie swallowed. “Not that one.”

  His mouth compressed into a grim line as he reached for his bag. Maggie used her right arm to pull the flattened bonnet from underneath her bottom. “I’m so sorry I ruined your garden hat.”

  Mrs. Doc waved her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure we can reshape it. And if not, I’ll have this son of mine buy me a new one. If he had left me in the garden, none of this would have happened.” She lowered herself onto the hall bench.

  B.J. scowled. “Perhaps whoever’s idea it was to go outdoors in the first place is the responsible party.”

  Maggie squirmed to a seated position. “I’m feeling much better now.” Strong arms lifted her to her feet. She tilted her head to look at the broad-shouldered man, tall like his father. She swayed.

  “Do you think we should get your father?” Mrs. Doc asked. “She looks about ready to faint.”

  B.J. let out a sigh. Maggie bit her lip to conceal a smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Your son has spent years preparing to be a doctor. I’m sure we can trust him to make a proper diagnosis.”

  B.J.’s head inclined toward the parlor. “Let’s get you over to the settee while I get a cold compress for your forehead. Then I want to take a closer look at your hand.”

  Mrs. Benton reached for her son’s arm and accompanied them into the parlor. “Perhaps she should lie down for a while?”

  “Really, ma’am. Don’t fret. I’ve had worse falls.” Maggie rubbed her lower arm. “It doesn’t feel as though I’ve broken anything. Although I think I may develop some colorful bruises by this time tomorrow.”

  B.J. returned with a cool compress and Maggie placed it on her head while he examined her hands and arms. “I take it by your statement that you’ve broken a bone or two previously, Miss Montgomery?”

  “Yes, I fell out of a tree when I was a young girl and broke my arm.” Maggie rearranged the compress.

  “I’m surprised your parents allowed you to climb trees.” He raised one eyebrow.

  “I’m one of seven children and tried hard to keep up with my brothers. My parents didn’t mind that I climbed trees. It was the falling out of them they objected to.” Maggie studied the short stubble on the doctor's square jaw. His mouth turned down as he examined her wrist. Goodness, does the man ever smile?

  “Tree climbing and working with your father in his blacksmith shop, you’ve had an unorthodox upbringing for a young girl.”

  “Don’t be so stodgy, son. Maggie had a wonderful childhood. I love hearing about her many grand adventures with her brothers and sister. I envy her mother. I wish I could have given you siblings.”

  B.J. met Maggie’s gaze. The golden flecks seemed to disappear as his eyes darkened. “Living in the west certainly gives people the liberty to waive some of society’s expectations. When my father wrote that you were coming to live here to help my mother, I admit I expected you to be in your overalls.”

  Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks. She took the compress from her face. “I’m feeling much better. I need to prepare your mother’s tea and check on lunch.”

  “I believe your assessment is correct. Nothing appears broken.” He turned her wrist over and laid a finger over her palm. “A bruise is already forming. I suggest you take it easy for the next day or two. I’ll want to examine your wrist again this time tomorrow.”

  ~

  Standing in the bright kitchen, Maggie spooned gravy over the roast beef tips, seasoned to perfection. The marinade would add to the flavor and make the meat tender. She moved to the center of the room and retrieved the teakettle from the walnut worktable. The kitchen was her favorite room in the house, similar to her mother’s and sister’s with a wide aisle between the stove, sink and work area. Many mornings Mrs. Doc would sit in here, sipping her tea while Maggie worked.

  Reminded of B.J.’s comments about her attire, Maggie smoothed the skirt of her faded calico dress. The nerve of the man. Admittedly, she was more comfortable in her work clothes, but she only wore them when gardening or helping her father in the blacksmith shop. She bit her lip. Even her Sunday dress wasn’t much better than this one. The fact that B.J. had mentioned he noticed what she wore was a bit unnerving. She poured water into the teakettle and set it on the stove to heat, then stepped into the hall and entered the water closet.

  Blue-green eyes fringed in dark lashes stared back at her from the wall mirror. Because of her freckles and turned-up nose, she’d always been referred to as cute, not beautiful like her mother and sister. She lifted a lock of blond hair and was met with an angry bruise on her forehead.

  The teakettle whistled. Maggie took a backward glance at her reflection. Her mother was constantly encouraging her to replace her wardrobe. She’d accumulated a nice nest egg from her earnings from the Bentons as well as her share of the profits from her ironwork designs. It’s time to pay a visit to Lois’s dress shop.

  Chapter 3

  The sweet smell of apples and cinnamon filled the kitchen. Maggie followed her mother’s recipe and used the potato masher to break the fruit into a chunky sauce and spread it over the cake. Mrs. Doc’s appetite was slowly increasing. Hopefully, this creation would tempt her. Maggie cut four pieces and returned to the dining room carrying the dessert on a tray.

  The late afternoon sun cast light on the wallpaper, festooned with butterflies and birds. The varied colors gave the formal dining room a cheerful appearance. Dr. Benton rubbed his stomach. “The aroma coming from the kitchen has been teasing me all evening. You’ve made my favorite, I see.”

  “Yes sir, I told you I would. All you have to do is let me know what you want, and I’ll do my best to make it for you.” Maggie placed a plate in front of each member of the Benton family.

  “Sit down with us and relax, dear.” Mrs. Doc patted the chair beside her. “Dinner was delicious. You’ve outdone yourself again.”

  “Maggie is exceptional in everything she does. I told her parents we weren’t going to let her go, even after your mother regains her strength.” Dr. Benton reached for his wife’s hand, gave it a slight squeeze and glanced at his son.

  ~

  B.J. fought the urge to roll his eyes. He’d already spoken to his father regarding his concerns and had been thoroughly reprimanded. He would need to change tactics and make an effort to be friendlier. Hopefully, that would allow him to investigate the woman’s medicinal teas and whatever else she was dosing his mother with. “Everything was delicious. Perhaps Miss Montgomery would consent to stay on as cook, once Mother fully recuperates?”

  His father chuckled. “Maggie already has a profitable vocation and only agreed to assist us as a favor to your mother and me. We appreciate her sacrifice.”

  Maggie blushed. “That’s what neighbors do. Besides, it allows me to try out some of Mama’s recipes without her overseeing everything I do. The extra practice has boosted my confidence in my cooking skills.”

  “I’m not about to tell your mother this, but I believe this apple cake is even more delectable than hers.” Mrs. Doc closed her eyes as she took another bite of dessert.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Maggie placed her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Maybe one day my cakes will look as good as they taste. I’m grateful no one saw it before I sliced it.”

  “Tell me, Miss Montgomery, what exactly is this vocation of yours?” B.J. was almost afraid to ask. Surely his father wouldn’t advocate her selling tonics or herbal recipes.

  Her blue eyes blinked in surprise. “I help my father and brother design decorative household items, benches and ornate gates. Papa doesn’t have the vision for what he calls my frilly pieces, and Malachi is still trying to master the craft. They do the majority of the ironwork, but I sketch the designs and sometimes I hammer out the more intricate pieces myself.”

  “You should see the lovely things she makes. My garden b
ench is a beautiful example.” Mother’s eyes glistened. “I can’t wait until I’m well enough to visit the smithy and watch her create something.”

  “One of my favorite literary works is the ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ by Henry Longfellow. The first thing I thought of when I met your father last year was he was the epitome of the character personified. ‘The smith, a mighty man, is he, with large and sinewy hands. And the muscles of his brawny arm are strong as iron bands.’” B.J.offered a quick smile.

  “He is everything the poem describes and more,” Maggie’s voice cracked.

  “Even though I’ve seen you from a distance working in his shop. I can't imagine how a petite young woman can manage such a job.” B.J. took a bite of cake.

  Maggie nodded. “I can see why. But it’s a team effort. Unlike cooking, metalwork is a forgiving craft. I especially enjoy the fact that when a mistake occurs, putting heat to the metal gives it new life.”

  B.J. glanced at the circular mark on Maggie’s forehead. Her cheeks were pink and her face animated. For a moment he felt a twinge of guilt for his behavior. Nonsense, I’m only trying to ensure Mother’s safety. Even if Father sees no harm in the remedies, it’s been years since he attended medical school.

  He cleared his throat. “I became interested in becoming a doctor because I admired my father and the benefit his education and skills added to the community. Was it the same for you?” B.J. pressed his fork to his plate to retrieve the last crumbs of cake.

  “My mother encouraged me to help her in the home and the garden. But all my brothers worked with my father. At first, I just loved being part of anything they did. Everyone encouraged my interest, although Mama admitted later she thought I would tire of it.” Maggie gazed out the window toward the setting sun. “When I was about ten, Papa let me design a few simple things. I made a trivet for the kitchen in a heart shape for my mother. When the butcher's wife saw it, she insisted on me making her one. The excitement on both their faces inspired me to make other things.”