Engaging Deception, page 10
Instead of going into the kitchen where he knew she’d be, Maxfield went straight to his library. After pulling out the preliminary sketches he’d started, he spread a clean piece of paper across the drafting board. For the frontage, he’d sketched an Italianate roof with decorative cornices at the top. On the first floor, there’d be heavy Richardsonian arches made of local rock over all the entrances. Where this design differed from most of the commercial buildings in Joplin was that, instead of apartments or offices on the second floor, the second floor would consist only of small shopping areas along the exterior walls with the center being open to the ground floor below. This plan required a few supporting structures that wouldn’t interfere with the openness that Mr. Christman was looking for.
Max picked up his straightedge and drafting pencil and sketched the dimensions of the building’s footprint. He’d put small plain beams as supports—beams that wouldn’t catch the eye—and scatter them throughout the showroom. Also, they would have a grand staircase in the center of the building. Hiding supports in that structure made sense and wouldn’t be noticed. He’d love to find a way to have the support not be obvious. If there was a way, he’d disguise the staircase to look lighter than it was. A floating staircase that made people want to climb it and see what was upstairs. With a few swift strokes, he’d placed the staircase and was trying to determine how it would be supported.
Without realizing it, he’d had one ear tuned to Miss Kentworth’s movements in the kitchen. Now he heard wisps of movement getting closer. Time to take her home? He glanced at the clock. It was early yet. The evening would stretch on for hours, silent besides the ticking of the clock. If the distraction of the quiet didn’t interrupt his work, he might be productive. Or he might be more productive with company.
“How are you feeling, Miss Kentworth?” he asked as she stopped in the doorway. In the best of circumstances, she was more comfortable around the children than she was around him. Now she looked downright skittish.
“I’m fine. My throat is raw, but there’s no damage done, I’m sure.” Her voice was raspy and her neck showed strain as she swallowed. “Thank you for asking.”
She waited in the doorway, leaning against one side as if clearing his way to the front door. Her blond hair was still ruffled from her earlier ordeal. Her eyes, having been recently filled with tears, were large and reflective, but she looked hardy enough, which was fortunate because he still had a task for her.
“If you don’t mind, could I have some of your time?”
Putting on a brave face, she set her shoulders before nodding. “How can I help you?”
“I’m working on the design for this department store, and I wanted your opinion.”
The look she gave him was hard to decipher—almost as if she were deciphering him. “How would my opinion help you?” she asked. “You’ve studied architecture in Europe. What would I know?”
He couldn’t help the jolt of pride that she knew part of his résumé. Ruby and he often compared their time in Europe—the theaters visited, sights seen, ocean liners traveled on—but he didn’t remember her ever acknowledging why he was there. She probably assumed he’d been there for a vacation like she had been.
“Since ladies are more likely to visit a department store, I thought it’d be helpful to have a lady’s opinion.”
Here her eyes shone with delight. With easy grace and surprising speed, she glided across the room. “What have you got so far?” She stood behind him and leaned forward to peer over his shoulder.
Maxfield usually didn’t like people seeing his preliminary ideas, but these scratches would probably mean nothing to her. Still, it seemed to take her a long time to realize that what she was seeing was meaningless. He’d like to think she was trying to make sense of it. Trying really hard, because it was an eternity before she stepped to the side of the drafting board and smiled a sheepish smile at him.
“What’s your question?” she asked.
No dancing around with Miss Kentworth. He’d asked her for help and that’s what she was offering. She was so thoroughly practical that he couldn’t help but be amused.
“When you are shopping, how much of the wares do you like to see at once? Do you want to enter and be able to immediately see the scope of the room, or would you rather wander through a maze-like path and be excited by discovery?”
She drummed her fingers against the board. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Shopping? Well then, I suppose I like the secure feeling of aisles to get lost in.” Her gaze fixed somewhere far away as if she were seeing herself there. “Discovery is the perfect word for it. I’m more comfortable taking in one section at a time. Seeing more can be overwhelming.”
Maxfield didn’t need to take notes. Once he learned something, he wouldn’t forget. Since his clothes were sewn by a tailor and Mrs. Wester looked after the children’s wardrobe, Maxfield hadn’t spent much time in department stores. Miss Kentworth’s insight was helpful.
“But along with narrow aisles come shadows,” he said. “More lighting will be needed, which means more electric power. I’ll have to make allowances for that. Also the airflow won’t be as good. Fans from the ceiling would help in the summer.”
“On the other hand,” Miss Kentworth said, “while going on a journey through the store makes it a memorable event, if one already knows what they are looking for, then the needless delay would be frustrating. An open area would make shopping more efficient.”
“But does my client, the retailer, want you to be efficient, or does he want you to linger among his wares? Isn’t it in his interest to keep you wandering throughout his store?” Maxfield was trying to get a smile out of her, but instead she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Of all the manipulative nonsense,” she huffed. “Father’s celluloid collars are in the back of Herr’s and every time I have to buy a new one, I have to walk past a rack of the most beautiful ribbons. I can’t help but wonder over all the colors and the sheen. And every time I think, ‘Why do they put the celluloid collars in the back of the store? Don’t they know that they are more frequently purchased than ribbons?’ And you’re telling me that I’ve walked to the back of the store every month because they wanted to tempt me with the ribbons? That’s outrageous.”
Her full lips twisted to the side, and Max was enchanted. “Tempted, but have you ever given in?”
“I have ribbons at home that serve just fine,” she said, “but the testing of my weakness rankles, just the same.” Instead of outrage, now her eyes sparkled at her own folly. “I don’t know how a story about ribbons is going to help you on your draft. I’m afraid I’m wasting your time.”
“Quite the contrary.” With pencil in hand, he started poking holes in the air between them. “What if you could see the section you were searching for from the front door, but you still had a pleasant walk through merchandise on the way there?”
“Signs hanging from the ceiling, perhaps? Wouldn’t that interfere with the aesthetics?”
Max had to look again. For a moment, he’d forgotten that it was his children’s nanny speaking. “Yes, and with the pressed tin ceiling, I wouldn’t want anything covering it, so something more original and purposeful is required. What if there was a way to work the department identity into the permanent decor?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Whatever it is, it mustn’t block the open layout of the main floor. The view of the central staircase should be unobstructed.”
Miss Kentworth scooted behind him again and angled herself so she could see the page from his perspective. Max felt a chill over his skin. Unlike Ruby, every move Miss Kentworth made was intentional. It raised his anticipation of what she had planned.
It took her bumping against his shoulder for him to push the draft higher on the board so she could view it better.
“Those are the support columns?” she asked.
“Ever since builders have been building with steel, support beams haven’t been needed in the same quantity. It allows for a more open floor plan.” He couldn’t imagine boring Ruby with that information, but Miss Kentworth seemed genuinely interested. “That’s why I can keep them narrow and unobtrusive.”
“But without decorative columns, what’s to keep this space from looking like one of the warehouses by the railroad docks? The room needs artistry and soul. What canvas are you using for that?”
“The ceiling and the electric lamps will be one venue for artistry, along with the staircase.” For a man used to charming people, it was disconcerting to have a lady out of view as he was speaking. How was he to gauge her response?
“But all of that won’t help shoppers find what they are looking for.”
His chair moved slightly as she leaned against it. Why was it that he noticed her every move? Ruby flitted everywhere and he barely noticed. Maybe because things that are scarce are always more precious?
“What if you drew attention to the columns instead of minimizing them? Instead of merely being support, their design could reflect the department?”
“What do you mean?” Maybe she felt the same connection after the scare they’d shared that evening, because he couldn’t imagine that she’d be interested in his work otherwise.
“It’s probably a ridiculous suggestion, but maybe do the columns in the Corinthian style, but each capital at the top could have a different design. Instead of leaves, there’d be toys and butterflies for the children’s section. Then a column with flowers and lace for the ladies. I don’t know what you’d want shown to designate the gentlemen’s department—snips and snails and puppy dog tails?” She stopped abruptly. The chair shifted again as she stepped away. “I’m rambling on, in front of you, of all people. It was fun to imagine with you, but it’s just the blathering of the daughter of a mine operator.”
Maxfield had to smile at her concern. True, people often thought they were helping by giving him fanciful ideas for designs and decor, but most of the time an odd notion didn’t fit in with the overall design. A whimsical feature threw off the balance of the greater work. And the most common mistake was when people suggested features but had no understanding of the supports needed to construct them. One couldn’t drop a fountain in the middle of a structure without considering the plumbing.
Olive’s idea was a decent one, but he didn’t feel obligated to humor her. She was too intelligent for flattery.
“In a perfect world where I had an unlimited budget to work with, I’d applaud the idea,” he said, “but that would require that each column have an original design and be done by a craftsman. I don’t think Mr. Christman will approve the expense.”
She didn’t argue or defend her idea. She merely shrugged and apologized that she wasn’t more help. When she brushed the lock of hair off the back of her neck, he thought again about her choking and realized that she was due a break.
It wasn’t until after he escorted her home, after Maxfield had wondered over the danger she’d been in, wondered over his role in saving her, and savored the evening they’d had together, that the thought occurred to him that her idea could work. If done correctly, the customized capitals would be the defining feature of the department store—one that people would make a special trip inside to see. And wasn’t that what a retailer wanted? Austin Allen would probably borrow the idea and use it in Carthage, but everyone would know that it was Maxfield who had used it first. It might have been his untrained nanny who’d thought of the idea, but it would be Maxfield who was hailed as the genius who constructed it.
He was learning to value Miss Kentworth more with every encounter.
CHAPTER
10
Pulling her bonnet down tight on her head so she wouldn’t be recognized, Olive walked the sidewalk that lined the Blounts’ side yard. Amos had instructed his crew to remove the fence so they could get the materials in easily, but another benefit was that Olive could observe the work being done while looking like a pedestrian on a stroll.
And stroll by she did. Incessantly. The foundation was being dug and the siding on that side of the house was being dismantled. If the foreman, Mr. Flowers, guessed it was her calling the shots instead of Amos, he never revealed it. Even when she was standing in his office trying and failing to discreetly steer Amos toward the right answer, he kept his eyes resolutely on Amos, purposefully ignoring her. Whether he was doing her a favor or he was a misogynist mattered not. Olive could work with him, and he found ways to work around Amos’s bad directives.
Olive stopped on this pass to watch all the activity. A trench was forming with each shovelful of dirt being tossed aside. Crowbars were plied against the cedar paneling, prying it off with protests of creaks and pops. Brick pavers were being pulled out of the dirt and set aside to be reused when the garden could be redesigned.
Mr. Blount hadn’t thought twice about the changes that they’d put into the plans. According to Amos, he’d barely looked at what she and Mrs. Blount had decided, which raised many questions. Why would a man be so particular that he wanted to redo a Maxfield Scott design and yet not care what was built to replace it? It made no sense. Olive had to brace herself for the possibility that no matter how much thought she put into her design, in a few years he could be dissatisfied and want to tear it down as well. It’d break her heart to have her work destroyed, but at least she had an opportunity to build it in the first place.
Maybe her decorative columns in Mr. Scott’s department store would have lasted longer. Olive stepped off the pavement to stand in the shade of the mimosa tree. What had she been thinking, offering Maxfield Scott advice? When he invited her to talk out his design, she’d panicked. What did he know? What did he suspect? But it soon became clear that he wanted the opinion of a lady, not another architect. That had been safe ground, although why she’d gone and started talking about columns and capitals, she couldn’t fathom. The thing that she feared the most was him laughing at her aspirations to be an architect. The thing she desired the most was for him to see her work and approve of it. She was stuck between wishing and fearing the same discovery.
Tonight Mr. Scott was taking Miss Dennis to row at Lakeside Park. It’d been a week since he’d last asked for Olive’s help with the children, and she’d worried that she’d overstepped her bounds with her opinion on his project. While she’d needed the time to look after her own work, she was relieved to hear from him again. Her plans on Blount’s house might be completed, but she could learn things from Mr. Scott that would help her career in the future. That’s why she looked forward to their time together—not because she found him fascinating.
She had to hurry, or she’d be late to his house. It was just so hard to drag herself away from work. With a sigh, she stepped back on the pavement, and that’s when she saw Mr. Scott himself, standing at the corner with his jaw firm and uncompromising.
Quick as a hummingbird, Olive darted behind a tree and planned her escape.
What in the blazes? Maxfield couldn’t believe his eyes. What was he seeing? He looked at the street sign once again to verify his location, but there could be no mistake. He knew the Blount house. He’d built it not five years ago, and it was being demolished.
His day had been filled with the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Dennis’s house nearing completion. Every detail now was moving it closer and closer to the masterpiece he’d envisioned. Added to that was the very satisfying direction his plans for Christman’s department store were taking. He’d been right to request Miss Kentworth’s help last week. Just look at the breakthroughs he’d made with that one evening of uninterrupted work at home. He’d gotten so much accomplished that he’d taken Leo and Stella to the paddleboats at Lakeside Park last night, and tonight he was reliving the fun with Ruby. He’d hadn’t been paying Ruby the attention she deserved lately and thought that he was in good enough spirits to entertain her this evening. Good enough spirits until he’d turned the corner and saw the unfolding tragedy before his eyes.
Maxfield stomped across the yard, tangling his foot in a wrought iron fence that had been laid on the ground. He shook himself loose, then found Mr. Flowers, who was undoubtedly the foreman on this project.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
“Hey, Maxfield. It’s a remodel. We’re doing an addition.”
“What needs adding?” Maxfield propped his fists against his waist and took in the beautiful balance of the building he’d created. “This design was perfection.”
“Take it up with Mr. Blount,” Flowers said. “I’m just following instructions.” He directed a man with a wheelbarrow around the corner.
Mr. Blount. Why would he do this? He’d sung Maxfield’s praises when the house was completed. What had gone wrong? If he wanted something changed, why wouldn’t he have contacted Max?
Because Max would’ve told him that he was insane, and you couldn’t improve on perfection. That’s why Mr. Blount hadn’t called him and wouldn’t want to talk to him now.
“Who’s the architect?” he asked Flowers.
“Amos Kentworth designed this. He’s adding a lady’s parlor.”
Mr. Blount had never mentioned a lady’s parlor to him. And who was Amos Kentworth? Where had he heard that name? Obviously it was some kin of his nanny’s. Oh yes. The man who designed the Crystal Cave visitors’ center. And then gave tours.
What was the world coming to?
“Is this Mr. Kentworth here?”
“No.”
“Where’s his office?”
“I don’t think he has one. If he does, I’ve never been there.”
Maxfield rubbed his forehead, trying to smooth out the knotted muscles beneath the skin. Ruby would be waiting for him. He didn’t have time to explain the unexplainable. With his thanks to Mr. Flowers for the information, he headed home.
Before this, his week had been magical, but look how little it took to throw a man’s balance out of whack.
He flung his front door open and called for the children. If anything could calm his roiling emotions, it was them. Leo hit his knees at full speed, but Stella came carried in the arms of Miss Kentworth.
Max picked up his straightedge and drafting pencil and sketched the dimensions of the building’s footprint. He’d put small plain beams as supports—beams that wouldn’t catch the eye—and scatter them throughout the showroom. Also, they would have a grand staircase in the center of the building. Hiding supports in that structure made sense and wouldn’t be noticed. He’d love to find a way to have the support not be obvious. If there was a way, he’d disguise the staircase to look lighter than it was. A floating staircase that made people want to climb it and see what was upstairs. With a few swift strokes, he’d placed the staircase and was trying to determine how it would be supported.
Without realizing it, he’d had one ear tuned to Miss Kentworth’s movements in the kitchen. Now he heard wisps of movement getting closer. Time to take her home? He glanced at the clock. It was early yet. The evening would stretch on for hours, silent besides the ticking of the clock. If the distraction of the quiet didn’t interrupt his work, he might be productive. Or he might be more productive with company.
“How are you feeling, Miss Kentworth?” he asked as she stopped in the doorway. In the best of circumstances, she was more comfortable around the children than she was around him. Now she looked downright skittish.
“I’m fine. My throat is raw, but there’s no damage done, I’m sure.” Her voice was raspy and her neck showed strain as she swallowed. “Thank you for asking.”
She waited in the doorway, leaning against one side as if clearing his way to the front door. Her blond hair was still ruffled from her earlier ordeal. Her eyes, having been recently filled with tears, were large and reflective, but she looked hardy enough, which was fortunate because he still had a task for her.
“If you don’t mind, could I have some of your time?”
Putting on a brave face, she set her shoulders before nodding. “How can I help you?”
“I’m working on the design for this department store, and I wanted your opinion.”
The look she gave him was hard to decipher—almost as if she were deciphering him. “How would my opinion help you?” she asked. “You’ve studied architecture in Europe. What would I know?”
He couldn’t help the jolt of pride that she knew part of his résumé. Ruby and he often compared their time in Europe—the theaters visited, sights seen, ocean liners traveled on—but he didn’t remember her ever acknowledging why he was there. She probably assumed he’d been there for a vacation like she had been.
“Since ladies are more likely to visit a department store, I thought it’d be helpful to have a lady’s opinion.”
Here her eyes shone with delight. With easy grace and surprising speed, she glided across the room. “What have you got so far?” She stood behind him and leaned forward to peer over his shoulder.
Maxfield usually didn’t like people seeing his preliminary ideas, but these scratches would probably mean nothing to her. Still, it seemed to take her a long time to realize that what she was seeing was meaningless. He’d like to think she was trying to make sense of it. Trying really hard, because it was an eternity before she stepped to the side of the drafting board and smiled a sheepish smile at him.
“What’s your question?” she asked.
No dancing around with Miss Kentworth. He’d asked her for help and that’s what she was offering. She was so thoroughly practical that he couldn’t help but be amused.
“When you are shopping, how much of the wares do you like to see at once? Do you want to enter and be able to immediately see the scope of the room, or would you rather wander through a maze-like path and be excited by discovery?”
She drummed her fingers against the board. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Shopping? Well then, I suppose I like the secure feeling of aisles to get lost in.” Her gaze fixed somewhere far away as if she were seeing herself there. “Discovery is the perfect word for it. I’m more comfortable taking in one section at a time. Seeing more can be overwhelming.”
Maxfield didn’t need to take notes. Once he learned something, he wouldn’t forget. Since his clothes were sewn by a tailor and Mrs. Wester looked after the children’s wardrobe, Maxfield hadn’t spent much time in department stores. Miss Kentworth’s insight was helpful.
“But along with narrow aisles come shadows,” he said. “More lighting will be needed, which means more electric power. I’ll have to make allowances for that. Also the airflow won’t be as good. Fans from the ceiling would help in the summer.”
“On the other hand,” Miss Kentworth said, “while going on a journey through the store makes it a memorable event, if one already knows what they are looking for, then the needless delay would be frustrating. An open area would make shopping more efficient.”
“But does my client, the retailer, want you to be efficient, or does he want you to linger among his wares? Isn’t it in his interest to keep you wandering throughout his store?” Maxfield was trying to get a smile out of her, but instead she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Of all the manipulative nonsense,” she huffed. “Father’s celluloid collars are in the back of Herr’s and every time I have to buy a new one, I have to walk past a rack of the most beautiful ribbons. I can’t help but wonder over all the colors and the sheen. And every time I think, ‘Why do they put the celluloid collars in the back of the store? Don’t they know that they are more frequently purchased than ribbons?’ And you’re telling me that I’ve walked to the back of the store every month because they wanted to tempt me with the ribbons? That’s outrageous.”
Her full lips twisted to the side, and Max was enchanted. “Tempted, but have you ever given in?”
“I have ribbons at home that serve just fine,” she said, “but the testing of my weakness rankles, just the same.” Instead of outrage, now her eyes sparkled at her own folly. “I don’t know how a story about ribbons is going to help you on your draft. I’m afraid I’m wasting your time.”
“Quite the contrary.” With pencil in hand, he started poking holes in the air between them. “What if you could see the section you were searching for from the front door, but you still had a pleasant walk through merchandise on the way there?”
“Signs hanging from the ceiling, perhaps? Wouldn’t that interfere with the aesthetics?”
Max had to look again. For a moment, he’d forgotten that it was his children’s nanny speaking. “Yes, and with the pressed tin ceiling, I wouldn’t want anything covering it, so something more original and purposeful is required. What if there was a way to work the department identity into the permanent decor?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Whatever it is, it mustn’t block the open layout of the main floor. The view of the central staircase should be unobstructed.”
Miss Kentworth scooted behind him again and angled herself so she could see the page from his perspective. Max felt a chill over his skin. Unlike Ruby, every move Miss Kentworth made was intentional. It raised his anticipation of what she had planned.
It took her bumping against his shoulder for him to push the draft higher on the board so she could view it better.
“Those are the support columns?” she asked.
“Ever since builders have been building with steel, support beams haven’t been needed in the same quantity. It allows for a more open floor plan.” He couldn’t imagine boring Ruby with that information, but Miss Kentworth seemed genuinely interested. “That’s why I can keep them narrow and unobtrusive.”
“But without decorative columns, what’s to keep this space from looking like one of the warehouses by the railroad docks? The room needs artistry and soul. What canvas are you using for that?”
“The ceiling and the electric lamps will be one venue for artistry, along with the staircase.” For a man used to charming people, it was disconcerting to have a lady out of view as he was speaking. How was he to gauge her response?
“But all of that won’t help shoppers find what they are looking for.”
His chair moved slightly as she leaned against it. Why was it that he noticed her every move? Ruby flitted everywhere and he barely noticed. Maybe because things that are scarce are always more precious?
“What if you drew attention to the columns instead of minimizing them? Instead of merely being support, their design could reflect the department?”
“What do you mean?” Maybe she felt the same connection after the scare they’d shared that evening, because he couldn’t imagine that she’d be interested in his work otherwise.
“It’s probably a ridiculous suggestion, but maybe do the columns in the Corinthian style, but each capital at the top could have a different design. Instead of leaves, there’d be toys and butterflies for the children’s section. Then a column with flowers and lace for the ladies. I don’t know what you’d want shown to designate the gentlemen’s department—snips and snails and puppy dog tails?” She stopped abruptly. The chair shifted again as she stepped away. “I’m rambling on, in front of you, of all people. It was fun to imagine with you, but it’s just the blathering of the daughter of a mine operator.”
Maxfield had to smile at her concern. True, people often thought they were helping by giving him fanciful ideas for designs and decor, but most of the time an odd notion didn’t fit in with the overall design. A whimsical feature threw off the balance of the greater work. And the most common mistake was when people suggested features but had no understanding of the supports needed to construct them. One couldn’t drop a fountain in the middle of a structure without considering the plumbing.
Olive’s idea was a decent one, but he didn’t feel obligated to humor her. She was too intelligent for flattery.
“In a perfect world where I had an unlimited budget to work with, I’d applaud the idea,” he said, “but that would require that each column have an original design and be done by a craftsman. I don’t think Mr. Christman will approve the expense.”
She didn’t argue or defend her idea. She merely shrugged and apologized that she wasn’t more help. When she brushed the lock of hair off the back of her neck, he thought again about her choking and realized that she was due a break.
It wasn’t until after he escorted her home, after Maxfield had wondered over the danger she’d been in, wondered over his role in saving her, and savored the evening they’d had together, that the thought occurred to him that her idea could work. If done correctly, the customized capitals would be the defining feature of the department store—one that people would make a special trip inside to see. And wasn’t that what a retailer wanted? Austin Allen would probably borrow the idea and use it in Carthage, but everyone would know that it was Maxfield who had used it first. It might have been his untrained nanny who’d thought of the idea, but it would be Maxfield who was hailed as the genius who constructed it.
He was learning to value Miss Kentworth more with every encounter.
CHAPTER
10
Pulling her bonnet down tight on her head so she wouldn’t be recognized, Olive walked the sidewalk that lined the Blounts’ side yard. Amos had instructed his crew to remove the fence so they could get the materials in easily, but another benefit was that Olive could observe the work being done while looking like a pedestrian on a stroll.
And stroll by she did. Incessantly. The foundation was being dug and the siding on that side of the house was being dismantled. If the foreman, Mr. Flowers, guessed it was her calling the shots instead of Amos, he never revealed it. Even when she was standing in his office trying and failing to discreetly steer Amos toward the right answer, he kept his eyes resolutely on Amos, purposefully ignoring her. Whether he was doing her a favor or he was a misogynist mattered not. Olive could work with him, and he found ways to work around Amos’s bad directives.
Olive stopped on this pass to watch all the activity. A trench was forming with each shovelful of dirt being tossed aside. Crowbars were plied against the cedar paneling, prying it off with protests of creaks and pops. Brick pavers were being pulled out of the dirt and set aside to be reused when the garden could be redesigned.
Mr. Blount hadn’t thought twice about the changes that they’d put into the plans. According to Amos, he’d barely looked at what she and Mrs. Blount had decided, which raised many questions. Why would a man be so particular that he wanted to redo a Maxfield Scott design and yet not care what was built to replace it? It made no sense. Olive had to brace herself for the possibility that no matter how much thought she put into her design, in a few years he could be dissatisfied and want to tear it down as well. It’d break her heart to have her work destroyed, but at least she had an opportunity to build it in the first place.
Maybe her decorative columns in Mr. Scott’s department store would have lasted longer. Olive stepped off the pavement to stand in the shade of the mimosa tree. What had she been thinking, offering Maxfield Scott advice? When he invited her to talk out his design, she’d panicked. What did he know? What did he suspect? But it soon became clear that he wanted the opinion of a lady, not another architect. That had been safe ground, although why she’d gone and started talking about columns and capitals, she couldn’t fathom. The thing that she feared the most was him laughing at her aspirations to be an architect. The thing she desired the most was for him to see her work and approve of it. She was stuck between wishing and fearing the same discovery.
Tonight Mr. Scott was taking Miss Dennis to row at Lakeside Park. It’d been a week since he’d last asked for Olive’s help with the children, and she’d worried that she’d overstepped her bounds with her opinion on his project. While she’d needed the time to look after her own work, she was relieved to hear from him again. Her plans on Blount’s house might be completed, but she could learn things from Mr. Scott that would help her career in the future. That’s why she looked forward to their time together—not because she found him fascinating.
She had to hurry, or she’d be late to his house. It was just so hard to drag herself away from work. With a sigh, she stepped back on the pavement, and that’s when she saw Mr. Scott himself, standing at the corner with his jaw firm and uncompromising.
Quick as a hummingbird, Olive darted behind a tree and planned her escape.
What in the blazes? Maxfield couldn’t believe his eyes. What was he seeing? He looked at the street sign once again to verify his location, but there could be no mistake. He knew the Blount house. He’d built it not five years ago, and it was being demolished.
His day had been filled with the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Dennis’s house nearing completion. Every detail now was moving it closer and closer to the masterpiece he’d envisioned. Added to that was the very satisfying direction his plans for Christman’s department store were taking. He’d been right to request Miss Kentworth’s help last week. Just look at the breakthroughs he’d made with that one evening of uninterrupted work at home. He’d gotten so much accomplished that he’d taken Leo and Stella to the paddleboats at Lakeside Park last night, and tonight he was reliving the fun with Ruby. He’d hadn’t been paying Ruby the attention she deserved lately and thought that he was in good enough spirits to entertain her this evening. Good enough spirits until he’d turned the corner and saw the unfolding tragedy before his eyes.
Maxfield stomped across the yard, tangling his foot in a wrought iron fence that had been laid on the ground. He shook himself loose, then found Mr. Flowers, who was undoubtedly the foreman on this project.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
“Hey, Maxfield. It’s a remodel. We’re doing an addition.”
“What needs adding?” Maxfield propped his fists against his waist and took in the beautiful balance of the building he’d created. “This design was perfection.”
“Take it up with Mr. Blount,” Flowers said. “I’m just following instructions.” He directed a man with a wheelbarrow around the corner.
Mr. Blount. Why would he do this? He’d sung Maxfield’s praises when the house was completed. What had gone wrong? If he wanted something changed, why wouldn’t he have contacted Max?
Because Max would’ve told him that he was insane, and you couldn’t improve on perfection. That’s why Mr. Blount hadn’t called him and wouldn’t want to talk to him now.
“Who’s the architect?” he asked Flowers.
“Amos Kentworth designed this. He’s adding a lady’s parlor.”
Mr. Blount had never mentioned a lady’s parlor to him. And who was Amos Kentworth? Where had he heard that name? Obviously it was some kin of his nanny’s. Oh yes. The man who designed the Crystal Cave visitors’ center. And then gave tours.
What was the world coming to?
“Is this Mr. Kentworth here?”
“No.”
“Where’s his office?”
“I don’t think he has one. If he does, I’ve never been there.”
Maxfield rubbed his forehead, trying to smooth out the knotted muscles beneath the skin. Ruby would be waiting for him. He didn’t have time to explain the unexplainable. With his thanks to Mr. Flowers for the information, he headed home.
Before this, his week had been magical, but look how little it took to throw a man’s balance out of whack.
He flung his front door open and called for the children. If anything could calm his roiling emotions, it was them. Leo hit his knees at full speed, but Stella came carried in the arms of Miss Kentworth.
