Engaging Deception, page 2
But who was she to challenge Joplin’s premier architect? Just thinking about any sort of confrontation made her feel sick to her stomach. Educated on the East Coast, trained in Paris, Milan, Florence, celebrated for his classical sensibilities and flawless balance—that was Maxfield Scott. Comparing Olive Kentworth—who had bought some architectural books at a rummage sale, read by her mother’s bedside, traveled to nearby Carthage, Missouri, to look at houses, and built birdhouses—to Scott was like comparing the train depot’s water fountain to Bernini’s. She felt ashamed that she even picked up a pencil with the same right hand he did. Or maybe he wasn’t right-handed at all.
“Matthew assured me that Irvin has stopped drinking, so I signed him, but no sooner than I did, Irvin came back to tell me he had a change of heart and was going to work for Dan Campbell. Isn’t that something?”
And yet . . . Olive conjured the memory of Blount’s house. She’d passed it often and knew it from every angle. If Blount wanted to add on another room, the east side was rather bland. She couldn’t remember the layout exactly, but for such an elaborate design, it had one blank canvas to work with. Not that she would dare . . .
Her father, God love him, was still talking in his quiet, steady way. “He’s proud of that miners’ center, and he ought to be, but he doesn’t know it was you who drew up the plans. Let’s tell him and see what he says. Seems like he should at least give you a chance.”
“Tell whom?” Olive touched her hand to her lips. Had she been thinking aloud? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but . . .”
“I’m talking about Mr. Blount and the work he wants done on his house. I know how much you enjoy coming up with building plans. It wouldn’t hurt to see what you could design to help him.”
Suddenly the roast was unappetizing. “You don’t understand how it works. Someone like me can’t insert herself into a project like that.”
“Why not? You’ve done it before.”
“Both of my buildings were done for family. Simple, practical structures. And they were from scratch. Building for Mr. and Mrs. Blount is on another level. Besides, trying to add on to something built by Maxfield Scott . . . it isn’t done.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it. I could see the wheels turning.”
Olive stood and took her plate to the sink. “All these dishes to clean. That’s what I need to do today. And then tomorrow I’ll be busy . . .” What was she going to do tomorrow? Maisie had solved her problem with the birds. “. . . I’ll need to go to the market.”
“And tonight you’ll stay up late sketching the perfect addition to Blount’s house, but you’ll never show it to a soul.”
Without a word, Olive marched to her room. She riffled through the spare bed’s coverlet, pulling out every notebook, sketchbook, and pad of paper. She dropped to her knees and reached beneath the bed to retrieve a dust-covered collection of plans. Then, pulling a stack of paper from the bottom of her washstand, she gathered all the paper together and hauled it into the kitchen.
The books dropped on the kitchen table and rattled the serving fork in the pot of roast.
“There,” she said. “These are all my notebooks, Father, so you don’t have to worry about me drafting a design for Mr. Blount tonight. I’ll clean the kitchen in the morning. Good night.” She kissed her father on the cheek, then turned on her heel and made a beeline for her bedroom.
It was too early to sleep, but that was fine. She didn’t need paper to imagine all the possibilities for the Blounts’ home. What she needed was for her family to stop pestering her and leave her in peace. That was the only way she would be happy.
CHAPTER
2
Tightening his roll of plans and dropping them into the leather-covered tube, Maxfield Scott watched as James Dennis approached, walking past the bricklayers and up the newly set steps of the porch of his Second Empire mansion.
Mr. Dennis paused in the framed doorway as if unsure it was safe to continue through the construction materials. “How are things progressing?” he asked as he tapped his cane against the threshold.
“Beautifully!” Maxfield said. “Mrs. Dennis will be pleased to hear that this will be her last month in the hotel.” Despite her complaints, Maxfield didn’t feel sorry for anyone living in the Keystone Hotel. It was a beautiful building that perfectly balanced space and structure. Other than the massive fish tank in the lobby, an unfortunate misstep, the decor came as near perfection as any lodging in the area.
Besides his own, naturally.
“That’s capital.” James leaned against his cane to catch his breath. “Our apartments are beginning to feel cramped with the three of us.”
“Ruby and I have plans tonight, so that’ll give you some temporary relief.” Maxfield had an hour to see his children, get dressed for the evening, and then pick up Mr. Dennis’s daughter for a night at the theater. It had the potential to be a phenomenal evening. After hours of working with plans, draftsmen, builders, and prospective new clients, he was starved for the joy and laughter that was ahead with Ruby. Balm to his soul.
“Before you go . . .” Mr. Dennis gave him a tired smile that caused Maxfield to rest on his heels. Mr. Dennis was never in a hurry, unless it was a hurry to slow him down. “I’d like for you to double-check the square footage of this house again. I know you mapped it all out, but when I look at the footprint here, and I compare it to Clydell Blount’s place, I’m not sure it really is bigger.”
Maxfield pushed back the brim of his hat. “Mr. Dennis, I’ve gone over the figures with you a dozen times. When this house is finished, it will be the biggest house in Joplin.”
“But if there was a way you could remeasure Blount’s house, in case there’s a mistake—”
“There’s no mistake. I built Blount’s house myself. I have the blueprints. I know every joint and every nail hole in that house, and your house will be one hundred square feet larger, making it the biggest. I guarantee it.” Maxfield shoved a stray piece of lumber with his foot, clearing the way out of the house. Taking Mr. Dennis by the arm, he walked him down the steps. “There will be many things for you to worry about in the upcoming days—which view from the windows is your favorite, how often you want to entertain in your glorious dining room, how jealous others will be when this is completed—but one thought that must not trouble you is the question, ‘Is this the biggest house in Joplin?’ Because that question is settled. There will be no dispute. The James Dennis house will be the largest.”
He’d managed to walk Mr. Dennis to the lawn before the man realized he was leaving. “It’s your project, so I’m trusting you with the outcome, but don’t let me down. I’d rather it have an outhouse than fail in this contest. It’s about time someone knocked Blount off his perch.”
Knocking another man off his perch? That wasn’t why you built a house. You built for the beauty of it, for the artistry. You built to have something that would outlive you, that people would appreciate long after you were gone. Maxfield squinted into the sun. Life didn’t last forever. He intended to do all that he could with the days he was allotted.
He moderated his pace to keep step with Mr. Dennis until their paths diverged. Only then could Maxfield ramble ahead without thought beyond holding his children, then spending the rest of the evening in the sparkling company of Ruby.
Maxfield hadn’t built his own house. When he and Georgia moved to Joplin, his first priority had been acquiring clients. He needed to be building for other people. At the beginning, the new houses in Joplin had been modest, but when the luck in the mines had increased, so did the fortunes of the mine owners. Suddenly merely functional houses were not enough. Everyone needed a home that made a statement, and that was how Maxfield had managed to snatch up his practical home nearly new and for a reasonable price. The Stick Style cottage avoided the fussy curlicues that were so popular, while still boasting ample embellishments. It was modest compared to the structures he was building now, but that didn’t bother Maxfield. Ever since Georgia had passed away, it was not a place where he wanted to linger.
But coming home to Leo and Stella was his favorite time of day, with the possible exception of waking up, meeting clients, midday meals, drafting, and bedtime.
“I’m home.” Maxfield’s voice echoed through the entry hall and up the staircase. He hung his hat and coat while stepping out of his shoes. If he was going to get dinner before the theatrical, he had to hurry. From the looks of the staircase, Leo had been throwing blocks from the balcony again. Maxfield swooped down, scooping blocks with one hand as he made his way up the stairs.
“Leo? Stella? Mrs. Wester?” The children weren’t already in bed, were they?
“Mr. Scott,” Mrs. Wester called from down below. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Dinnertime. That was good. He and Ruby were eating on the town, but he’d have a seat at the table with the children. Mrs. Wester met him at the kitchen door, her coat and reticule in hand.
“They have been bathed and started their supper. You can expect me late tomorrow, since I’ve worked past hours tonight.”
“Past hours?” Maxfield craned his neck to look at the clock hanging on the parlor wall but couldn’t see it. “How late is it?”
“Later than we agreed to. This has to stop. I’ve got my own family waiting for me at home.”
“But I thought you were going to stay. I have plans tonight.”
“You asked me yesterday, and I said I would check with my husband. I did check, and he said no.”
Maxfield couldn’t believe his ears. “You never told me you couldn’t. Why didn’t you say something this morning?”
Mrs. Wester dropped her hat on her head and lowered her chin. “You are a very difficult person to say no to, Mr. Scott. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful evening without me. See you tomorrow.”
Maxfield rubbed the back of his neck. No one to watch the children for the night? He’d barely gotten home, but already he was raring to get back out there. See people, do things, spend time with Ruby. Well, no answer for it but to take Leo and Stella with them. Yes, they would enjoy themselves. The evening would be delightful.
His stockinged feet slipped a bit on the hickory wood floor, which had been sanded until it was as smooth as a gunstock. Once he made it around the corner, he darted straight into the kitchen. Both children were as motionless as caryatids as they listened for his approach, but when he appeared in the room, they sprang to life. Four-year-old Leo shot both his arms into the air while two-year-old Stella threw her spoon of oatmeal across the room.
“Dada home,” Stella squealed as she squirmed in vain to get out of her children’s chair.
Leo was not similarly restrained. He got to his feet and stood in his chair.
“How are my two best works of art?” Maxfield’s spirits were lifted every time he saw them. Stella had her father’s fine features while Georgia’s generous smile and broad brow were more evident on Leo. Their glee was so like their mother’s . . . and his own.
“I made cookies,” Leo said. “Mrs. Wester helped me. Stella tried to help but she only made a mess.”
“Cookies!” Stella cheered. “Make cookies!”
Maxfield took stock of the room as he patted Stella’s pecan-colored locks. Both children were in their pajamas. That was a problem. And they hadn’t finished their dinner. Well, he hoped that they’d eaten enough to tide them over. Cleaning the mess they’d made at the table, that could wait for another day.
“C’mon,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.” He reached beneath the tray of her chair and unlatched the belt holding Stella down. Then he lifted her chunky form and held her back against his chest with one hand while wiping her face with a napkin in the other. “Run upstairs, Leo, and put on a nice suit of clothes. We’re going to the theater tonight.”
“We are?” Leo jumped off the chair, pounding his feet against the floor at the perfect time to maximize the noise. “Is it a puppet show?”
“No, it’s . . .” What was the play? Maxfield couldn’t remember. All he’d cared about was that he was going with Ruby. “We’re going to eat first, so don’t worry about your food. You’ll get something else.”
“Yee-haw, I get to eat at a restaurant!”
Maxfield shared his excitement. This would be fun. Ruby would love it.
He laid out clothes for Leo, then helped Stella into a dress, stockings, and shoes. He ran a brush through her thin curls but didn’t have time to add any bows. Not when he himself wasn’t ready.
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve shaved again, but he’d just hope Ruby didn’t notice. He washed quickly, dabbed on some cologne, then jumped into his trousers while Stella played with his shoe stretchers.
“Are you ready, Leo?” Maxfield called as he pulled on his dress shoes. At least the children had been bathed. That was one thing working in his favor.
“I am soooo handsome,” Leo called back.
Maxfield tied his tie. “Let me see.”
Leo walked into the room with the buttons to his suit coat buttoned askance and his shirt untucked, but he’d tried valiantly.
Maxfield knelt and tidied the oversights. “You are so handsome. Miss Ruby is going to be impressed.”
“I like Miss Ruby.” Leo dug his finger into his ear, then pulled it out and inspected it. “She’s giddy.”
“Don’t wipe that on me.” Maxfield grabbed a crumpled handkerchief and cleaned his son’s finger, wondering where in the world Leo had heard Miss Dennis described as giddy. “We’re going to have fun together. Let’s go.”
Ruby was surprised to see him with the children when she opened her apartment door at the Keystone. Her blue eyes widened, and her lovely smile broadened. “My goodness,” she exclaimed. “You brought everyone, and how lovely they look.”
“I apologize, but Mrs. Wester had an emergency at home.” Or he had an emergency. His emergency was that Mrs. Wester went home.
“I don’t mind. We’ll have a smashing time.”
Maxfield checked his watch, then smoothed the sleeves of his worsted suit. “We need to hurry if we want to eat before the show starts.”
“We can eat after,” Ruby said. “I don’t want to miss the beginning of the play.”
Leo and Stella raced up and down the hallway of the hotel, delighted by the long stretch of flooring. They didn’t look hungry. Surely they’d be fine. They’d already eaten a little.
The Joplin Opera House awed Stella. Her little hand tightened in his as they passed inside the double doors. The ceiling was molded extravagantly, and crystal chandeliers hung from the center of medallions. Brass wall sconces shaped like flower bouquets lit velvet-draped walls. Maxfield shared her amazement at the sparkling lights and elaborate balustrade along the main staircase. Who would’ve thought that little Joplin, Missouri, would aspire to such a level? He was proud to be a part of it.
Before the children were born, Georgia and he had loved leaving the opera house late in the evening, still hearing the music echoing in their memory for hours. At times, Joplin reminded him of Paris—the street lighting, the picturesque streets, the live music—yet the town was small enough that you knew the people sharing the sidewalk. New enough that there was unlimited potential for a young and upcoming couple, but then everything had changed in a second.
But if he’d wanted to dwell on those sad thoughts, he would’ve stayed in the house, trying to keep his eyes from straying to Georgia’s musical roller organ. He would’ve spent the evening trying to forget how she would chatter happily as she installed a new cylinder, and how she would sway and hum along with the music until she knew every note.
Quickly, before that dark blot in the pit of his stomach could grow, Maxfield picked up Stella and swung her in the air, producing peals of laughter and startling the matron walking next to him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said as he shifted Stella to one arm. “I was overcome.” But with what? Joy? That’s how he acted. It was the only way he could act to push away the despair.
The woman looked into Stella’s impossibly blue eyes, then again at Maxfield’s debonair smile. “I wish all fathers were as enthusiastic as you.” She adjusted her shawl, then proceeded to the staircase.
Ruby threaded her arm through his and leaned against him. “Must you wrap all the ladies around your little finger?” She poked Stella’s round belly. “Every lady from two years old to one hundred?”
Had they not been in public, Maxfield would have kissed Ruby on the cheek for her sweetness. Instead, he tried to convey his gratitude with a look to inform her of how much he appreciated her rescuing him from a night of brooding.
“Leo, we shouldn’t keep Miss Ruby waiting. Let’s find our seats,” Maxfield said. “Follow me.”
Being among the joyous raised his spirits. Compared to sitting alone in his library after the children went to sleep, this was life, it was oxygen to him. After showing his tickets to the usher, Maxfield and Ruby were directed down the sloped auditorium toward the front. While Maxfield was excited to have the children near the front, it occurred to him that he only had two tickets. Stella would fit on his lap, but Leo might be less comfortable.
They came to their row and Maxfield stepped aside to allow Ruby and the children to enter before him. As luck would have it, they were situated in the middle of the row. Mr. and Mrs. Landauer, who owned several successful mines, had to stand so they could pass.
“Bringing young children to the theater? They must be very well behaved,” Mrs. Landauer said.
“Not particularly,” Maxfield said, “but they’re young. They have time to learn.”
“Before the first act begins?” Mr. Landauer raised his eyebrows at his wife. With a small shake of her head, she shushed him and smiled at Leo as he passed.
Once they were seated, Ruby lifted Stella to her lap. “Can you see from here?”
Stella pointed as the curtain rose and clapped her hands.
