Engaging Deception, page 24
“This has nothing to do with Amos.” She was leaning over the plans with her arms locked against the table. Her eyes flashed. “Amos isn’t an architect. He’s barely a foreman on the construction crew. I’m the architect.” She thumped her fist against her chest. “I’m the one who built the Lighthouse miners’ center and the Crystal Cave visitors’ building. Before I had the chance at a real project, I used to design and build those little birdhouses. You’ve seen my work. You’ve appreciated my work. Is it too much to ask that you could appreciate me?”
He stepped back. She couldn’t be serious. He did appreciate her. But did he believe her? It was too incredible.
The look on her face set him back. What was wrong? Why were her eyes filling with tears?
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone besides people who already loved me.” She swiped at her eyes, gave a quick sniffle, then pushed Christman’s plans at him. “Those are yours. If you want it built according to these plans, I’m willing to take the job, but it will be because you want me to do it. Otherwise, Mr. Christman can find someone else.”
Maxfield’s eyes slid closed as she rushed from the room. Let her build his building? Was it possible? Images flashed through his mind. Memories of the lectures he’d attended, the tours he’d taken, the exams he’d passed. How could she pretend to have done the same?
Or was she? Olive wasn’t arguing that she’d had the same education. She was claiming she possessed the same skills. If she was telling the truth, he’d completely underestimated and insulted her, and that would make him a fool. A pompous, insensitive fool.
He couldn’t be a fool. Not Maxfield Scott. Pompous, definitely. Insensitive . . . perhaps on occasion. But foolish? Max rolled up the blueprints. There were things that you couldn’t believe, things that were hard to believe, and things you didn’t want to believe. And even if he did start to believe it, what was he supposed to do about it?
Maxfield had no answer.
CHAPTER
24
Going to church had been a waste of Olive’s time. She climbed into the buggy with her father and slouched on the bench next to him. She pulled her wide-brimmed hat down low as if to protect her complexion, but she knew it served like the first family’s fig leaves . . . to hide her shame from God.
Usually Olive found the service refreshing. It was a time to look back over the week and thank God for His providence. To think forward and determine to do better, and to gaze upward and realize that the trials she faced were no match for God’s power.
This week was different. Olive didn’t want to look back at the week. Every time her family encouraged her to disclose her secret talent, they’d sworn that this wouldn’t happen. They’d promised her that she’d earn respect, that people would be proud of her and that no one would mock her. They’d been wrong. Even in her worst nightmares she hadn’t thought that Maxfield’s disbelief would hurt so badly.
Looking forward? That was even harder. What did she have to look forward to? Either she forged on with her newly discovered path despite the mocking, or she folded up her plans and went back home. Neither option was encouraging.
Looking upward? Olive’s eyes flickered to the brim of her hat. She’d made bad decisions. She’d practiced deceit and now she was bearing the chastisement. It was hard to imagine God wanted to hear from her. So going to church had only succeeded in making her feel like a hypocrite.
“Your granny is looking forward to seeing you. Ever since you started on Blount’s house, you haven’t spent much time at the ranch.” Her dad had kicked his feet up on the dashboard and was cleaning his fingernails with a stubby pocketknife. The horse knew the way without his guidance.
“I miss my time at the ranch. I don’t know that being an architect is worth it.” Maybe she’d be better off hanging around there and keeping Granny Laura company. Granny Laura was spry for now but in a few years, she might appreciate having someone nearby to tend to her.
“You’ve had a rough time of it,” her father said. “Keep going. You’ll probably find that the worst is behind you.”
They were coming up on Maisie and Boone’s Crystal Cave. It was closed on Sundays, but the blue and red banners waving from the rock building announced the marvels beneath the ground.
World’s Largest Geode
Best Tour in the Tri-State District
Her cousin Maisie had gone from farm girl to owner of Joplin’s best tourist attraction. Her cousin Calista had gone from socialite to Pinkerton detective to pastor’s wife. Her sister, Willow, had left home looking for a job to help pay her mother’s medical bills. They’d thought she’d hit the jackpot when she landed a job as a Harvey Girl serving food at Harvey House Restaurants. That was until she met and married Graham Buchanan, the railroad tycoon.
All the ladies in Olive’s family were scrappy and ambitious and brave. She was the only exception. No wonder they were disappointed in her. No wonder they couldn’t leave her be.
Just past the Secret Tree, the road turned onto Kentworth property. As they came over the rise, Olive saw Aunt June walking over from their house carrying a large bowl of some delicious offering. Uncle Bill was probably already at the house frying the catfish that Hank and Hilda had caught for Sunday dinner.
Olive’s cousin Hannah saw them coming. She unfurled a checkerboard tablecloth over the picnic table in the shade of the elm and called over her shoulder to the house. Amos was supposed to tell them that Olive and her father were coming but whether he did or not was anyone’s guess. Olive had baked two pies—buttermilk and pecan—so even if they weren’t expected, no one would go hungry on their account.
“It’s the day of rest,” her father said. “We might be busy visiting or cooking or whatever mischief you and your cousins get into, but at least you can rest your mind. Set aside your troubles for the day. They’ll be there waiting to be taken up again on Monday.”
Olive took his hand to climb down. “Good advice,” she said. “I’m afraid it’ll be swimming upstream, but I’ll try.” She walked to the back of the wagon to retrieve the pies, her shoes sinking into the soft green grass, then made her way to the house.
“Whatcha got there?” Hannah asked as she anchored the tablecloth with stones kept on the porch for that purpose.
“Buttermilk and pecan pies. Just headed to the kitchen with them.”
“Can’t believe you have time for baking pies. Not when you’re so busy taking business from Maxfield Scott.” Hannah beamed. The woman was genuinely proud of her cousin.
So much for a restful day. “I gave that project back to him,” Olive said. “He’s the one who should build the department store.”
“You did what?” Amos stepped through the opened front door with his sister Maisie on his heels. “You can do better than old Maxfield on that store. Half the ideas were yours.”
“No, they weren’t.” Olive never claimed that. “I just helped him with one little detail in the interior. The work was all his.”
“Calista, come out here. Olive is talking about quitting.” Maisie motioned inside the house and soon Calista and Maisie’s husband, Boone, had joined them. A whole audience there to confront Olive and question her decisions.
“Where are Matthew and Hank?” Olive asked. “Are you sure ganging up on me a dozen to one is enough?”
“They’re helping Uncle Bill fry the fish, but now that you mention it . . . Granny . . .” Maisie’s whistle split the air.
Olive sighed. The pies were getting heavy, so she set them on the table as Granny came out.
With one look at her assembled progeny, the tanned woman with the short-cropped silver hair shooed them back, giving her and Olive some room.
“Olive.” She turned her weathered cheek to her granddaughter and Olive kissed it firmly.
“Hello, Granny. I just came for supper.”
“And to see me. It’s kind of you to take off your busy work.”
“She ain’t so busy,” said Amos. “We broke our necks getting her these jobs and now she’s wanting to throw them away.”
“What’s that?” Granny’s clear blue eyes focused on her. “I thought everyone knew that you were the architect. Amos could come home and work on the ranch.”
“People are hearing, but not everyone believes I can do it. I did what you all were after me about. I gave being an architect a shot but it’s more than sitting in your office dreaming up plans. You have to line up workers. You have to deal with dissatisfied clients. And you have to tread carefully with your pride-filled competitors. But when it comes down to it, I have no credibility, and it might be impossible for a woman to earn it.”
Turning to Granny, she said, “Granny, my dad doesn’t need me moping around the house all the time. I thought I might come spend the days with you. Surely at your age you could use an extra hand keeping up with the house and the kitchen garden. Aunt June —”
“Don’t you dare,” Granny Laura said. “This farm is not a place for cowards to hide.” Her stern but loving gaze softened her words. “It isn’t going to be easy to come into your own. You don’t have your ma and you don’t have the training, but you do have us. And you have God. He gave you this gift. Do you think He won’t also give you the courage to use it?”
“Besides, it’s too late to quit,” Calista said. The package she pulled out from behind her was wrapped in a bow as big as the one that adorned her giant platter of a hat. “I’ve already gotten you this present, and I can’t return it.”
Why was everyone looking so eager? Olive took the package, wishing she could open it in private but knowing that wouldn’t be allowed.
After carefully removing the ribbon—the bow was beautiful and she couldn’t tie it that perfectly again—Olive peeled away the paper to reveal a white cardboard box. Holding the box in one hand, she pulled off the lid. The scent of new stationery reached her before her eyes focused on the embossed heading across the page:
Miss Olive Kentworth, Architect
Suite 108, Byers Building
Joplin, Missouri
“It’s beautiful.” Olive lifted the top sheet and moved it so the light caught the gold lettering. “Thank you, Calista. I don’t know when I’m going to have occasion to use it.”
“You’ll use it for all your correspondence,” Calista said. “Personalized stationery is the first step to respectability, whether personal or business.” She fluffed up her leg-o’-mutton sleeves for full effect.
“I have to admit, it’s so pretty it does make me want to write some official letter right now, but in no time, people would find out that I don’t have an office in the Byers Building. I can’t pretend that I do.”
“No need to pretend.” Maisie dangled a brass key on a leather strip. “You do have an office there. It’s Boone’s building, after all.”
The small piece of metal looked more threatening than if it had been a knife. They couldn’t be serious. But Boone, who wasn’t one for joking around, was right there affirming what his wife had said. “I had a vacancy in the building. When I mentioned it to Maisie, she and Calista came up with the idea. You’ll have a professional office on the ground floor. We’ll even put your name on the directory out front.”
Her name, somewhere public where Maxfield would see it? Olive pushed the key away. “I can’t afford an office. As soon as I’m finished with the Blounts’ house, I have nothing else lined up.”
“What about the department store?” Maisie asked. “Amos said you were going to do that, and it’d be ten times more than an addition to Mr. Blount’s house.”
“I gave that job back to Maxfield. I can’t take work away from him.”
They might have thought they were hiding the disapproving looks being telegraphed around her, but Olive saw them clear as day.
“That’s hogwash,” Amos said. “He can’t handle that job. It’s up to you.”
“Of course he can handle it. He’s got the record to prove it.” Maxfield might not like her anymore, but Olive couldn’t stand to have him belittled.
“And don’t worry about the rent,” said Boone. “The first year is free. By then you’ll have clients by the dozens. I might decide to build another commercial building myself.”
“And when you do get clients, you can’t have them coming out to your house. It’s not professional.” Amos elbowed her father in the side. “Besides, what’s to keep me from walking in the front door and blurting out trade secrets?”
“He’s like to do that,” said Maisie.
“Something tells me he already did,” said Granny Laura.
An office of her own? Olive took the key and held it in her open palm. It didn’t matter to her whether she was sketching designs on her sofa or at a desk. And while it would be helpful to have the space for her paperwork and receipts, that wasn’t what mattered most. What made this the most amazing gift was the people who had arranged it. They believed in her. They wanted to play a part in her success, and they did think she would be successful. They had faith in her even though she had no faith in herself.
All the care they’d put into their plans, all the conniving, was for one purpose—so she would have the tools to realize her dreams. They were giving Olive that, and the rest was up to her. How could she refuse?
“Thank you.” She hugged the box of stationery to her chest. Looking around the circle, she thought of the unique relationship she had with each of them individually but also the strength of the bonds when they were combined. “I can’t believe I have an office, with my own stationery. I never would’ve done this on my own.”
“And that’s what you have to remember,” said Granny Laura. “You aren’t doing any of this on your own. God is right there beside you in a hundred different ways. He’s there in the provisions He’s given you and He’s also there in the family He raised up around you. We know how much you sacrificed for your mother, and we want to do some of the sacrificing for you now. It’s your turn to get the help, and we aim to help you.”
Olive’s fear was turning to resolve. She couldn’t let them down. Instead of burning her old drafts, it looked like she’d spend Monday moving into her new office. She could hardly wait.
CHAPTER
25
“When is Miss Kentworth coming?” Leo threw himself across Maxfield’s lap, his elbows digging into Max’s thigh as he squirmed. “I miss her.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Mrs. Wester as she set out a plate of veggies on the table. “But your pa has been home in the evenings for the past week, so Miss Kentworth hasn’t been needed.”
Maxfield had been home in the evenings and here he was, home for lunch too. Mrs. Wester was a wise soul. It hadn’t taken her long to recognize his reticence when it came to the subject of Miss Kentworth, so she was quick to intervene when Leo had questions.
“What are we going to do tonight?” Max asked. “Would you like to go to the duck pond again? Or we could take a dinner basket to the railroad track and watch the train go by.” He’d thought that Stella would be afraid of the roaring noise, but the terrifying cacophony had delighted her. She might have a wild streak like her mother. Or Miss Kentworth . . .
“Choo-choo!” She laughed and clapped her hands together. “I want choo-choo.”
His confidence in his parenting skills was improving. He no longer felt overwhelmed taking the children to town. For one thing, he paid more attention to what activities were suitable for them, but it was more than that. He had trained them to the point that they were enjoyable. He only had to tell Leo once what they were going to do, and Leo knew that he meant it. Stella was more of a challenge, but when she showed signs of rebellion or exhaustion, it was a simple thing to swoop her up and remove the temptation.
“There you go.” Mrs. Wester set a platter of cold beef on the table along with a pickle tray. “The children look forward to seeing you midday.”
And he looked forward to seeing them. They bowed their heads as he offered thanks for their meal, then they turned to their food.
This was the kitchen and he felt at home here. No longer was he assaulted by the sinking dread he associated with parts of the house. He didn’t avert his eyes from the rocker in the children’s room. He could walk past Georgia’s flower bed without regret. He even found himself checking his appearance in the mirror of her vanity without thought. Not that he didn’t think of her, but he had reclaimed areas of the house that had been lost to him. He didn’t have to hide from them or avoid the sting of pain that came with them. That made it easier to be home, and easier to enjoy his family. His children didn’t have the same sad associations, and now that he realized he did, he did his best to shield them from them.
“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Wester.” Max carried his plate to the sink. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll be home before too long and then we can decide what we’re going to do this evening.”
“I want choo-choo,” Stella said around a mouthful of food.
“The train hurts my ears.” Leo picked up a piece of meat and pushed it onto the tines of his fork. “Let’s go to the library. Maybe Miss Kentworth will be there.”
He hadn’t forgotten. Neither had Max.
After a last goodbye, Max headed to the front door. He paused outside his home library. Every time he thought about Olive’s claims to be an architect herself, he redirected his thinking.
How many times had he come home and found her sitting quietly in the library? Reading poetry? Ha. She didn’t know any poetry. So what was she doing? Could she really glean anything from his architectural journals? Could she learn enough to pass it on to Amos for it to be helpful? And what about Amos?
He didn’t want to think about it. He turned his face to the door and had his hand on the doorknob when he stopped.
What was he doing? Again he was avoiding the areas of the house, of his life, that caused him pain. For a year and a half he’d shied away from the areas that reminded him of Georgia. He’d shut the doors in his mind that brought back memories or made him question his culpability. Now he was doing it again. Every time he thought of Olive in the library, he dismissed his questions and went back to his business. No time to wonder if Olive was telling the truth but plenty of time to recount how she’d hurt him.
