Engaging Deception, page 5
Perhaps the evening had been perfect after all. There was no electricity to her room but, as late as it was, Olive had to have light. She set the lamp next to her bed, pulled out her sketchbook, and flipped quickly past the notes she’d taken that night to find a blank page. Lying on her bed, supported by her elbows, she drafted the neighbor’s house as it was. She’d walked by it a dozen times and never thought to look at it like Mr. Scott did. Once she’d drawn it to her satisfaction, she started again, but this time with the changes he’d suggested.
It was heady, this feeling of partnership with a man like him. When he’d shared his ideas for the house, Olive felt like sitting on the ground and catching every word in her notebook. Naturally she couldn’t do that, so here she was, jotting down everything she could recall before sleep erased the memory.
Changing the color of the shingles. Ingenious. Thinning the chimney to help with balance. Olive hadn’t considered the width of a chimney to be an important factor, but she would from now on. Oh, to have the training that he’d had. It had come to her that she should pay him for lessons. That’s when she remembered that actually he was supposed to be paying her, and why wouldn’t she take his money? That had been the deal they’d struck from the beginning.
Olive held the sketch before her. Someday she’d have the confidence to take credit for her work. Someday she’d show people what she could do. Never to someone with training like Mr. Scott, but to people she knew that wanted something built. Maybe for people who wanted the look of their houses updated. If important men didn’t have time to remodel, then there was a niche for Olive, perhaps. Houses aged. The families outgrew them. There were a dozen reasons someone would want an addition to their home.
Just ask Mr. Blount.
Olive flipped back through her notebook to the pages of notes she’d taken before Mr. Scott had returned home. She’d never heard of a living hall before seeing one in Mr. Scott’s publications, but the uses seemed practical, especially for someone as concerned with appearances as Mr. Blount. Designed to resemble the great halls of medieval castles, the living hall was a cozy, masculine room that encompassed the central fireplace and staircase and replaced a more formal parlor. With Mr. Blount’s house, one could open up the way between the parlor and the music room, then add a room on the west side of the house as a ladies’ parlor. Instead of a parlor for everyone, the men would have their living hall, while the ladies’ parlor would be decidedly more feminine, with wide windows overlooking the garden.
She drew the existing floor plan from memory the best she was able, then struck out walls and dashed in new construction. This was what she loved—the planning, the possibilities, the perfection of an idea before it was tried and the flaws were exposed. And that’s why she never wanted to be at the forefront. She couldn’t imagine being called to account by an angry client for a mistake or a delay. She couldn’t imagine walking downtown and people looking at her and knowing who she was, just as they must know Maxfield Scott.
And that’s why this design would exist only on paper. Olive smoothed the page and thought again of Mr. Scott and what she might want out of life. Her mother had been a big part of her life, and with her gone, Olive was missing a piece of the puzzle. Tending children was a role she could fill comfortably. Caring over those who couldn’t care for themselves came naturally for Olive and it didn’t force her into any uncomfortable situations. And if she could watch children in the finest architectural library in the state, then she’d be a fool not to.
She pushed her paper aside and blew out the light. It was too late to change into her nightgown, too late to work anymore, and too late to change who she was. Olive Kentworth would go on being Olive Kentworth, and that’s how God designed it.
But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t do some designing of her own. Even if no one ever knew about it. With thoughts of living halls and ladies’ parlors in her mind, Olive drifted to sleep.
CHAPTER
5
“Olive, you got any buildings that need building?” Amos Kentworth unwrapped his sandwich from his bandanna and kicked his feet up on the back of a nearby chair.
After church it had always been the Kentworths’ practice to stay and visit with neighbors and friends until bellies rumbled and the pastor herded them out the doors. Now that they were attending services led by Calista’s husband, Matthew, they were likely to bring food and throw together a dinner.
“Why would you ask that?” Olive passed him a basket of rolls. Was it obvious to everyone that she had big designs in her head?
“Welp, we did a fine job on this place and Maisie’s crystal cave. It’s about time our partnership got to rolling again. The fields are planted, and I’m ready for a diversion.”
So was she, actually. While Amos didn’t know the first thing about architecture, his gift of gab, his confidence, and his basic understanding of construction had allowed him to take credit for Olive’s designs and work with her builder, Mr. Flowers, while she stayed in the background. It was a unique partnership, but one both cousins enjoyed.
“We need you doing tours if you’re finished with planting.” Maisie folded a chair, then carried it to the table where the family was gathering. “Although that visitors’ center at the Crystal Cave is doing a humdinger of a job. People exclaim over the jagged rock walls and the open-air cafe. I don’t know where you get your ideas, Olive, but you have a knack for it.”
One place to get ideas was from Maxfield Scott’s books, but Olive hadn’t been invited to his house again. She supposed it wasn’t surprising. The children had a regular nanny, and the man surely didn’t go to a concert every evening. He’d gone on Tuesday night, and here it was Sunday. Nearly a week. If he really cared for this lady, wouldn’t he want to see her more?
Her father took a seat next to Amos. “You know, Mr. Blount never did accept any of the proposals he had on his house. He spent the better part of the afternoon telling them what he wanted, but when they submitted their drafts, Mrs. Blount refused them all.”
“Not surprising since their house is beautiful,” said Calista. “Why does he want to change it?”
Matthew shrugged. “People are never content.”
Boone Bragg, Maisie’s husband, walked to the table with two hot lunches he’d purchased at the miners’ cafe. “I’d imagine that Mr. Blount doesn’t know what Mrs. Blount wants. It’ll be hard to do as he’s asking and please her, if she doesn’t agree to the premise.”
What if the problem lay in a difference of opinion between the spouses? What if Olive still had a chance? She looked at Amos happily munching on a cold sandwich. Could he play the role again? Mr. Blount already thought he was responsible for this miners’ center. He would trust Amos with something as simple as adding a room. How would this be any different from her other projects?
First off, it wasn’t for family. Second, she would be working on a house, not a commercial building. Third, and this terrified her the most, she would be changing a Maxfield Scott home.
And yet, Olive was convinced that she had a perfect design in mind. There were a few details that she hadn’t drafted to her liking, but she felt the solution was at hand. If only she could take another gander at Mr. Scott’s library. How could she secure an invitation?
Leaving the table, Olive grabbed a chair used for Sunday service, folded it up, and carried it to where Maisie was stacking them. “Say, Maisie. I have a favor to ask.”
“I’m not watching someone’s kids,” Maisie said. “You can forget about that.”
“No one wants you to watch their kids,” Olive said. Maisie was more likely to break something or get into mischief than most children. “I was wondering if I could get some tickets to the Crystal Cave.”
“Sure you can. We’ll let you inside whenever you want. No need to buy tickets.”
“Well, there is. I want tickets so I can give them to some friends, on the quiet. I don’t want them to know who gave them the tickets. It’s going to be a surprise.”
“You taking a fellow there?” Maisie smiled wide. “Look at you blush. You are, ain’t you?”
“I’m sending a fellow and his girlfriend. Don’t worry about it, Maisie. Just get me two tickets, and hurry. There’s not much time.”
Not if she was going to get some books, study them, and get her blueprints to the Blounts before they found someone to do their bidding.
“Stop by the office on your way home. Boone’s got some in his desk. I’m mighty curious, though. I can’t think of who you’re trying to get to go to the cave.” Maisie scanned the meeting room that served as a church. “Is it Amos? You got someone that you’re trying to hitch with Amos?”
It was as good an excuse as any. Olive bounced her eyebrows and tried to look mysterious. She wasn’t used to orchestrating events to get her way, but she had begun to think she might be good at it.
“If you want ceramic tiles in the foyer, it’s time to choose them. They should be installed before the baseboards go in.” Maxfield straightened the delft blue painted tile on the showroom table as Mrs. Dennis fretted.
“I can’t decide without seeing it there. Why can’t I go to the house?”
“It’s a construction site and not safe for ladies. As soon as the scaffolding comes down and the debris is cleared, I’ll let you know.” He answered smoothly, but his heart raced at the thought of the ladies exposed to danger.
Ruby patted her mother’s hand. “Who cares how the entryway looks? Just pick the tile you like best. Then Mr. Scott can get back to work.”
“This is my work,” he said. “Your mother is my client, and I want her to be pleased with her house.” As long as she didn’t visit until the dangerous construction was completed. That rule was nonnegotiable.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Dennis, Miss Dennis.” It was Eric coming in the door from his lunch break. He hung his hat on the hat rack. “How are you ladies doing today?”
“We’re trying to choose tile,” Ruby said. “So many decisions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eric waved a handful of mail at Max. “Do you have a minute?”
“Excuse me,” Max said to the ladies and followed Eric into his office. He eased the door closed, knowing there was a reason Eric had asked for privacy.
Eric tossed the mail on the desk. “You couldn’t pass off those detail decisions to some underling? Like me?”
“Not when it’s Ruby’s family.”
“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Elaine is inviting you, Miss Dennis, and the children to come over for dinner on Friday. The little ones miss their friends.”
“Count us in.” Maxfield flipped through the envelopes containing bills and payments. “Should I bring anything?”
“Are you going to cook something?” Eric laughed. “Please don’t. Just bring your usual charming company.”
One envelope caught Maxfield’s attention. The script was feminine, tidy, and unfamiliar. He picked the edge of the seal open and pulled out a folded paper.
“What’s that?” Eric asked.
The paper only had one line of print. A gift from a satisfied client, it read. Maxfield held up two slips of paper. “Tickets to the Crystal Cave.” He turned them front and back. Who had sent them? He couldn’t think why one of his former clients would’ve wanted to send them anonymously.
“Elaine and I went a few months ago,” Eric said. “It’s unbelievable. Your kids will love it.”
“But it says Adult Ticket Only.” Maxfield looked closer. Written in ink over the printing was the specification that the tickets were only for adults and they were only valid for this Monday and Tuesday nights. “My secret appreciative customer is rather impatient,” he said. Would Ruby want to go? It sounded like more fun than another concert.
“Go tonight. Elaine and I will keep the kids. I’ve heard the cave is a very romantic place.”
Maxfield hesitated. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to go. Seeing a cave completely covered in crystals interested him, and Ruby would love it. He could send the children to the Vogels’. Or even better, he could hire Miss Kentworth. He felt good about her watching them.
“Sometimes Mrs. Wester can stay late and watch them, but I’ll figure it out. Let me ask around and see if I can enlist help. Then we’ll plan on visiting with you on Friday.”
“Whatever you think best. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you have it covered.”
“Thank you, Eric,” Maxfield said.
The simple gift in the envelope had completely changed his day. He might not have planned to go to the Crystal Cave, but now he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. Walking back into his showroom, he held up the two tickets. “What do you say we go see the Crystal Cave tonight?”
Ruby clapped her hands together. “Do you mean it? I’ve wanted to go forever.”
“Of course I mean it. I’ll have to find someone to watch the children, but that shouldn’t take long.”
“They can’t go with us? I bet they would love it.”
“No,” Maxfield said. “They need to stay home. It won’t take much to find someone on a Monday night, I’d imagine. In fact, I’d better get started right now.”
“What time does the cave close?” Ruby asked.
He consulted the tickets. “Six o’clock. We’ll need to hurry.”
“You know where to find me.” Her eyelashes fluttered with her smile.
Six o’clock. Mrs. Wester usually stayed until six o’clock anyway. She probably wouldn’t mind staying a little over. Then again, he didn’t know how long it would take to walk home from the cave. And Ruby and he might as well get dinner. There was no reason to hurry back. Not if he could get Miss Kentworth’s help.
That was his reasoning as he made his way to her house. A less confident man might dread asking for a last-minute favor, but Maxfield trusted that Miss Kentworth knew her own mind well enough to refuse if she wanted. He knocked at the door, still surprised at the turn the day had taken. This hadn’t been in his plans, but he couldn’t have planned anything better.
“Mr. Scott.” She certainly seemed pleased to see him. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Miss Kentworth, the most extraordinary thing has happened. I have the opportunity to tour a local attraction tonight, but I find myself in need of your services for the children. Would you be able to assist me?”
She looked over her shoulder at the clock on the mantel. “What time? I’d like to tidy up first.”
In his opinion, she looked tidy enough, but he nodded. “Naturally. I won’t leave the house until 3:30.”
“It’s three o’clock now.” The corners of her eyes tilted with a smile, daring him to press.
He loved a dare. “Then you have plenty of time.” Looking inside, he spotted her heavy book bag that she’d brought last time. “I’ll leave you to get ready, but would you like me to carry your tote? No use in you lugging it there by yourself.”
“No! I can carry it. I’m quite strong.” She pushed against the door, narrowing the gap, until only her face showed. “I don’t need any help. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Alright then. See you in half an hour.” She didn’t get to see him tip his hat before closing the door, but that was fine. He had no time to waste either.
Some people waited around for life to determine their course, while others took the reins in hand and forged their own journey. Instead of dithering about who sent the tickets or why, he’d jumped at the opportunity to enjoy a pleasurable evening with a charming lady. And he had Miss Kentworth to thank for making it possible.
CHAPTER
6
Maxfield had graduated from the University of Illinois School of Architecture and then studied abroad in Florence, Rome, and Paris. He’d been all over the continent, but he’d never encountered a structure like this. The building was simple, really, but it so captured the spirit of Joplin that he couldn’t help but be impressed.
Constructed with limestone, calcite, and other materials that had been excavated while gaining access to the cave, the exterior was as abrasive and rough as the piles of chat that littered the minefields in the Tri-State District. No smooth facade, no polished stone, these walls were rough and unashamed, just like the miners. But atop the exterior walls, the designer had crowned it with jagged stones, making it look like some medieval keep or fortress. This place might be young and primitive, but it had aspirations. Like Joplin, it reminded him of a young king, finding his way and testing his strength.
He’d heard about Boone Bragg, the mine owner, and the farm girl who’d discovered this treasure in his abandoned mine. Boone had married her, and now they hosted tours, parties, and even weddings in the mine. It was high time he saw it.
Maxfield presented his tickets to the dour man at the door. The briefest twitch of his eyes told Max there was some question about the tickets.
“Wait here a second,” he said, then lumbered inside.
“What if the tickets are no good?” Ruby asked, her eyes wide.
“Then I buy two tickets. We didn’t come all this way for nothing.” And he wouldn’t go back home. Not yet.
He recognized Boone Bragg as he approached. Approximately the same age, the two had rubbed shoulders at countless events, but Maxfield didn’t know that he’d ever had a conversation with him. It seemed that Boone was adept at disappearing during social gatherings.
“Mr. Scott, welcome to the Crystal Cave. Miss Dennis, if I remember correctly?”
“Nice to see you again, Boone.” She shot a sideways glance at Maxfield, making him wonder how she knew Mr. Bragg.
“Is there some problem with my tickets?” Maxfield asked.
“No, surely not.” But Boone looked them over, just the same. “It’s odd that they have expiration dates on them. We don’t sell tickets with expiration dates.”
