Engaging Deception, page 6
“That’s how they came to me. They were a gift, although I don’t know who bought them.”
Boone turned the tickets over again, then looked from Max to Ruby. “Well, then, I’m glad you have a friend who wants you to see our little hole in the ground. I hope you’re not disappointed. The next tour should start in about ten minutes.”
“Before we go below, allow me to compliment you on your building. It’s quite original. Who was the architect?”
The ticket-taker decided to speak up. “It was my cousin. She . . .”
“His name is Amos Kentworth,” Boone corrected. “Amos designed this building. This here is Hank Kentworth. These woods are thick with Kentworth cousins. My wife is one of them.”
“Would Olive Kentworth be another?” Maxfield couldn’t see any family resemblance between Hank and Olive besides the widow’s peak on his forehead.
“Who is Olive Kentworth?” Ruby asked. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“She’s the reason we’re here. She’s at my house watching Leo and Stella.”
“Olive is part of the family.” Boone chose his next words carefully. “She’s tending your children this evening, you say? And you, a famous architect?”
“What does me being an architect have to do with anything?”
Hank cleared his throat with a deep cough that sounded like a foghorn. He leaned his elbows against the ticket counter and said, “Olive don’t cotton to getting out of the house. She’s a homebody. We’re surprised she decided to work for you. That’s all.”
Boone nodded in agreement. “Nothing more than that.”
Why didn’t Miss Kentworth like to leave her house? He couldn’t imagine. Not when he himself couldn’t stand to stay at his.
A large door swung toward them, then was propped open by a man wearing a lit miner’s hat. He stood to the side as a crowd poured into the room. “And that’s our tour of the Crystal Cave. Be sure and stop by the gift shop and pick up a postcard to send to the folks back home. Or see my cousin Hilda in the cafe for a cup of coffee and a cookie. Best cookies in Jasper County.”
“That’s Amos,” Hank said. “He does tours when he’s not busy.”
“Why is an architect doing cave tours?” Between all the cousins, Maxfield was confused.
Boone looked tired. “I’m headed to the mining side of this enterprise. Ore is much less complicated. Nice to see you, Mr. Scott, Miss Dennis. Amos will take good care of you.”
Maxfield pinched Ruby’s elbow, leaned in, and whispered, “I came for the cave tour, but all this family business might be more interesting.”
Ruby scrunched up her face. “It’s a family business. How is that interesting?”
So Ruby didn’t share his curiosity about the Kentworths? Noted. But she hadn’t met Olive. Perhaps then she’d understand. The crowd was dispersing and the people sitting in the waiting area were lining up before the door, ready for their turn.
Maxfield waved to Amos. “Excuse me. I’m Maxfield Scott and I understand that you built this building?”
Amos had a smile that involved his whole face. “I reckon I did. Ain’t it a dandy?”
“I’m an architect myself, and I wanted to compliment you on your original design.”
“Welp, I want to compliment you on your pretty sister.” Amos tipped his hat to Ruby. “Amos Kentworth, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
Ruby’s eyelashes fluttered. “I’m not his sister.”
“You’re not?” Amos’s mouth turned down. “That’s a crying shame, but I hope you enjoy the tour nonetheless.”
“Before you get started . . . the building? I’d love to hear about your training. What was your influence? I see Norman design, but with a frontier influence, perhaps?”
“I don’t know anyone named Norman, but I have a tour to run. Let me get up front and we’ll start your show.” He winked at Ruby, then went to the front of the line and began his presentation.
“He’s funny,” Ruby said. “This is going to be entertaining.”
“Much better than the symphony.” When Ruby gasped, Maxfield patted her hand. “Don’t act shocked. You know I only go to enjoy your company.”
But this was something different. They were at the back of the line that moved deliberately down staircase after staircase. Maxfield could feel the excitement in their gathering growing. At every bend in the tunnel people paused, then laughed when they found only another staircase going down. This was something new, he kept telling himself. Something new. Something to keep the melancholy at bay.
Ruby turned to beam at him over her shoulder. “This is so exciting.”
“I’m glad I get to see it with you.”
When the line stopped, Maxfield reasoned that they must have reached their destination. Amos could be heard encouraging people to go on inside and to clear the way, but the line didn’t move. It took repeated urging to get everyone inside, and once inside, Maxfield was awed.
According to Amos, this was a geode, just like so many children loved to collect. The only difference was the size. This geode was as big as a ballroom and even deeper. Maxfield stood stunned, unable to understand what he was seeing.
“Oooh, it’s gorgeous!” Ruby covered her mouth but kept speaking. “Who would’ve thought this was under here? How many crystals are here? I’d love to have a number.”
Who could think of numbers here? Without a word, Maxfield walked the wooden walkway so he could appreciate what he was seeing in silence. The only man-made construction Maxfield had ever seen that he could compare it to was the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, but even that didn’t have the effortless grandeur that was here. Just think, men worked, strove, and stressed to make something with a fraction of the beauty found here, while God effortlessly created this, and then allowed a farm girl to stumble upon it millennia later.
How could anyone question God’s power or His beauty? And yet, Maxfield realized, he had been questioning His goodness. When Georgia died, Maxfield had gone into survival mode—suppressing his sorrow for the sake of the children, working for his clients, smiling for his friends. Whenever his heart was drawn back to his relationship with Christ, he felt pain again. The pain of abandonment, disappointment, betrayal. Maxfield knew that God loved him, and he knew he wasn’t owed an explanation for Georgia’s death, but it was easier to avoid any thought of God than to pretend that all was well.
When he came face-to-face with evidence of his Creator, he couldn’t remember how to respond. He only prayed that God would continue to be patient with him and would show him the way back.
Maxfield didn’t know how long they explored the cave. At every turn there was a new sight, a different reflection of the colored lights on the crystals, of the crystals on the water. An inspiring scene he wanted to remember forever. Whoever gave him these tickets knew exactly what he had needed that night.
This time, Olive was prepared for Mr. Scott’s return. She’d sat on the stairs with her notes and the architectural book angled so she could see his form as it passed in front of the window. Since Mr. Scott and his lady would be done with the cave tour early in the evening, she didn’t have much time after the children went to bed. Hopefully the restaurant would be slow to serve them.
All too soon, the shadow moved across the window. Olive sprang up, ran on tiptoe to the library, slid the book between two others, and dropped her notes into her bag. Then, grabbing the poetry book she’d set out for just this moment, she curled up in the armchair.
The door creaked, then the latch clicked. Mr. Scott came around the corner, knowing exactly where to look for her. Did everyone notice how he lightened a room, or was it her nerves that made her sensitive to his presence?
“How are the children?” He was more subdued than the last time she’d seen him. “Asleep now?”
“Barely. I just put them to bed.” Feeling self-conscious, she stood and reached to put the poetry book back on the shelf.
“You can take that with you if you’d like,” he said.
Olive paused. She turned the book over in her hands. “But I don’t know when I’ll be back.” There were so many books she’d rather have, but if he approved of her reading poetry, that’s what she’d pretend to do.
“I think it’s safe to assume that you’ll be back ere long.”
So he and Miss Dennis were seeing each other frequently? If they got married, would they still need a part-time nanny? Olive dropped her gaze. No more interfering with his life. It wasn’t right.
“Excuse me while I check on the children. Then I’ll walk you home.” He turned and eased up the staircase.
“It’s fine. . . .” Protesting was polite, but her half-hearted attempt was short-lived. Of course, she wanted to spend more time with someone she could imagine as a mentor. Not that he was that much older, but in experience he was her senior, no question about it.
She waited for him by the door and smiled when he winked and nodded. They remained silent until they were outside. Wordlessly, she handed over her book bag and they set out.
“How was the . . . Where did you go again?” Olive couldn’t remember if he’d told her about his tickets. It wouldn’t do for her to mention them if he hadn’t.
“We went to the Crystal Cave. It was incredible.”
“I love going there,” Olive said. “My cousin is the one who discovered it.”
“I met several of your cousins.” Maxfield tugged on the cuff of his sleeve, making it reach his wrist. “The one who most impressed me was Amos.”
“Amos?” Olive dropped her hand against her chest. “Amos is a rounder. I can’t imagine what he did that impressed you.” Had she stressed the you too much?
“That building. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
Olive’s toe caught a seam in the sidewalk. She stumbled and would’ve fallen had Maxfield not caught her by the back of the arm.
“Whoa, there.” He held her upright until she’d steadied. “This sidewalk is uneven in places.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. Maxfield Scott liked her building. He was impressed by her building. And he was holding her arm. “I’m so clumsy. What were you saying about the building?”
He slid his arm in hers and arranged her hand as was proper. “The structure is practical. There are no wasted materials or space, and yet it possesses a grandeur that’s almost Norman in spirit.”
Norman? She thought it might have Saxon traits, but not Norman.
“It’s high praise coming from an architect of your stature.” Olive was trying not to gush, but all she could hear was gush, gush, gush.
“You don’t need to flatter me. My pride is strong enough as it is.”
She tucked her chin to hide the satisfied grin she couldn’t suppress. They walked in silence the length of another appropriately manicured yard. It was good that Olive had Mr. Scott’s arm to steady her, because all she could concentrate on was reciting his praise endlessly, so she would never forget it. They were nearing home and then they would have to part. She wanted to hear more from Mr. Scott and she was nearly out of time.
“How about the Crystal Cave itself? What was your impression of that?” She watched closely as he struggled with his response.
“It’s hard to describe how I felt. Obviously there’s the beauty of the place. It’s a natural phenomenon, and should be celebrated for its rarity and size, but it’s more than that.” His steps had slowed. Olive waited in the silence as he chose his words. “It reminded me that there’s a designer, a God who moves planets, subterranean water, and even tragedy by His plan. It’s an uncomfortable thought, isn’t it?”
Her eyes slid closed, and her fingers tightened on his arm. This wasn’t a conversational turn that she’d expected. He was speaking of his wife. She understood that. She also understood how loss could undermine faith. She wanted to ignore his observation, to keep the conversation on safer topics, but she couldn’t leave him without an answer. She had to let him know that he wasn’t the only person to struggle. If she could only find the words.
Thankfully he went on without her.
“It was so uncomfortable that I’ve avoided the thought of God altogether. Tonight was a reminder that He is everywhere. I must come to terms with it and come to terms with Him.”
Olive’s eyes were drawn to the end of the street where her house stood. She’d been so fixated on Mr. Blount’s project and her opportunity with Mr. Scott that she’d allowed her sorrow to recede. Had she been wrong to do so?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said. “You gave me no invitation to tread on such sensitive ground.”
“Tragedy is always sensitive ground,” Olive said, “but no one who has been there would fault you for your observation.” Then, with all the courage she could muster, added, “It’s ground I find myself wallowing in. Maybe I’ve spent too much time there already.”
“I find it to be ground that I’m avoiding, but it keeps pulling me back like quicksand no matter how I fight.”
Mr. Scott of the quick humor, the debonair manners, and the lively social life was beset with sorrow? Olive had only considered what he could offer her professionally. She’d never considered that she might have something to offer him in return.
“Do you have people who help you in the fight?” She was thinking of Maisie, Calista, her own father, and all those who thrust her into life when she wanted to hide.
“I have people that I have to fight for—Leo and Stella. And yet, I feel like I’m often leaving them behind.” His gaze traveled past the rooflines of the houses along the street, then he sighed. “But it’s ungallant of me to burden you with my troubles. Whatever it is that I need, I trust that God will guide me to the solution.”
Did he tuck her hand tighter against his side as he walked her the rest of the way home or was Olive imagining it? Either way she didn’t mind. Mourning people would reach for any comfort they could find. Come sunrise, Mr. Scott would probably have forgotten his melancholy. He’d wonder at his strange reaction to the cave and feel that his sorrow couldn’t have been as strong as he’d imagined. Whatever his conclusion, Olive only hoped that he remembered her fondly enough to enlist her help with the children, so that she could make use of his wisdom and his library.
CHAPTER
7
Tuesday morning came too early, and even though Olive had nothing pressing scheduled for the day, she wouldn’t sleep in when she could make her father breakfast.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Her father pulled her against his side for a friendly hug. “I saw your lamp last night. You were up late.”
She had been up late, but she’d accomplished exactly what she’d needed. She’d created a design for an addition to Mr. Blount’s house that she was proud of. But why had she bothered? It must be the same urge that compelled puzzle workers to spend hours on a puzzle. It was the satisfaction of completing a task and solving a problem. Puzzle solvers didn’t take their completed puzzle to town and expect everyone to congratulate them. It was done for their own benefit. So why couldn’t she keep her achievements private?
“I was up late, just thinking through some things.” She spread some jelly on her toast.
“Anything you’d like to talk about?” he said over his coffee cup.
“No, sir. Nothing to worry you over.”
“I noticed that your sketchbooks aren’t in here anymore. Did this thinking have anything to do with Blount’s house?”
Olive’s eyes flew to the empty kitchen counter. Of course he’d noticed.
“I don’t want to be in public as an architect or anything else,” she said. “If I come up with a solution for Mr. Blount, it’s for my satisfaction, not for acclaim and praise. I’m not selfish.”
He thought this over. “There are some who would say it’s selfish to keep a solution to yourself when sharing it would help others.”
“I didn’t find a cure for tuberculosis. I just figured out how Blount can add onto his house without ruining the design.”
“Even so, why wouldn’t you share it? It’s been nearly a month. He hasn’t hired anyone else. What if your design is the best?”
“What if it is?” She jabbed her knife into the jar of jelly. “Then everything might change. I’d have to pretend like I’m educated and knowledgeable. I’ll have to stand with people like Austin Allen and Maxfield Scott, knowing that I don’t have their training or skill.”
“Both of those things come with time. They don’t come with staying home and burying your dream.” Her father set his cup down and leaned forward, urging her to look at him. “Your Grandma Laura was widowed young with a house full of us kids to provide for. There were a lot of people—men and women—who didn’t think she was up to the challenge, but once she got that ranch in hand, she never looked back. You are gifted, just as she was.”
“Grandma Laura and I are very different.”
“The biggest difference I see is that she had to work out of necessity. She had no choice. And for years, you had to stay home with your mother. You had no choice then, but you do now. The time for sacrificing your dreams is over, but you are stuck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that maybe you’re still hiding from the world.”
Olive’s face warmed. This wasn’t fair. She’d gotten out of the house to sit with the Scott children. And what did she do while there? Studied architectural books. She knew what she wanted, but she didn’t necessarily want everything that came along with her dream.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She walked to her room and flipped open her sketchbook. She ripped the final draft from the book. Then she tore out the papers showing the house from the west and the south elevation. That should be enough. Hurrying so she would do it before she lost her nerve, she swept into the kitchen and set the papers on the table in front of her father.
“There. Take those to Mr. Blount and see what he says. Let him decide if he wants this kind of a design for his house, but please don’t tell him they are my work.”
