Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) by Lena Dooley Nelson Page A
Authors: Lena Dooley Nelson
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wanted to ask her something, she turned back to the dishpan and started washing a plate instead.
Maggie didn’t want to inquire about so much that she would open herself to deeper questions, but she had to ask this one more. “Did she ever mention an Angus McKenna?”
“Dear me, I don’t think so. The name doesn’t ring a bell with me, for sure.” The older woman folded her arms across her chest. “What’s going on, Margaret?”
When Mrs. Jorgensen used that tone, Maggie knew she had gone too far. And she wasn’t ready to reveal anything more. “Nothing.” She quickly finished the tea and set the cup beside the sink. “The name just came to me, and I thought maybe I’d heard it somewhere.” She knew the words didn’t make any sense the second they crossed her lips, but she wasn’t going to elaborate.
She hastily exited the room. Knowing she’d told an outright lie should have made her feel terrible, but why should she care? Everyone else had been lying to her for years.
A long-forgotten feeling from childhood swept over her like a tidal wave breaking against the wharves on the Sound. Part of her was missing, but she didn’t know what part it was. She’d felt it more often as a young girl, and now the emotions involved were more intense. They sucked the life right out of her. She wanted to crumple to the floor and weep. But she wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of watching her lose control. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, holding her spine as stiff as the trunk of a tall pine tree.
So she didn’t really know who her parents were. That shouldn’t give her this kind of emotional upheaval. The first time she experienced the feeling, she hadn’t known that the people she lived with weren’t her real parents. This thing that upset her balance didn’t really have anything to do with the others. Something deep inside her was missing, a piece of her heart, maybe a piece of her soul. But what was it, and where had it gone? And could she ever find it again? Maybe if she could, she’d feel whole, a complete human being. Accepted for who she really was, with no one trying to change her into something else.
She climbed the back stairs and went to her room, closing the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the flocked wallpaper. Maggie wanted to be herself, not someone Florence had molded her into, but who was she anyway? Her stomach tightened and a lump settled in her chest, almost cutting off her breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with both hands. Why didn’t she carry a handkerchief the way other girls did? Too bad a lady never used her sleeve to wipe her face. Dropping her face into her hands, she tried to stifle the sob that escaped.
•••
Florence walked down the stairs contemplating the new developments in her husband’s business. Charles was a nice young man, but she remembered that even as a boy, he had a stubborn streak. So did Joshua. They would make good partners, but who would come out on top if they ever disagreed? She’d like to be hiding in the corner when that happened. It ought to be quite a show.
She went to the kitchen, hoping to find her daughter, but the room was empty. Then she went to Joshua’s study, where she knew she’d find her husband.
“Everything is under control, but I can’t find Margaret.” She settled into one of the chairs beside the fireplace.
Joshua came from behind his desk and sat in the chair beside hers. “I’m a bit worried about Maggie. She didn’t seem like herself this evening.”
“I noticed that.” Florence studied her husband’s face. How could he read their daughter so well, and yet so often have no idea what Florence was feeling? “We have a lot to do to get ready for Margaret’s birthday party.” She straightened the edging of the antimacassar on the arm of her chair. “We haven’t sent the invitations around yet. I wish Margaret would finish writing her guest list.”
Not
Maggie didn’t want to inquire about so much that she would open herself to deeper questions, but she had to ask this one more. “Did she ever mention an Angus McKenna?”
“Dear me, I don’t think so. The name doesn’t ring a bell with me, for sure.” The older woman folded her arms across her chest. “What’s going on, Margaret?”
When Mrs. Jorgensen used that tone, Maggie knew she had gone too far. And she wasn’t ready to reveal anything more. “Nothing.” She quickly finished the tea and set the cup beside the sink. “The name just came to me, and I thought maybe I’d heard it somewhere.” She knew the words didn’t make any sense the second they crossed her lips, but she wasn’t going to elaborate.
She hastily exited the room. Knowing she’d told an outright lie should have made her feel terrible, but why should she care? Everyone else had been lying to her for years.
A long-forgotten feeling from childhood swept over her like a tidal wave breaking against the wharves on the Sound. Part of her was missing, but she didn’t know what part it was. She’d felt it more often as a young girl, and now the emotions involved were more intense. They sucked the life right out of her. She wanted to crumple to the floor and weep. But she wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of watching her lose control. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, holding her spine as stiff as the trunk of a tall pine tree.
So she didn’t really know who her parents were. That shouldn’t give her this kind of emotional upheaval. The first time she experienced the feeling, she hadn’t known that the people she lived with weren’t her real parents. This thing that upset her balance didn’t really have anything to do with the others. Something deep inside her was missing, a piece of her heart, maybe a piece of her soul. But what was it, and where had it gone? And could she ever find it again? Maybe if she could, she’d feel whole, a complete human being. Accepted for who she really was, with no one trying to change her into something else.
She climbed the back stairs and went to her room, closing the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the flocked wallpaper. Maggie wanted to be herself, not someone Florence had molded her into, but who was she anyway? Her stomach tightened and a lump settled in her chest, almost cutting off her breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with both hands. Why didn’t she carry a handkerchief the way other girls did? Too bad a lady never used her sleeve to wipe her face. Dropping her face into her hands, she tried to stifle the sob that escaped.
•••
Florence walked down the stairs contemplating the new developments in her husband’s business. Charles was a nice young man, but she remembered that even as a boy, he had a stubborn streak. So did Joshua. They would make good partners, but who would come out on top if they ever disagreed? She’d like to be hiding in the corner when that happened. It ought to be quite a show.
She went to the kitchen, hoping to find her daughter, but the room was empty. Then she went to Joshua’s study, where she knew she’d find her husband.
“Everything is under control, but I can’t find Margaret.” She settled into one of the chairs beside the fireplace.
Joshua came from behind his desk and sat in the chair beside hers. “I’m a bit worried about Maggie. She didn’t seem like herself this evening.”
“I noticed that.” Florence studied her husband’s face. How could he read their daughter so well, and yet so often have no idea what Florence was feeling? “We have a lot to do to get ready for Margaret’s birthday party.” She straightened the edging of the antimacassar on the arm of her chair. “We haven’t sent the invitations around yet. I wish Margaret would finish writing her guest list.”
Not
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