Twisted River Read online

  “I’ve said it before, Hugh. Henry’s already six. Send him for a job.”

  “Don’t you mean he’s only six?” Hugo argued. “How long would he last in a factory or selling on the street? We see those kids walk past our studio; by gum, we’ve bought their sweet potatoes and newspapers. It won’t come to that for my children.”

  Damaris remained impassive. “The house then.”

  “This was our father’s house. My house with Emma. I can’t sell it.”

  “Fine then. What if you dropped the children in an orphanage?” Her annoyance was so thick Maggie could hear the eye roll.

  “What if I dropped you in the river?”

  “More like you would hire someone to end me for you.” Hugo turned away and her voice finally softened. “Please, Hugh. I know how much you love them, but Donovan’s literally breaking down your door. Send them away for a little while—a few months, maybe a year. We travel again and sell our photographs. Once our debts are settled, we return to them safe and sound. You wouldn’t be the first father to do it.”

  “No.” Hugo shook his head. “They already lost their mother; I can’t put them through that again.”

  Another slam reverberated the front door, vibrating into Maggie’s fingertips against the study door. Then another followed. Glass clinked somewhere beyond the wall.

  “Fine, Frye!” Donovan blasted. “Choose the hard way. I’ll be back in one hour—with Marty—and so help me, you had better have a satisfactory answer when I return.”

  Maggie pushed away from the door, spinning in search of a lamp and settled on opening the window hangings. A harsh blast of light blinded her in the instant before the study door opened and slid shut again.

  Hugo stood with his back butted against the doors, gripping the handles behind him. “You said you can help? How?”

  Maggie stepped away from the window, still blinking. When she first offered to help, she hadn’t a clue how she actually could. All she wanted was to calm a kind man enough so he could think rationally. At least, that was until she listened to Hugo’s exchange with Damaris and formed a solution for both their circumstances.

  “Allow me to pay the rent,” she said.

  He uttered a throaty laugh. “No.”

  “I have a bit of money. Allow me to help you.”

  “That only transfers my debt to you.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Very well. Would you prefer we open those doors right now, you can receive a thorough thrashing by Donovan, and then we’ll all go to the police together? I’m certain they would enjoy hearing how Damaris thieves at funeral luncheons.”

  Hugo paled. “You heard?”

  “I did.”

  “So this is blackmail? I can’t offer you anything in return.”

  “I believe you can. You can return what you stole—”

  “Done.” He bolted for the far corner of the room where he dumped the contents of a satchel onto the floor. Retrieving a silver candlestick and a decorated cigar case, he thrust them into her hands. “There,” he gasped, desperation clinging to his words like a wet sponge. “Now the money, please.”

  “It’s in the bank. I certainly don’t carry that much on my person.”

  “But I—” Apparently whatever Hugo was about to say he dismissed in his next breath. His eyes widened. “Wait. How does a woman who needs employment so badly she’ll be on the street also have enough to pay my rent? Pigs feet, you called my sister a criminal? What did you do?”

  “Nothing illegal. Unethical, perhaps, but—” Maggie dropped the stolen items on the desktop, her fingers leaping to cover her lips as nausea suddenly kicked against her stomach. The thought of her scandalous deal with Lloyd Halverson and the possibility of now being saddled with his child caused a heat wave to break across her skin. July sunlight blasted through the open window, turning the room into an oven. Please no, she thought. She pressed her other fist to her middle as her stomach churned harder. Not now, you annoying child!

  She ducked in search of a wastebasket and finding none, promptly vomited in the only empty camera case she could find. With a groan, she dropped to her knees on the worn parquet and wiped the back of her mouth with her dress sleeve before dry heaving one last time. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, staring at the vile mess. “I’ll replace this.”

  From the corner of her eye, she caught Mr. Frye peering over the desk in silent observation. Not once did he move towards her or ask on her welfare. Neither did he rail about a near stranger ruining his camera case when he quite clearly had no funds to replace it. She expected he would have at least demanded a thorough explanation before the landlord returned to thrash them all.

  Reuben would have. He would have wrapped her in his arms, kissed her hair, and made certain she was well. Then he would throw open the front door and knock Donovan’s teeth out before anyone was hurt. Only then would he demand her to explain. She missed that way about him. Or perhaps she simply missed him. The last two months, she played a woman scorned when she should have mended the broken bridge between them. Only now that bridge was instead a fence twelve feet tall and new rails were nailed higher every day.

  A soft knock tapped against the study door. “Hugh?” came Damaris’s voice. “Donovan left. What are you doing in there?”

  “We’re just ...” He turned from Maggie’s hunched form to the door. “... discussing our options.” Although he stared at the closed door a minute longer, he didn’t make a move towards it. Instead, he knelt to clean up the items he dumped from his satchel. “So will you loan me the money? Because if not, then please go. My family needs to hightail it out of here.”

  Maggie inhaled deeply then released the breath then twice more, finding the next stage of her plan difficult. This is not a desperate act, she reminded herself. This is a conscious decision. The best decision and one you should have considered all along. Except she never expected him to make it so easy to ask or so difficult not to.

  She closed the lid of the rancid case and rose. “I will certainly provide the money if you marry me.”

  Hugo dropped everything he was holding, littering the floor again with photography instruments. His neck swiveled back to gape at her. “Excuse me, what?”

  “We should marry.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” He swept the bits and pieces back into his satchel, slung it over his shoulder and began packing camera equipment into the remaining non-soiled cases. “You’re out of your mind.”

  She could turn around right now, return to the Kischs’ and leave Mr. Frye to his own troubles. She had enough funds left to last four months. And then what? Eight months pregnant, out of money, and frozen in an alley like Rita Martin?

  Ask Tena’s forgiveness, some annoying voice nagged. No, she argued. Not while she still maintained an ounce of pride. This isn’t desperation, she repeated. This is security.

  She straightened up, gliding towards Hugo with all the airs of confidence she could muster. “Marriage will solve both our troubles, Mr. Frye. You cannot argue with that.”

  Hugo stacked what appeared to be glass panes between pieces of cloth. He lowered them into a sturdy wooden box. “I had a wife once,” he said softly. “I don’t want another.”

  “As my mother once told me, ‘There are many sound reasons for marriage, none of them involving what we want.’” Maggie returned to the desk, lowered herself into the wooden chair, and propped her elbows upon the surface as though it were hers to command. She had anticipated his refusal, but if there was anything gained from her sordid deal with Lloyd Halverson, it was the knowledge that everything could be negotiated.

  She gestured to the chair across from her. “Please take a seat, Mr. Frye.”

  Still clasping the camera case to his chest as though it would offer him protection from her, he positioned himself on the edge of the opposite chair in tight-lipped silence. And to his credit, he remained so throughout Maggie’s proposal. She was amazed at how steady her voice performed compared to the erratic poun
ding of her heart and how emotionless she sounded compared to the gripping peril she actually felt inside.

  “This is a business deal, Mr. Frye, nothing more. I will be honest; you should expect no affection from me as I require none from you. I’m rubbish at emotions and the tough decisions. I can’t form a well-rounded relationship to save my life. Marriage—a loving marriage anyway, if there is such a notion—is terribly difficult. It requires commitment and sacrifice. It requires two people willing to stand together in fair weather and storms. I’m beginning to understand though that marriage is also incredibly similar to a business dealing. In both instances, two parties sign a contract to abide by a certain set of terms for a set length of time. I may be terrible with love, Mr. Frye, but business is an art I believe I could be rather adept at.”

  She folded her hands, pressing her forearms to the desktop. “Here is what I propose. Seven years. Henry will be grown at thirteen, allowing me to acquire employment of my own at that time. Once said position has been achieved, we will divorce and separate our monetary assets into forty percent for myself and sixty percent for you. The house and all its belongings, minus any personal items of mine purchased during the seven-year term, will remain in your possession. A secondary agreement will then be signed indicating that both parties are satisfied with the conclusion of our original contract and expect no further commitment. I admit that in any other situation I would be a poor choice of wife; however, will you not admit that I could be an agreeable business partner?”

  Lips parted in disbelief, he stared unmoving, those green eyes finally blinking only when his sister’s voice reached through the door again. “Hugh? I really think you should open the door now.”

  “One minute!” Hugo yelped. The door flew open anyway. Damaris framed the doorway with one angry hand on her hip.

  “Seriously, what are you doing in here, Hugo?” she hissed. “Enough delays.”

  Ripping his attention from Maggie, Hugo set the camera case and satchel on his desk and made his way to his sister. He gripped her hand between his. “Take the children to your apartment. I’ll get the money, pay Donovan, and meet you there.”

  “You have the money?”

  “I’m working on it. You need to trust me.”

  “Like I trusted you when you found your way into this mess with that wife of yours?”

  “Mare,” he scolded. “Just take them to your apartment, will you?”

  She twisted out of his grip. “I’m not a wet nurse, Hugh.”

  His tone softened as his arms hung loosely at his sides. “No, but I’m your brother. Please do as I ask.”

  “Fine,” she sniffed. “But I won’t smile about it.”

  The faintest smile found his lips instead. “You never do.”

  Sliding the door closed, Damaris stomped up the stairs calling for the children. Mr. Frye pressed his forehead against the wooden door, palm braced flat against the surface as though either attempting to keep evil spirits at bay or deciding to release them. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Why do you need this?”

  “I’m with child.”

  Hugo released a low whistle, backing away from the door to drop back into his chair. “Well, that is a reason. Who’s the father?”

  Maggie shrugged. “If you marry me, then you are.”

  “The real father. Unless I was with you in my dreams before we met—which I seriously doubt would result in a baby—there’s another man out there who might want to know about his child.”

  “I don’t know who the father is. It could be a few men.”

  His face went slack. “Wow ... you certainly are honest, aren’t you?”

  “With you, it seems I have to be.”

  “Why choose me?”

  “Why not you? You have a need; I have a need. The end result is all the same. What does it matter how we arrive there?”

  He tapped his chin as though he were actually considering her idea. “So, I marry you, make your baby legitimate, give it my last name—the whole works—and in exchange, you’ll be my unpaid maid and nanny and pay my studio rent for seven years?”

  “I’ll pay your studio rent for three months. Otherwise, you’ve caught the idea.”

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “You may ask. I may not answer.”

  He slid to the edge of his chair, considering her face, reaching into her eyes with those vivid green ones, the irises ringed with a hazel trim. “These men who you were with before? The potential fathers. Did you love any of them?”

  “No.” Maggie admitted, only surprised by how easily she could admit it. “Not even the one I might have married.”

  “Did he love you?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say he did.”

  Hugo’s eyes shifted to a standing silver frame, the only photograph on his desk. In it stood a beautiful woman with a glowing smile and tiny waist, her hair meticulously pinned upon her head. Beside her stood a younger Molly with long tight curls and a tiny Henry with close cut hair, clutching his mother’s hand and a teddy bear at his side. In the woman’s other arm was the tiniest newborn Isa dressed all in white with sweet eyes closed.

  “That’s the wife you lost. You loved her, didn’t you?”

  Hugo wrenched away, reaching to turn the frame facedown on the desk. “With everything I had.”

  “And she loved you as much?”

  “You said it yourself, Miss Archer. Marriage is terribly difficult. As in business, some of us are willing to work harder than others.”

  Three questions, her father always said. That’s how you know the worth of a man. But there’s only one question that matters. Maggie didn’t need to ask Mr. Frye which day he would redo. The answer was visible in his face and the photograph on his desk.

  Hugo stood slowly, his right hand extended. “I am amicable to the proposed terms of our contract. If you will pay my rent today, I suggest we marry four weeks from tomorrow. No woman knows she’s expecting after one afternoon. If we are to sell the ruse that I am your child’s father, the timeline must be believable.”

  “That’s hardly necessary. I’ll concoct a believable backstory. No one will question it.” Standing, she clasped his hand. “Let’s marry this Friday.”

  His fingers twitched. “That’s in four days.”

  “Exactly, Mr. Frye. I’m three months along. I can’t conceal it another month. Plus, after that I have nowhere to live.” She squeezed his hand with a lighthearted grin in an attempt to alleviate the mood and her pounding heart. Maggie Archer was getting married. A week ago, even she herself wouldn’t have believed it. “Imagine how surprised my sister will be when she hears. Back home they called me the perpetual spinster.”

  “We’re not telling anyone about this yet. We’ll tell them on Thursday.”

  She frowned. “Even the children?”

  “Even the children, Miss Archer.” He released her hand without so much as a hint of amusement. “Fetch the rent money and return here immediately. My lawyer will draw up the contract and forward it to you for signature. We’ll verify everything at the courthouse over the noon hour on the nineteenth, wedding at one.”

  ELEVEN

  For three days, Maggie struggled to maintain her composure. Every time someone passed by, her heart raced, and she feared there was a tell written across her face, screaming, “I have a secret, whatever could it be?”

  Secrets, secrets are no fun ...

  Oh, shove off, she told herself. One more sleep. One more night of tossing and turning and she would be packed up and moved into the Frye home. Packed and moved and married.

  Married.

  The word, however silent in her head, still lodged in her throat like a walnut. The situation terrified her. She didn’t want to be married. Not to Hugo Frye. Not to Reuben Radford. Not to anyone.

  What the blazes was she doing?

  Maggie’s stomach turned over and she lunged for the powder room and the blessed relief of the toilet. She knelt on the floor and lost
her stomach for the fourth time in two days, gripping the edge of the seat as she retched.

  Oh yes, she remembered. That was why she was doing this. For her blasted baby and for herself. For Mr. Frye and his children too, she supposed. They would no doubt benefit from this marriage. At least she was doing a bit of good for someone else for once. She could do this. She had to do this.

  Rinsing her mouth in the sink, she patted her face dry with the towel and made her way back down the hallway to the living room, where she was met by the curious eyes of every member of the Kisch family, minus Fred, and Winnie who preferred lounging on the back porch even after dark. Tena fought not to raise her eyes above the pages of her book, but still did the faintest amount.

  Elsa struggled from her seat as Maggie entered, pressing the back of her hand to Maggie’s cheek. “Goodness, child, you’re pale as a specter.” Wrapping a pudgy arm around Maggie’s waist, she directed her to the sofa and forced Maggie down beside her. “There’s no use pretending we haven’t all seen the toll these weeks have taken on you, dear. Silent as the grave—”

  “Except for when she’s retching—”

  “Emil!” Elsa admonished.

  Emil closed his own book. “What? It’s true. She’s been like this every day for weeks. If I get sick and die, you’ll all be sorry. You know I’m the only one around here who’s any fun.”

  “Emil,” shot Karl. “Apologize to your mother for your rudeness.”

  Elsa gave her husband a thin smile. “No, it is fine, Karl. Emil is correct. Someone in our family must be able to laugh in times like these.” Karl frowned, then shook out the daily edition of the Mid-Mississippi and continued reading. Elsa redirected her attention to Maggie. “You must allow us to take you to a physician tomorrow.”

  Maggie shook her head fervently. “It’s only nervous tension. I don’t require a doctor.”

  “Nerves?” Emil scoffed. He flipped another page in his book and whistled. “If you ask me, I’d say you’re on your way out.”