Maggie's Journey (McKenna's Daughters) by Lena Dooley Nelson Read Free Book Online

parents had traveled west on make these covers? She'd never seen them on the beds on the second floor of the mansion. She picked up four or five of the quilts and set them aside. Faded clothing with tattered sleeves and worn places on the hems were folded neatly beneath them.
    Maggie lifted out the men's and women's clothing that smelled old and musty. Why did Mother keep all this? Without a doubt, she would never put on anything like this ever again.
    Just as Maggie was going to start putting the items back into the trunk, a stream of sunlight bounced off the corner of something white and hard. She pulled back the plaid flannel shirt covering it and revealed a small white chest.
    What's this? She lifted it out and set it on the floor. Made from painted wood, the lid had a carved floral design, and pale remnants of pink paint shadowed the blossoms. Faded now, this chest had to have been a thing of beauty when it was new. She wondered who made it. She'd never known her father to do any woodcarving, but he could have when he was younger. Maybe he created this beauty.
    She lifted the lid. The hinges squealed as if they hadn't been used for a long time. A soft knitted blanket, yellowed by time, spread across the top of whatever was in the chest.
    Maggie stared at the blanket. The thin yarn and tiny loops of the knitting made it appear to be for a baby, so it must have been hers. But Mother didn't knit. Neither did Aunt Georgia. So who knitted this? Her fingertips gently explored the texture, and a strange feeling tugged at her heart.
    She picked up the soft fabric and clasped it to her chest. Underneath was a tiny white dimity dress covered with pink embroidered roses. Mother occasionally worked on needlepoint, but not embroidery. Maybe her grandmother made the dress. Other dresses and gowns were packed together with a tiny sweater, cap, and booties. Maggie fingered each piece before she set it on the floor beside her. They looked almost new, as if they hadn't been worn much. Maybe Mother kept them for special occasions, but if so, what did she wear the rest of the time?
    At the very bottom of the trunk, she found a miniature portrait in an oval silver frame. Tarnish dimmed the glow of the metal but didn't obscure the intricate design of interwoven hearts all around the frame. With one hand, she dusted off the curved glass and turned the picture toward the sunlight.
    Maggie gasped. Staring back at her was a faded portrait of . . . herself. But that's impossible . The woman's face was the same heart shape as Maggie's. The woman's eyes held the intense expression that often stared back at Maggie from her own mirror. The same large eyes, the same pert nose, the same bowed mouth, and the same curls escaped from the woman's hairstyle, too. Who can this be? Why had Maggie never heard of someone in the family who looked just like her? A feeling of unease crept up her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
    She peered deep into the small chest and noticed a sheet of yellowed paper with writing on it lying flat on the bottom. She picked it up and turned it toward the weak sunlight.
September 19, 1867
I, Angus McKenna, do hereby give my daughter, Margaret Lenora, to Joshua and Florence Caine to adopt and raise as their own child. I promise not to ever try to contact Margaret Lenora.
Signed,
Angus McKenna
Joshua Caine
Florence Caine
Witnessed,
John Overton
Matthias Horton, MD
    The words leapt from the page and stabbed her bewildered heart like thin shards of broken crystal. Maggie stared at the note until everything ran together. Then the paper fluttered to the floor beside her, and shock leaked from her eyes, making hot trails down her cheeks.
    Maggie wasn't sure how long she sat on the dusty floor weeping. Her body ached, her eyes felt gritty, and she was sure her face was swollen and blotchy. When she glanced up, the shaft of weak sunlight had made its way across the attic, leaving her in shadows. What if Mother finds me