Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan

Summerside Press
^™

Minneapolis, MN 55378

www.summersidepress.com

Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan

© 2012 by Melanie Dobson

ISBN 978-1-60936-640-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Scripture references are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (
KJV
).

The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

Cover Design by Studio Gearbox|
www.studiogearbox.com

Interior design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group |
www.mullerhaus.net

Photos of Mackinac Island provided by Melanie Dobson.

Summerside Press
^™
is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.

Printed in USA.

To my beautiful Haitian sisters

God has not forgotten you and neither have we.

T
HE RESORT ISLAND NESTLED INTO A STRAIT BELOW
M
ICHIGAN
’
S
U
PPER
Peninsula is known by many names.
Fairy Island. Land of the Giant Turtle.
And my personal favorite—
The island that time forgot.

From the moment I stepped off the ferry and heard the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves along the island’s historic Main Street, I was transported back a good hundred years. Pronounced “Mackinaw” like Mackinaw City (but spelled differently so the post office could differentiate between the island and town), Mackinac Island is a place that time did indeed seem to forget.

Even today, Mackinac Island reflects an era when the wealthy and their servants escaped the heat and grime in cities like Chicago and Detroit to enjoy natural spring waters and cool lake breezes. It was an era when women wore beaded gowns and plumed hats and twirled parasols in their gloved hands, when people were just beginning to talk about horseless carriages as they rode in their own horse-drawn carriages to an elaborate ball at the Grand Hotel or to an afternoon tea at what their neighbors would call a “cottage”—a residence that more closely resembled a castle. A nineteenth-century writer once said that the island was so healthy, a person had to leave Mackinac to die.

Mackinac Island hasn’t swung far beyond the era of the Victorians, and both residents and visitors alike savor the past. Its diverse history goes back hundreds of years, when Native Americans considered the island the home of their Great Spirit and local tribes gathered there each summer to fish. In the 1700s, lucrative French and American fur companies made their homes and millions of dollars on Mackinac until the British took over during the War of 1812 and held the island for three years before returning it to the United States.

Then, in 1819, the first steamship of tourists arrived.

The main island trade, locals like to say, has evolved over the years from fur (and fishing) to fudge. The tradition of making fudge on Mackinac began after the Civil War, and more than ten thousand pounds are now made on the island each year, with flavors such as chocolate macadamia, rocky road, vanilla pecan, and raspberry truffle.

While almost a million visitors converge on Mackinac for six months of the year, only about five hundred people call the island home during the winter, when the only transportation to the mainland is by small plane or snowmobile ride along the Ice Bridge—a route across the frozen lake marked by discarded Christmas trees.

Horseless carriages are still banned on Mackinac Island, but there are seventy miles of roads and trails to explore by bicycle, carriage, foot, or by renting one of the island’s six hundred horses. Mackinac is filled with natural wonder—forested hills, bluffs that climb three hundred feet above the shore, pebbly beaches, towering rock spires, an arched rock perched high above the lake, and hidden caves. The country’s second national park was established on half the island in 1875 (Yellowstone was the first). There are more than a hundred varieties of lilacs on the island, and locals say their scent overpowers the smell of horses when summer dawns.

The historic Grand Hotel is just as grand today as it was when visitors came for weeks or even months at a time to hear the hotel’s renowned orchestra play on the world’s longest summer porch. More than a hundred years later, it remains the world’s longest summer porch.

Let’s go together, shall we, to explore the beauty and wonder of Mackinac.

The island forgotten by time.

—Melanie Dobson

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

G
ALILEO
G
ALILEI

November 6, 1812

Where are you, Jonah?

Four days I’ve prayed day and night for your return. Four days I’ve listened for your whistle outside our windows, for the sound of your footsteps as you walk through the door. But everything has been quiet, terribly so.

The children and I, we haven’t left the lighthouse. And we won’t, not until I find out what’s happened to you. I burn the lamp at night for you, hoping you will see it and return in the darkness.

If only I knew where you went.

If only I knew when you would come home.

Please God.

Please send my husband home.

June 1894

Wind gusted over the bow of the
Manitou
and whistled under the canopy of her deck. Below the deck, a pipe organ entertained those women who wouldn’t think of mussing their hair or wrinkling their beaded gowns as the steamer maneuvered through the Straits of Mackinac. The deck was crowded with men smoking cigars and talking about whether their fine country would recover from the utter failure of the economy.

Elena Bissette wasn’t talking with the men. She stood against the railing and clung to the organza band that encircled her new hat, trying to keep it from drowning in the choppy waters that marked the juncture of Lakes Michigan and Huron. Strands of light brown hair tangled around her face, and she tried unsuccessfully to secure them behind her ears with her gloved fingers. The breeze tugged at her hair like a child wanting to play, but she couldn’t join in. Not until she was alone.

Jillian had put up Elena’s hair an hour ago, pinning it neatly into an elegant French twist. Her hair would be a disaster by the time they reached Mackinac Island—and so would her mother, once she saw Elena’s hair. When Mama emerged onto the deck, Elena knew exactly what she would say.

Elena Ingrid Bissette.
Her mother’s fists would ball up against her wide hips.
You’re not supposed to be outside in the wind. You’re supposed to be in the stateroom until our arrival, waiting with your father and me.

The admonitions raged louder in Elena’s mind, drowning out the roar of the wind and waves.

What if he saw you like this, Elena? What would he do?

Mama would snap her fingers
. He’d move on to the next girl. Just like that. And there will be plenty of young ladies on Mackinac this summer, plenty of pretty girls.

Tears would follow in perfect dramatic time, just a few of them to inspire the necessary dose of guilt. Then her mother would lean even closer.

Are you trying to ruin what’s left of our lives?

Elena laughed in spite of herself. As if tangled hair could ruin the Bissette family name.

She batted the hair out of her eyes, trying to get a view of the island. Elena wasn’t trying to ruin anyone’s life—her mother was perfectly capable of doing that on her own.

Nor did she care what
he
thought of her, not one bit. In fact, she almost wanted him to see her like this, with disheveled hair and tangled pink ribbons. Then they wouldn’t have to waste their time on all the calling and courting. Once he got to know her, she was certain he wouldn’t propose.