Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (14 page)

“To the old lighthouse on the eastern bluff.”

“There’s no lighthouse on the island.”

“It’s supposed to be hidden behind the trees.”

Henry pulled on his beard. “Well now, I can’t say I’ve ever driven that far from the village at night.”

“If you could just get me close, I’ll look for it.”

It took fewer than twenty minutes for the carriage to cross the interior of the island. Henry stopped where Chase directed, even though it was only a guess. Chase took the lantern that Henry handed to him and began to walk along the road, looking for some sort of trail through the forest. As far as he could tell, everything was overgrown.

He hiked north, searching the trees with his lantern, but there didn’t seem to be any path. He stopped by a rock, looking back through the trees with the ray of light. The weeds seemed a bit lower at one point, as if someone had tracked through them recently. He stepped closer and saw a ribbon tied around a branch. The color was faded and bleached by the sun, the ends raveled, but he hoped it was some sort of marker.

Walking up a hill, he searched the trees until he spotted the walls of a gray stone house above him. And the tower.

He moved quickly now until he reached the doorway of the house partially hidden in the overgrowth. If the tower was still intact, perhaps he could see the stars from there.

A thick blanket of dust covered the floor and the furniture on the first floor, and in the dust, Chase saw footprints. He knelt down to examine them. They were much too small to be a man’s.

Perhaps the place
was
haunted.

He laughed at himself. A ghost wouldn’t leave footprints.

He followed the prints across the room to a writing desk. Rolling the top back, he found some sort of tablet inside. He picked it up and opened it.

On the first page was a pencil sketch, beautifully drawn. It was a picture of a woman looking out at the water, her long hair blowing in the wind. On the next page was a woman walking on the beach alone. Her long hair was loose again, trailing behind her. Above both women were dozens of stars.

He flipped the pages and saw more drawings of stars and several of the lighthouse. And multiple pictures of the same woman—sitting on a rock, riding a bicycle, running through the water with the hem of her gown bustled in her hands…. Whoever had drawn these captured both longing and beauty on paper, but the artist hadn’t signed her name—and he was fairly certain the artist was a woman.

He put the sketches back inside the desk.

What manner of woman would come to a lighthouse to draw?

An intriguing woman.

He climbed the steps to the tower, being careful to duck when he got close to the top. The clouds hid the stars tonight, but there was no glare from the village lights like there had been at Fort Holmes.

When the clouds went away, the view would be nothing short of spectacular.

* * * * *

Mama waited to bring her a tray of coffee and toast until the sun had been up for several hours. Elena propped herself up on her pillow and thanked her for the food. Parker and his driver had brought her home around three in the morning, long after her parents were in bed.

Mama was already dressed for the day, but she looked like she might need another cup of coffee. “Did you find Mr. Darrington?”

Elena leaned back against her pillows, a china cup with black coffee cradled in her hands. Warm air blew through the open window. “I tried.”

“I spent the evening searching for him, hoping for an introduction,” Mama said. “Martha Grunier pointed out Sarah Powell to me, but not her brother.”

Elena set her cup back on the tray and rubbed her sore feet. She’d looked for Mr. Darrington for the remainder of the dance as well, worried about meeting him and yet intrigued by how elusive he’d managed to be.

“I met Edward Powell,” she said, watching her mother’s face for her reaction.

Mama’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Powell has a very poor reputation.”

“I guessed as much.”

Mama scooted her chair closer, her voice urgent. “You must stay away from him.”

Elena nodded. Even with his wife beside him, Edward continued to flirt with other women during the night, not seeming to care in the least about his wife’s reputation or feelings. Some people in their circle might be okay with his indiscretions, but the Bissette family was not.

“Does Mr. Darrington have a poor reputation as well?” Her voice trembled.

Mama shook her head. “I would never ask you to marry someone like Mr. Powell.”

She studied her mother’s face again, and she believed her. Even though Mama was desperate for Elena to marry a wealthy man, she wouldn’t urge Elena to marry someone who would mistreat her. Her future husband would have a reputation for being honorable, but even her mother couldn’t guarantee that he would be faithful to her.

“Apparently Mr. Darrington took Gracie on a picnic yesterday.” Her mother sighed. “Elizabeth Frederick promised she’d share the man’s company.”

“You can’t be upset with her for trying to marry off her daughter too.”

“You are just as pretty as Gracie Frederick.” Mama examined her face. “Maybe more so.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of pretty women in Detroit as well, and yet Mr. Darrington has chosen not to marry.”

Her mother’s fingers curled around the arms of the chair. “We have to figure out what this Mr. Darrington is looking for in a wife.”

Elena sighed. What if he wanted the perfect hostess or a stern manager of the servants in his household? Things she was not.

She picked up her coffee again. After a night on Mackinac’s social stage, she was exhausted, but it was one thing to perform during an event like the ball. It was quite another to have to pretend in one’s home.

She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life trying to perform for her husband. It wasn’t fair to deceive any man into thinking she was someone else.

“The future Mrs. Darrington will have to be charming, for certain, and perhaps inquisitive like he is,” her mother said.

“I don’t know the first thing about inventing.”

Her mother sat back. “Or perhaps he doesn’t want a wife to be so inquisitive. Maybe he would want someone to support his work rather than partner with him in it.”

Elena sighed again.

Her mother patted her hands. “You’ll make an excellent wife to him either way.”

She wanted to bring honor to her husband’s name and not embarrass him. And she prayed she wouldn’t marry a man like Edward Powell, whose eyes wandered.

Her father peeked around the door. “Is my little girl awake?”

She saluted him with her cup of coffee. “I’m not a little girl.”

He stepped into her room. “You were quite the belle last night.”

“Those dances are exhausting.”

“They’re supposed to be exhilarating,” Mama said.

Papa sat on the side of her bed, his cane resting beside him. “Did you enjoy your time with Parker?”

She nodded.

Mama smoothed her hand over the bedcovers. “We were lamenting the fact that Mr. Darrington didn’t make an appearance last night.”

“Mr. Darrington?” She saw the twinkle in her father’s eyes. “He was there.”

Mama swiveled in her chair. “He was?”

“A fine gentleman, I must say.”

Mama brushed her hands over her skirt. “You met him?”

“Of course. We talked at length.”

“Arthur!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you introduce me…and Elena?”

“Well…Elena seemed busy dancing, and Mr. Darrington was equally as busy avoiding the dance floor.”

Elena watched Mama’s face, which was teetering between whether she should reprimand her husband for not introducing them or forgive him quickly so she could get the information she desired. Apparently she chose the second route.

“What was he like?” she asked, her voice as sweet as the fudge they sold down on Main Street.

Elena leaned forward, waiting for Papa’s answer. She didn’t want to be intrigued, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Mr. Darrington was a sordid man who kept picking his teeth and talking so much that the hotel manager had to evict him from the ball.”

“Papa—”

“And you should have seen those teeth. They were gigantic.”

Elena giggled. “I can’t marry a man with big teeth.”

He tapped the covers, his face as serious as his voice. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, Arthur,” her mother sighed. “What was he really like?”

He moved to a chair, crossing his legs quite leisurely. Apparently he was in no rush to tell his story. “I suppose he was as intelligent as most men. And a friendly sort.”

Her mother glanced at her. “Was he handsome?”

“If you like big teeth.” Papa laughed at Mama’s loud groan. “I have no idea what handsome looks like.”

“Was he tall?” Mama asked.

“He stood an inch or two above me.”

“You’re tall, Arthur.”

Papa puffed out his chest. “Do you consider me handsome as well?”

Mama rolled her eyes. “What color was his hair?”

“A brown color, I suppose.”

“A honey brown or a mousy brown?”

“Next time I will ask the photographer to take his picture.”

Elena met her father’s gaze. “Did he smile, Papa?”

“That he did. And quite often.”

She was relieved to hear it. She couldn’t stand the thought of marrying a man like Edward Powell, who didn’t smile.

Mama clapped her hands together. “You must invite Mr. Darrington over for dinner this week.”

Elena looked at her father, and he patted her hand. “I just might do that.”

“Right away.”

“Now, Deborah, we don’t want to rush him.”

Elena’s gaze wandered to the window. “Can I do something outside today?”

Mama shook her head. “Mr. Darrington might call.”

“Perhaps we can take a horse ride this afternoon,” Papa offered.

“Elena can’t be off riding when Mr. Darrington comes.”

She sank back against her pillows. “He’s not going to come visit me.”

“Maybe he will visit your father.”

That’s just what she needed. A suitor more intrigued with her father than with her.

She heard the bell ring for their front door.

Mama hopped out of her chair. “Who do you suppose that is?”

Elena looked at the clock. It was a quarter after ten. Mr. Darrington wouldn’t be calling. Or, at least, she hoped he wouldn’t be.

“It’s probably the ice delivery,” Papa offered, but her mother didn’t reply.

Footsteps traveled down the hallway, and then Jillian stepped into her room. “Miss Elena has an invitation,” she said as she held out the envelope in her hands. “The messenger is waiting for her reply.”

Her mother rushed to the door, taking the note, and then slid her thumb under the wax seal to open it. After she read the note, she tossed it onto the bed.

“Parker Randolph has invited you on a carriage ride around the island this morning.”

Elena watched Jillian’s face, and her friend looked like she was about to cry.

Elena picked up the invitation and skimmed the words. “He is inviting me along with several others.”

“You’ll have to tell him you can’t go,” her mother said.

Her gaze traveled back to the window, to the lake beyond. At least she could get some fresh air today. “Why not?”

“Because Mr. Darrington might call.”

She turned her head. “Papa?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, your mother is correct.”

“She is?”

“Mr. Darrington might call.” He paused. “But last night he told me that he especially enjoys exploring outside the village. With this kind of weather, you might have better luck in seeing him on a carriage ride than staying here.”

Mama’s eyes sparked. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “He might even join Parker’s party today.”

Mama clapped her hands. “Like he did for the picnic with Gracie Frederick.”

“That’s a splendid thought, Deborah.”

Mama pointed toward the envelope. “What time will they leave?”

Elena glanced at the invitation. “He said he could arrive here at eleven.”

“We must hurry, then.” Her mother looked toward Jillian. “Tell the messenger that Elena will be ready at eleven fifteen.”

Jillian nodded, but Elena could still see a trace of sadness in her eyes.

“Mama,” Elena said slowly, “might Jillian join me this morning?”

Her mother eyed the maid and then looked back at her. “Jillian is needed here.”

“With all that happened on the pier,” she started, “I just thought—if something happened to my hair again…,” she said slowly. “Jillian would be there to help me fix it.”

A gust of wind blew through the window as if to remind them of the dangers.

Her mother cocked her head, searching Elena’s face for her motive. Elena smiled in return. She just might need Jillian.

“There might not be room in the carriage,” her mother said.

“I’m sure Parker would make room. I heard Gracie Frederick always brings her personal maid with her on outings.”

Her mother considered this news for a moment. “Tell the messenger that Miss Elena and her companion will be joining Mr. Randolph.” She eyed the clock again. “At eleven thirty.”