Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (17 page)

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Grunier replied. “There is nothing unusual about Miss Bissette’s reputation.”

“I do not care to indulge in gossip.”

“I am not asking you to,” the woman said. “Miss Bissette has never been anything but kind to our family.”

In that moment, Elena wanted to hug her.

“I’m still afraid I must decline,” the man replied.

A steward stepped onto the porch and called out that dinner was ready.

Tears filled her eyes as she moved away from Mr. Darrington, and she blinked them back. Her mother wanted her to marry a man who had no interest in even meeting her, a man who thought her reputation to be a poor one.

If she were fishing, this was one man she’d never want to catch.

* * * * *

Chase snuck out of the party immediately after dessert. He left his costume in a pile on the floor of his hotel room, changing into his old clothes. Then he grabbed the satchel to trek the mile or so across the island under the cloak of night. Henry was still at the governor’s mansion, waiting to drive Sarah and Edward home from the party, and he didn’t want to hire another driver to take him on this journey.

Above the trees, he could see the sliver of the moon. It would be too early to see what was on its surface, but the lighthouse—and the artist—drew him back. He wanted to go one more time before his parents arrived in the morning. He was leaving the island on Thursday.

His pulse raced as he approached the lighthouse again. There was something special about this place. Perhaps it was that no one else on the island—with the exception of the artist—seemed to know about it. Or it could be the contrast of its quietness so close to a busy village.

He ducked under the doorway, but before he walked up the stairs, he rolled back the top on the desk. The sketchbook was still there, and he opened it and scanned the pages with his lantern light. Nothing new had been added since his visit two days ago. And he felt an odd sense of disappointment that she hadn’t been here.

It might have been weeks or months since the artist was here last. She might have even left the island by now.

But if she had gone, then whose footprints had he seen in the dust?

He picked up the sketchbook and climbed the steps so he could look at them one more time before he went to Chicago.

The canvas of the sky over the lighthouse was a masterpiece. The clouds were gone, replaced by a host of stars and the sliver of a moon cradled in the sky. He took out the telescope and removed the tripod. With his foot, he tested the balcony that surrounded the lighthouse. It held steady. He stepped onto it, tentatively at first. It swayed a bit but held.

Almost three hundred years ago, Galileo was the first to see the moon with a telescope, but outside an observatory, there was nothing as powerful today as the telescope in his hands. Richard said he could see the contours of the moon.

Scientists knew of eight planets in their solar system along with twenty moons. Some day, if the public demanded it, perhaps they would have a telescope that could see beyond the one moon, but he would be satisfied if he could explore the one with his eyes.

He set the telescope on the tripod and pressed the cup to his eye. Without the city lights, he could see the reds and blues in the stars.

Even if Gracie and her friends weren’t interested, there would be people who wanted to see the stars and the moon.

Something scuffed below him. He glanced over the railing but didn’t see anything. There were no deer or coyote on the island. Perhaps it was a possum or raccoon.

He listened for a moment, but the sound was gone.

His eye back on the telescope, he marveled again at the expanse of the sky until he heard a loud
clang
. This time it was from inside the lighthouse.

Had the artist come back?

Stepping back into the dome, he picked up her sketchbook in the darkness. If so, he was looking forward to meeting her.

Elena stared at the open desk from the doorway. She always shut it when she left so the mice wouldn’t chew her sketches into small pieces for their nests. Mice couldn’t open a desktop…could they?

The door clanged behind her, and she jumped.

When she moved back toward the desk, she leaned down and looked for her sketchbook. It was gone.

Her lantern in her hand, she searched under the desk and on the shelves nearby. In the six years that she’d visited the lighthouse, she’d never seen another person here. But someone must have come and taken her sketches.

She collapsed on the stone wall behind her. The sketches were more than just pictures. They were the secrets of her heart drawn in pencil.

Why would someone steal her secrets?

She stepped away from the desk, rubbing the goose bumps on her arms. If only she could trust herself to think straight…

But it was long after midnight, and she was exhausted after the masquerade party, after hearing Mr. Darrington disparage her reputation and then avoid meeting her.

She sat down in a chair beside the desk.

Her family needed her to marry, but it would never happen if she couldn’t even get a man like this Mr. Darrington to meet her.

Her mother was frustrated, and Elena wondered if the news of their financial ruin had reached Mr. Darrington’s ears. Perhaps that was the real reason why he didn’t want to meet her.

In that case, she didn’t want to meet him either.

If only her mother wasn’t so intent on securing a partnership between them. Neither of them could force this man to propose to her.

When her family arrived home tonight, her mother had gone straight to her bedroom. Elena was tired as well, but the stars seemed to call to her as they rode home from the ball. More than anything, she wanted to escape to her safe place and fill herself with the beauty of God’s creation while she created along with Him.

At the moment, her safe place didn’t feel quite so safe.

She rushed to the bedroom and opened the trunk, pushing through the old clothes until she found the diary she’d discovered so long ago. At least the story of the lighthouse was still here.

Her thoughts wandered back to the desk.

She didn’t know if she would be able to obtain another sketchbook on the island, at least not secretly, to bring here. It didn’t make any sense for someone to take it. Her work wouldn’t be valuable to anyone else, but she felt closest to the Creator when she created. Now the sketchbook, her own creations, were gone.

But He was still here, even if she couldn’t draw. He was in the stars and the light and the lapping water below. Perhaps she didn’t need her sketchbook to experience Him and His presence.

Picking up her lantern, she began to climb the steps. With or without her pencils and paper, she needed to be close to Him tonight.

* * * * *

A surge of lantern light illuminated the tower, blinding Chase. He shielded his eyes against it.

“Who are you?” a woman demanded.

He peeked between his fingers to see the woman, but all he saw was her shadow. “Would you be so kind as to lower your lantern?”

Instead she lifted it higher. “As soon as you tell me who you are.”

He smiled. Most women would be terrified, finding an unknown man alone in the forest, but this lady acted as though she owned the lighthouse. Perhaps she did.

“A gentleman,” he replied.

The light still shone in his eyes. “Anyone can say he’s a gentleman.”

“If you put any stock in promises, I vow to you that I will remain a gentleman.” He blinked again. “If you lower your light.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ve told you I’m a gentleman,” he said. “But who are you?”

She took a step toward him. “Someone who wants her sketches back.”

He folded his arms, smiling. “You’re the artist.”

“I—I wouldn’t call myself an artist.”

He leaned back against the window as his eyes started to adjust to the light, but he could still only see the outline of a woman.

“You have a good eye for art,” he said. “And a good hand.”

She lowered her lantern several inches. “How would you know?”

He shrugged. “Good art makes the beholder feel something. Come alive, in a sense. Your pictures are filled with emotion.”

As his eyes focused, he saw the almond-colored hair on the young woman in front of him. It was swept back in a long braid instead of hidden under a hat like most of the women in his circle. He doubted that she was yet twenty, and she was quite attractive at that. She wore a calico work dress with a big gash across the hem and a simple gold locket around her neck in the shape of a heart. He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t let Sarah burn his old trousers and ink-stained shirt.

Perhaps she was a maid to one of Mackinac’s families—her confidence and speech were certainly influenced well. Or maybe she was educated, working as a governess to a family who couldn’t pay her well.

Women like Gracie Frederick would be appalled at the sight of this woman’s old dress, not to mention his own worn clothes. The very thought made him smile. It was easy to feign an aura of attractiveness when one had a thousand dollars and a magician in Paris who mastered in illusions. A certain confidence and even beauty emanated from this woman in spite of her attire.

Yes, she was quite beautiful.

“Why are you smiling?” she demanded.

“Was I smiling?”

“If you are mocking me, Mr.—”

“I can assure you, there is only pleasure in my smile.”

Instead of returning the sentiment, she held out her hand. “I’d like my sketches back.”

“What sketches?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate your playing games with me. I know you have my book.”

“The word
sketches
sounds so elementary.” He tapped his fingers on the railing. “I don’t know much about sketching, but I found some beautiful artwork in a book downstairs.”

She hesitated, the accusations in her voice softening. “Do you still have it?”

“Certainly,” he said, retrieving the book from his satchel with his free hand. When he handed it to her, she clutched it to her chest.

“Thank you,” she said, and then her eyes traveled to his side. “What are you carrying?”

He tightened his grip on the copper in his fingers, thinking quickly about how to answer. He should make up a story about the instrument, saying it was some sort of eyepiece or compass. Or some sort of weather instrument, even. Perhaps she wouldn’t know the difference.

And yet, he had seen a glimpse into the heart of this woman through her drawings. He might be crazy, but he felt like he could trust her with this secret. At least, he wanted to trust her. He didn’t have to tell her about the importance of its power or that he planned to invest in it. Only that he could see the stars like the astronomers did in observatories.

He held up his hand. “It’s a telescope.”

Her gaze remained on the instrument, studying it. “What can you see with it?”

He could hear the glimmer of excitement in her tone even as she tried to keep her voice calm.

“I’m told you can see the ridges on the moon and what looks like a giant lake or ocean.”

She tipped her head, studying him now instead of the instrument, as though she wasn’t certain she should believe him.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“I’ve been accused of many things in my life, but I can’t remember anyone ever calling me a liar.”

“Can I—” She pointed at the telescope. “Can I look through it?”

He shifted the instrument to his other hand. He didn’t want anyone else to use it, not until he and Richard secured the deal with Nelson. Especially not a woman he didn’t know. She could be the daughter of a competitor—or the wife of one.

“Do you live on the island?”

She cocked her head again. “Does it matter?”

“I’d like to know who you are.”

She pulled her lantern closer to her. “I’m a wanderer.”

Her wide eyes watched him, waiting for his response. He supposed, if he were honest, he was a bit of a wanderer too.

“And I love looking at the stars.”

“Well, we have that in common, at least.” If she was telling the truth.

He didn’t want to travel down the road of paranoia like many of his investor friends had, yet it seemed strange for her to show up right after him and ask to use his telescope.

“What is it about the stars that you love so much?” he asked.

Her gaze traveled to the window. “The reminder that God loves beauty and He displays it for us every night.” She took a long breath. “So many people spend their evenings under a roof, never even looking up at the masterpiece He’s created. Yet He doesn’t hide the stars for long. They continue to blink at us, even when we aren’t looking.”

She looked back at him. “It reminds me that God is always there, beckoning us with His light and the cry of our heart, but too often we’re too busy to stop and watch for him.”

Chase stared at the girl. Who talked about God like this? His parents sometimes did, but none of the men or women he met at the society functions ever did. Even the church people he knew weren’t this enthusiastic about God or His creation.