Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (21 page)

Of course, he was terrible at taking these breaks now. He’d been practically forced to go to the beach with Sarah and her friends, and the dog race wasn’t a bit of fun until the dogs went berserk. Then he was amused.

The most enjoyment he’d had on the island wasn’t advertised on the hotel billboard. It was the pleasure of Andy’s company last night, of being able to enjoy the sky and the woman at his side.

Some men were frightened by a beautiful woman, but beauty didn’t scare him. It was the confidence in a woman that intimidated— and intrigued—him. Not confidence in pursuing him—plenty of women did that—but confidence in her own opinions and in being honest with him.

So few of the women he knew could actually communicate what they thought or even felt. Instead, it seemed to him they were constantly looking for approval from their parents or husband or circle of friends. As long as their words met with approval, they would speak.

Andy, however, didn’t need him or anyone else to approve her words last night.

Of course, she didn’t know who he was, but even if she did, he felt she would still speak her mind. It was refreshing to hear a woman speak what she thought, and it was refreshing not to have a woman pretending to be someone she was not in order to catch him.

“I found it,” his father said as he handed over the paperwork from Mr. Marconi.

Chase took the papers, and they began to review them together.

Even as they worked, he couldn’t help but wonder—what would Andy think?

* * * * *

Elena watched Parker from the upper window as he tucked an envelope under the cushion on a veranda chair. How long had he been sending letters to Jillian? She smiled and rushed down the stairs to open the door before he knocked.

He leaned back against the door frame. “How are you, Lanie?”

“Splendid. And you?”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly for a moment, and she directed him into the drawing room.

“Would you like some tea?”

“I suppose.”

She rang a bell, and Claude hurried into the room.

“Mr. Randolph would like some tea.” Elena paused. “Could you find Jillian and send her in, as well?”

“Certainly,” Claude said.

“What brings you to Castle Pines today?” she asked.

“I wanted to visit you.”

“But we just visited last night.”

“I suppose we did.” He picked at his trousers.

“You need an occupation, Parker.”

He looked up at her. “The only occupation I’m good at is entertaining people.”

She didn’t smile. Parker was supposed to be learning his father’s business, but Mr. Randolph seemed just as reluctant to give Parker work as Parker was to take it.

“You are good at plenty of things,” she insisted.

Before he probed further, Jillian walked into the room, glancing uncomfortably at Elena and Parker.

Elena stood up. “Would you be so kind as to keep Mr. Randolph company for a few moments while I—while I fetch something to eat with our tea?”

“I don’t think—” Jillian began.

Elena leaned toward Jillian, her voice a mock whisper so Parker could hear. “That way you can return his letter in person.”

Both Parker’s and Jillian’s faces colored red.

Elena lingered for a moment at the archway, watching her two friends. Jillian sat down across from Parker, fidgeting with her hands.

“How are you today, Mr. Randolph?”

“Fine. And you?”

They both reached for the teapot at the same time, their hands colliding, and Jillian pulled away.

“Let me get it,” she heard Parker say.

Elena slipped into the kitchen, opening cabinet after cabinet until she found a box of almond biscotti. With great precision, she arranged them on a plate. She was in no hurry to return to the drawing room.

About twenty minutes later, Mama stopped her in the hallway with a basket full from the village. Mama eyed the dish of biscotti in Elena’s hands. “Why exactly is Parker Randolph sipping tea with Jillian in the parlor?”

Elena glanced toward the parlor door and then looked back at her mother. “I asked her to wait with him while I retrieved the biscotti.”

“Retrieved the biscotti?” Mama’s voice began to climb. “That’s Jillian’s job. You are supposed to entertain our guests.”

“Yes,” Elena whispered, “but I was tired of talking with him. You know how Parker can be, always making a joke out of everything.”

“So you decided to get Jillian?”

“Only for a few minutes—” She scooted around her mother, moving toward the drawing room. “I think they’ve been in there long enough, don’t you?”

“Elena,” her mother called, stopping her. She was smiling now. “Guess who I just met in the village?”

January 2, 1813

Nickolas Westmount visited us late last night, dressed in his black cloak and carrying a basket with a half loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and smoked pork.

I don’t know what he expected to find, but he seemed surprised that the children and I were still at the lighthouse. Or maybe he was just surprised we were alive. He offered Thomas what was left of his meal, and my son devoured the food while Nickolas hovered by the door.

“Magdelaine.” He said my name twice, as if he were checking to see if I was an apparition. “What are you doing here alone?”

When I told him that Jonah was gone, that he’d disappeared three months ago and never returned, he didn’t display one bit of surprise.

I asked Nickolas if he knew where Jonah was. I asked him if he’d seen Jonah, if he knew whether Jonah was still alive.

Nickolas shook his head, evading every one of my questions.

Some people are scared of me because of the Indian blood in my veins, but neither Nickolas nor his wife ever seemed frightened of me. Perhaps he is worried now about what will happen if I find out the truth.

Perhaps he is right to be worried.

Nickolas said he would be back again soon with more bread and some jam. I thanked him for it.

When Elena stepped into the dark hallway that night, as quietly as she could, her father opened his door. He held a candle in one hand and his cane in the other, but instead of his nightclothes, he was dressed in his waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. Perhaps he was relieved that she was finally aware of his secret. Their secret. He no longer had to sneak around or hide from her.

Her father yawned as he eyed her worn riding dress. “Are you going out again?”

“I am.”

“But you just went last night…and the sky isn’t clear this evening.”

“The rain has stopped, Papa.” She didn’t want to sound desperate, but anxiety laced her voice. “I want to get away from the house.”

“But you’ve barely slept today.”

She leaned back against the paneled wall. “It was a rather difficult day to sleep.”

“Ahh—all the noise.”

She nodded. Mama talked for an hour after she returned from her shopping trip into town. Not only had Mama finally been introduced to Chester Darrington—by far the most handsome man on the island and probably in all of Detroit—but Mrs. Darrington had agreed to visit their house for tea. In anticipation of the visit, Mama had sent the household staff into a frenzy of dusting, washing, and scrubbing of both walls and floors.

Mr. Darrington wasn’t only handsome, he was refined and took good care of his mother. Any man who cared for his mother, Mama had informed Elena, would care well for his wife.

But they must hurry, Mama said, for Mr. Darrington was preparing to leave the island on business. They would have Mrs. Darrington here for tea and then find a way for Elena to meet her son before he left. If Mrs. Darrington liked Elena—and according to Mama, how could she not?—she would secure an invitation for her to meet her son.

Elena was sent off to rest before lunch, but no one bothered to curb the amount of noise in their house. Doors banged below her, and furniture was scraped across the floor. Servants were talking loudly, and her mother’s voice trumped them all. Even as she tried to sleep, the smell of lemon polish drifted into Elena’s room along with the noise. One would have thought President Cleveland and his young wife were coming to visit them for the week.

She’d leaned back against her pillows and tried to read, but her mind kept traveling back to her refuge and the stranger who had wandered into her space. It almost felt like she’d dreamed of him last night, but it hadn’t been a dream. She remembered well the brief touch of his hand when she had leaned down to look through his magnificent telescope.

In the midst of her unsuccessful attempts to rest, the doorbell rang below her. Her mother had rushed up the steps and burst into her room, Mrs. Darrington’s reply flitting about in her hands. Mrs. Darrington would join them for tea on Tuesday. Only three days from now.

It would be a long three days.

“If the rain has stopped—” her father hesitated, blinking in the candlelight. “Why don’t we go for a walk instead?”

She studied her father for a moment. It had never occurred to her that perhaps her father enjoyed escaping from their house as much as she did. He might have allowed her to sneak away to the lighthouse in secret because it gave him a good reason to leave too.

“We could walk down to the lake,” he offered.

As much as she wanted to see Chase, Papa would be hurt if she refused to go with him, especially since he didn’t know she was planning to meet someone at the lighthouse. She would never willingly wound him.

She looped her hand through his arm. “I would love to walk down to the lake with you.”

Papa moved slowly, relying on his cane as he limped beside her, and the two of them walked away from the city lights, along the coastline that alternated between rocks, pebbles, and sand.

A boat was anchored between their island and Bois Blanc, and she watched it for a moment. What would it be like to climb aboard one of those and sail away? And what would it be like to steal away with a man like Chase?

Her cheeks grew warm in the darkness, and she was glad that her father seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t know what she was thinking, nor would he ever. She could never leave her family like that, but still she wondered.

They walked closer to the shoreline and she let go of his arm, dipping her hand into the coolness of the lake. The water trickled off her fingers, and it seemed to awaken her heart to the realness of God’s creation, the substance of it. It was so different than the falsities that threaded through her life.

She wanted to jump into the water and splash it with her feet. She wanted to twirl around like a girl and feel the wind in her hair. She wanted to draw.

And not just any picture. Her fingers suddenly itched for her pencils, her paper. She wanted to draw Chase while she remembered what he looked like. She didn’t want to forget a single detail of his face or the warmth in his eyes.

“I have some bad news,” Papa said.

Her hands trembled, and she clasped her hands behind her back. “What is it?”

“Your mother—she doesn’t know yet.”

When he paused, she prompted him to continue. “You got a telegram today.”

He looked out at the dark waters again. “Last fall, when my partnership with Oliver Randolph crumbled, I had to take out a loan from the bank.”

She nodded. A lot of people had to secure loans after the panic last year.

“I thought the business would recover quickly, but we’re not even close to recovering. If I don’t pay the loan back by August—” He paused. “The bank will be taking the factory first and then our home.”

For a moment, Elena felt as if her legs might fail. She’d known they might lose their cottage on Mackinac, but she never thought they would lose their home in Chicago. She didn’t dare ask where they would live, for fear of what the answer would be.

“But you have other bonds and stocks,” she persisted.

“Most of them are almost worthless, and the ones that are still good—it isn’t enough to cover the loan.”

She sighed. With their family finances in such a dreadful state, the pressure to marry someone like Mr. Darrington would only increase now. It wouldn’t matter if she wanted to marry another man for love.

“I need to tell your mother soon.”

She nodded.

“I will do everything I can to save our home,” he assured her.

She didn’t tell him, but she would do everything she could to help save it as well.

The rain started to fall again, splashing on her nose and soaking her dress.

Papa opened their umbrella. “We’d better hurry home.”

She held the umbrella for them in one hand and lifted her skirts with the other as they hurried as quickly as they could back up the bluff. As soon as they stepped under the roof of the patio, her father took the umbrella from her, shook it off, and left it by the door. She collapsed onto one of the patio chairs.

Papa opened the door into their house and then tapped on the floor with his cane. “It’s time for bed, Elena.”

The rain pattered on the rooftop as the fresh air drifted through the open windows. She didn’t want to move. “I think I’m going to sit here for just a few minutes longer.”