Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (22 page)

“You need to get some sleep before church.”

“Just a few minutes, Papa.”

Her father kissed her wet hair and then stepped back, looking at her. “Promise me you won’t sneak away tonight.”

She thought for a long moment and then kissed his cheek. “I promise, Papa.”

* * * * *

Andy wasn’t at the lighthouse. Chase called her name several times when he stepped into the parlor, not wanting to frighten her, and then he jogged up the circular steps to see if she was waiting upstairs.

The clouds hid the stars tonight, but he’d still hoped she might want to see him again, as much as he’d wanted to see her.

There might have been a reason for her to be detained. Or perhaps she never intended to come back. She might have run away quickly from the lighthouse last night, away from him.

He leaned back against a post and clutched his hat in his hands. He wasn’t used to women running away.

His parents had gone to bed early after their long journey, and Sarah and Edward were out dining at the home of another potential buyer for Edward’s newly acquired land. They hadn’t bothered to invite Chase this time. He would wait for a bit tonight, just in case Andy came later. He’d hoped she had enjoyed his company enough to return—or, at the very least, enjoyed his telescope.

He twisted his hat in his hands. As the minutes passed, he grew more anxious. He couldn’t bear sitting here alone another moment, waiting for her.

Standing, he moved downstairs into the lighthouse keeper’s old residence and opened the desktop to look at Andy’s artwork, but her drawings weren’t there. He smiled to himself. Andy might pretend to be strong, but she was still a little scared—not of him taking her work as much as of him exploring the emotion in them. Which was exactly what he intended to do.

He stepped back from the desk and looked under the braided rug and the davenport, but her book wasn’t in either of those places, so he pulled out the drawers on the sideboard and then got on his knees to look underneath it, as well.

Perhaps Andy had taken her sketches with her if she’d come back earlier tonight, but if she hadn’t…

Surveying the room, he tried to determine where else she could have hidden the sketchbook, but the options were few in the parlor. He moved on to the bedroom, looking under the bed and then opening the dresser drawers. There were clothes inside the dresser—women’s things—and he felt strange rummaging through the clothing of a woman who’d probably died long ago.

When he stepped back, he looked around the room again. Besides the double bed in the room, there was a crib and a trundle. He’d imagined a lightkeeper would live in solitude, but this man must have had a family with him. What kind of family lived out here, on the edge of the island? And how had Andy discovered their home?

He hung his lantern in the middle of the room and sat down on the side of what was probably once a straw mattress. There was no straw or any stuffing left over the bands. He hadn’t planned on coming back to the lighthouse after tonight, but now he couldn’t imagine not returning.

It seemed crazy, but he wanted to learn more about Andy. Not just her real name or who she worked for on the island, but why she drew herself on the beach, looking out at the lake—like she wanted to be set free.

Walking to the corner, he opened a trunk. Inside was a quilt, and he riffled through the clothing under it to look for her drawings. There was some sort of book at the bottom, though it felt much too small to be Andy’s book. He pulled it up, and in his hands was a brown booklet not much wider than an envelope, with leather cracked along the edges.

Chase held it up to the light and flipped through the handwriting on its pages. It looked like some sort of journal.

He read the first line.

Where are you, Jonah?

Chase lowered the book to his side and sat down on the bed frame, brushing his hands over the cover. Someone had written this plea more than eighty years ago, but even so, he felt strange reading it, like he was invading someone else’s story.

But someone had left the journal here. Perhaps whoever wrote their story wanted it to be read.

He moved to the parlor with his lantern and opened the book again. The pages were filled with writing, but some of the words were smeared, as if tears had mixed with the ink.

He read the first entry. And then the second and third.

The lighthouse keeper’s wife was the writer, he assumed, and she was searching for her husband.

When Chase looked around the parlor again, he could almost imagine this Jonah and his family in the evening hours, singing or reading together around the fireplace before he disappeared. Eighty years ago Jonah’s wife had still been here, worrying and wondering what happened to her husband. Had her children been playing while she wrote this journal? Or were they sleeping in their beds? The lighthouse was now a beautiful refuge, but it must have felt like a prison to her at the time. Or maybe more like a fortress, protecting her from whatever had happened to her husband.

He slowly closed the dairy. He didn’t want to read anymore without—

The very thought startled him. He didn’t want to read anymore without Andy.

She might have already read the diary, but if she hadn’t, he wanted to share it with her, like he had shared the telescope and the wonders in the sky.

He started to tuck the journal into his satchel but took it back out. If the writer of the diary had left her story behind, it needed to stay in this place. He would leave it here, and perhaps if Andy decided to return, they could read the story together.

He took his watch out of his pocket and checked the time. It was almost two. He sighed. Andy wasn’t coming tonight, and he was supposed to meet his family for breakfast before church in the morning.

He put the diary back in the trunk and covered it with the clothes and the quilt.

When he stood up, he heard something brush against the door. He turned his head sharply toward the parlor. Perhaps Andy had come to see him—or at least to visit the lighthouse. He didn’t want to startle her, but surely she’d seen his light through the window.

Something moved against the door again, but no one opened it.

Why wasn’t she coming into the house?

Perhaps someone else was coming to visit the lighthouse, or maybe Andy was debating whether she should come inside.

He moved quickly to the door, afraid she would leave, and threw it open. His gaze dropped quickly to the animal on the forest floor. The dog who’d befriended him in town.

The dog looked up at him, his tongue hanging out.

Chase may have been surprised, but this animal wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“You’re following me, aren’t you?” Chase asked.

The dog replied with a short bark.

Chase stepped outside and pulled the door shut. “Well, you might as well follow me home.”

He picked up his lantern and slipped back into the darkness with the dog at his side. And the mysteries of two women on his mind.

“There he is,” Mama said, nodding ever so slightly toward the front of the sanctuary.

Elena stretched her neck, looking over the rows of people streaming into the pews. She didn’t know which man her mother was referring to, but she didn’t dare tell her this for fear that she would point to him. Most of the attendees were facing the front of the sanctuary, but someone would certainly see her mother pointing and wonder.

The Bissette family had arrived early at church this morning, securing a seat on one of the back pews so they would have a view of most of the sanctuary—and the Darrington family—but Elena no longer wanted to meet this man, not even out of curiosity.

Had Chase gone to the lighthouse last night?

She’d awakened on the patio this morning, regretting her promise to her father about not going to the lighthouse. Now she hoped—prayed—that if Chase went last night, he wouldn’t give up. She wanted him to come again.

Fourteen men and women made up the choir, and as they moved onto the platform, the church quieted. Elena scanned the twenty or so rows in front of where she sat, searching for Sarah Powell’s auburn hair to see if her brother was nearby. But she couldn’t find Mrs. Powell in the crowded rows. Perhaps the woman was sitting behind her.

If only one were allowed to turn around in church.

As the organ began playing “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” and the choir sang, the floor trembled under her feet. It was still raining when they left the house this morning, a light rain that would refresh the island roads and awaken the gardens. As her lips joined the others in their singing, her gaze wandered to the stained-glass window beside her. The image of a sheep with a lion was dimmed by the gray sky. After the rain finished, perhaps the skies would clear again.

The choir began a slow hymn, worshipping God in their own way. Her eyelids grew heavy from the music. Some people found God in church, but she didn’t feel Him here, not like she did when she was at the lighthouse. It was as if His Spirit breathed in and out of nature, like He spoke directly through His creation to her.

She scooted up in her seat, tapping her shoes together to keep herself from drifting to sleep.

The minister read from his notes, his voice as soothing as the water lapping against Mackinac’s shores. The man next to her yawned. She wanted to stand up and yell. Instead of being crowded into this warm building, listening to someone drone on and on about religious matters, they should be outside, arm in arm, shouting His praises together.

God was wild beyond their imaginations, able to breathe out wind and storms and fire, able to mold planets and carve valleys. She couldn’t imagine God in the box of a church building, not when He was so big. How could one confine the mighty Creator?

In this building, men talked about God and sang about Him, but she didn’t feel the marvel in it, the awe. Not like when she gazed up at the stars and saw God’s wondrous handiwork in them, as if He took much pleasure in His design.

Her eyes closed again, the battle to fight it an impossible one.

Why did their church inspire sleep instead of celebration?

Her mother elbowed her, and her eyes flashed open. She sat a little straighter, trying to listen out of respect as the minister spoke about seeking God.
She
knew where to find Him. He was all around them. Didn’t the minister know He was so much bigger than this?

She continued watching the rain through the window, trying to stay awake, and then her eyes roamed the backs of the men in front of her. Which one of these men was the great Mr. Darrington? Did he understand the power and beauty of God, or was religion a once-a-week obligation to him?

His hurtful rejection at the masquerade party replayed in her mind. Had Mr. Darrington’s sister told him that Elena had been flirting with her husband? If not, Elena didn’t know what she could have done to make him disregard her so. Perhaps it was better that she didn’t know. No society man could ever contain her anyway, just like none of them could contain her Maker. There was too much to do and see outside the boxes her society liked to create to keep their life orderly and controlled.

Was Chase worshipping God this morning? Surely the soldiers had some sort of church service at the fort. Perhaps it was outdoors, overlooking the water. Even in the rain, she wished she could worship with them.

The service ended with a long prayer, and Elena began to doze off again.

“Stand up now,” her mother coaxed when the prayer finished. “I’m going to introduce you to the Darringtons.”

Elena glanced at the cluster of people crowded into the aisle, most of them standing and talking instead of streaming out for Sunday dinner.

Parker Randolph slid into the row behind her. “Remember when we used to go puddle-jumping on days like this?”

She smiled. Those wonderful days of playing with Parker were long before they had chaperones and social calendars. Until they were ten or so, they were allowed to be children, playing in the backyard while their mothers visited.

“I remember getting into trouble for puddle-jumping with you,” she said.

He cocked his head. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” she whispered. Even with her muddied skirts and her mother’s reprimands, those days had been some of the most fun of her life.

Parker eyed the growing cluster in front of them. “Apparently, no one wants to leave church this morning.”

“Perhaps because of the rain.”

“Most likely the clamor over the arrival of you-know-who.”

She watched the younger women and their parents huddled together around the Darrington family like hens in a roost.

She sighed. “I wonder if you-know-who might enjoy jumping in puddles too.”

Parker laughed. “I doubt it. The man is nice enough, but he seems more reserved than a member of the clergy.”

She groaned inwardly. She didn’t want to marry a man who knew how to talk about God but didn’t know how to enjoy all He’d created.

“Did you and Jillian have a pleasant talk yesterday?” she whispered.

His laugh faded away. “We have to be careful. If my parents found out—”