Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (9 page)

He opened the satchel, and the copper barrel glistened in the lantern light. He lifted the cylinder carefully out of the linen that cushioned it. A man by the name of Nelson Reese had spent his entire inheritance to develop this telescope. Chase would do everything in his power to keep it safe.

Many of his colleagues were investing in the giant refracting telescopes to be housed in domes for scientific use. It was a wise investment, Chase believed, to put money into the study of astronomy, but he wanted to invest in a telescope that wasn’t used by science. He wanted to sell a telescope to people of all incomes who wanted to view the wonders of the universe from their front porch.

To his knowledge, no one except a scientist inside a dome had ever used such a powerful telescope as the one in his hands. The only difference was, the scientist had to wait for the right weather conditions to watch the stars from the observatory. Reese’s telescope collapsed to eight inches, so instead of waiting for the right weather conditions, one could easily transport it to where they could be found.

Chase set the lantern behind a tree to keep the flame burning without being distracted by its light. Above him, the entire galaxy seemed to serenade him like a majestic choir above the earth. He wished he could see the full moon as well, but tonight it was scaled back to a sliver. In a week or two, he would be able to see it in its fullness.

He took a tripod from his satchel and secured it on the grass. Then he removed the lens cap of the telescope and pushed out the three draws, extending it to twenty-four inches, before he secured it on the tripod and slid away the covering that protected the eyecup.

Dipping his head back, he looked through the telescope for the first time, and his heart leaped. The stars appeared almost life-size, and he could see dozens more of them through the telescope than with his naked eye. He knew this portable telescope was only a link to what was to come, but it was an important link. Photographers like Andrew Common and John Draper had taken beautiful pictures of the heavens, but he had never seen anything as spectacular as this.

A breeze rippled over the hill as he watched the stars. In time, students and scientists alike would learn more about the stars and planets. They would find out if there was life in the skies beyond the earth. If the men and women in Matthew Frederick’s generation persisted, perhaps they would even develop some sort of flying machine that would take them high into the worlds above them. The possibilities were endless if one only escaped the frivolous distractions of life and imagined what could be.

Chase didn’t know how long he stood on the hill, gazing at the lights stretched out above him, but he was mesmerized by the power of the instrument in his hands. He would wait a few days or even weeks longer, if he must, to test out the telescope when the moon returned to its fullness, to see what only a few scientists had been able to see and perhaps even more. If he and Richard could find a way to make many more of these, if they could distribute them to the masses around their country and Europe, he was almost certain they would sell.

Who wouldn’t want to see the wonders of God’s creation?

November 21, 1812

The wind blows harder now. I am trying to keep the lantern lit for the passing ships, but it won’t be long before ice covers the strait. Then no one will pass this way until spring.

Oh, Jonah, where are you? Why do you not come home?

I can’t stop my mind from wondering what might have happened if Thomas and I hadn’t gone to fetch water that morning. What if we hadn’t stopped to collect butternuts to roast? What if we had hurried home instead of lingering to enjoy autumn’s bounty?

When we finally opened the front door, excited to show you our find, you weren’t here. Only Molly was in the lighthouse, asleep in the crib you made for her.

If it weren’t urgent, you never would have left Molly on her own. You would have taken her with you, wherever you went.

Why didn’t you leave me a letter? Why didn’t you ring the bell to call me home? If you needed help, I would have come running to you.

I never should have stayed out for so long.

With her boots clutched in one hand, Elena cracked open her bedroom door with the other. Across the dark corridor, she looked at the hallway door that separated her from her mother’s room, searching for the thread of light that often escaped underneath. It was dark.

Perhaps Mama had finally gone to sleep.

She padded down the back staircase in her stockings, past her father’s room at the end of the hallway, and sat on the back step of their cottage. Quickly she laced her boots and then grabbed the dark lantern Claude left for her on a post. Hurrying down the steps, she rushed into the backyard before anyone, including Claude, saw or heard her. Claude might hide the bike for her at the far edge of their yard, but she never wanted to implicate him in her excursions. If Mama found out that he helped her—

Behind their cottage, a cobblestone pathway wound between Mama’s prized flower and vegetable gardens. Starlight turned the budding irises a steely gray color and washed silver across her path, glittering in the reflecting pool. Her heart leaped at the beauty of it and she moved even faster, trying to be quiet and yet feeling the urgency of her escape.

At the end of the path, a stone terrace led up into the trees, and she climbed it with ease. The bicycle was exactly where Claude had said he left it, hidden behind a hydrangea bush on the top terrace. She brushed the leaves and dirt off the bicycle and then looped the lantern over one of the handles.

Spindly arms of pine trees swayed above her and shadows danced around her feet as she unlatched the gate at the back of their property and pushed the bicycle toward the alley that wove behind the cottages.

A dog barked, and she stopped for a moment, holding her breath. Someone yelled at the dog but no one called out to her, so she hurried forward before the dog began barking again.

The inland roads along the east side of the island were a mix of rugged wetlands and treed knolls. Sometimes carriages brought tourists during the day, but most Mackinac visitors never ventured far into the forest. And the carriage drivers never navigated the island’s back roads at night.

Every once in a while she saw a soldier walking away from the fort, sometimes dressed in his uniform and other times in more casual attire. And sometimes a soldier would be accompanied by a young lady. The few times she’d seen the latter, she’d looked the other way without a word, assuming neither he nor his escort wanted her to see them either.

She put her leg over her bicycle, knotting her dress so it wouldn’t get caught in the spokes, and carefully pedaled up the narrow lane. Once she reached the last cottage on the eastern bluff, the road widened and she pedaled harder, every rotation taking her farther away from Castle Pines.

Her hair fluttered in the breeze. She was free of hats and pins, free of her bustle and corset and her mother’s critical eye. For a few hours, under the cloak of darkness, she was free to be who God made her to be.

The morning hours would be hard, no doubt, but it wasn’t like she had to be someplace after breakfast. And if this Mr. Darrington happened to see her tomorrow, perhaps the circles under her eyes would scare him away.

Elena shook her head, chastising herself for the thought of trying to scare away Mr. Darrington. It was her job to woo the man, not frighten him, but the unpleasant scheme of marrying a man for his money and status warred against her desire to do what was expected of her. One day she would have to marry for her family’s sake, whether it was to the mysterious Mr. Darrington or another man like him. With her father’s business affairs in ruin, she would have to bear the load of helping the entire family…but she hoped it would still be a few years before it became imperative.

At one time in her life, she’d hoped she would marry for love. It was an impossible dream; she knew that now…but in the quietness of the night, she still liked to pretend. One day, she would marry the man her parents chose for her, but until she did, she would enjoy these moments of freedom whenever she could.

Her legs burned as she climbed the inland hills behind her house. The rare times she biked in Chicago were on straight, smooth paths. It had been almost a year since she’d pedaled along these roads, but in spite of the aching in her thighs and calves, she was determined to reach the top.

After biking for ten minutes, the road leveled and she pedaled around a wide curve before turning off the lane onto a smaller trail marked by a faded ribbon. The hanging branches made it impossible to continue any farther on her bicycle, so she set it against a gray rock and slid the lantern off the handle. Then she dug into her pocket for one of her father’s new matches.

She eyed it for a moment in the starlight. Had Mr. Darrington truly invented this booklet? She didn’t want to be impressed, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Her fingers shook as she ripped one of Mr. Darrington’s matches off the booklet. Funny, she hadn’t even realized her hands were trembling until now.

She hated running away from her parents’ home like a fugitive, hated knowing how much it would anger her mother and disappoint her father if they found out, but she had to get away on her own, even if only for a few hours. In Chicago, she could only run as far as the gazebo in their backyard, but here—here she could run into the forest, high above Lake Michigan’s shore.

It took several attempts, but finally she managed to light a match without the wind blowing it out. Her lantern light illuminated the branches of the beech trees, tall grasses, and moss-covered rocks scattered in the forest. Ahead of her was a high bluff, and she hurried toward it. Her breaths came harder the farther she climbed, but she didn’t slow her pace, nor would she slow it until she reached the top.

At the peak of the bluff, she stopped and leaned back. There in front of her, in all its glory, rose the beautiful stone tower that once lit Mackinac’s shore. Her refuge for the past six years.

A tear slid down her cheek and she felt completely silly, crying at the sight of a lighthouse, but she’d been so worried it had been destroyed over the winter. If it was gone—she hadn’t known what she would do without it. This was her sanctuary. Her safe haven in the storms. No one could destroy her peace and solitude here. Not even Mr. Darrington.

The wind blew up from the lake, rustling the trees. Her hair tangled around her head and a giggle bubbled on her lips. She tried to suppress her laughter at first, but then she remembered that no one could hear her, no one was out here for her to impress or fear.

The same wind that had taunted her on the pier delighted her now, as if it had been waiting for her to play.

She laughed into the wind. And she twirled once before she moved toward the door of the lighthouse.

He was here; she could feel Him. Not a man like her mother was seeking for her, but the God of the heavens and the earth. The mighty Creator. God was in the midst of the rugged beauty of the trees, in the light of the stars and the lapping of the waves. He was in the intricate designs on each leaf and in the clefts of the rocks. She could almost hear the faint sound of creation singing His praises.

The path to the doorway was overgrown with brush and branches, and she pushed them away from her face. It didn’t look like anyone had visited the place since she’d been here last year, and she was grateful for that. As far as she knew, she was the only one who had come in the past six years.

Claude had helped her to find this place back when she was just starting her teen years. She’d confided in him that she wished she had a tree house like some of the other children, a place to escape, and he told her he knew of a place much better than a tree house. He’d brought her here one day, marking the trail with the same ribbon that was now battered by the rain and bleached by the sun.

She’d once told Parker Randolph about the abandoned lighthouse, but he didn’t seem the least bit interested in her find. She often wondered if anyone else except Claude cared or even remembered that it was here.

The heavy door creaked when she opened it, and she hesitated at the frame, listening for little feet scurrying across the floor. The people on Mackinac might not remember the lighthouse, but plenty of critters called it their home. When the sounds from the mice quieted, she stepped inside. They always stayed hidden during her visits.

At the base of the lighthouse was a small house where the keeper of the light once lived. Old furniture covered in dust and grime stood in the three rooms—a parlor, a bedroom, and a kitchen. The hearth of the kitchen fireplace was filled with twigs and leaves. Mice had destroyed the few books and quilts left in the bedroom.

The room closest to the door was the parlor. She stepped into it and smiled as she opened the roll top of the writing desk. Inside was the sketchbook she’d smuggled from Chicago two years ago, hiding it in her luggage. And a small set of pencils, wrapped in cloth. She couldn’t leave it at the cottage, but it was safe here.