by Lyn Gardner
Having made more money than he or his family could spend in their lifetimes, after visiting Mackinac with his associates to partake of whiskey and cigars at the Grand Hotel, Lyman bought a parcel of land near Julia Point. He thought it the perfect place for a summer home, and he spared no expense in having one built. In 1894, he and his wife and their six children arrived on Mackinac to spend their first summer in their new home, but in 1898 Majors sold the house and he and his family never returned to the island. For the next ninety-five years, the house would have numerous owners until in 1982 it was purchased by Adele Anderson and soon afterward, she named it the Safe Harbor Inn.
***
Robin held her hand up, blocking the sun out of her eyes as she looked up at the biggest dollhouse she had ever seen. In the timeless elegance of Victorian fashion, the blue-gray exterior was a mixture of clapboard siding and fish scale cedar shake, and the rooflines were as imposing as they were multi-faceted. Windows of various sizes and shapes dotted the façade, and while the woodwork surrounding them was as white as the rails on the porch, burgundy had been used as the accent, the color repeating on the bargeboards, frieze boards, as well as around the stained glass insert on the front door. Showcasing the wealth of the original owner, elaborate gingerbread details decorated the stately front-facing gable and intricate, turned spindles ran the length of the roof overhanging the porch.
“Jesus,” Robin said under her breath, captivated by the house that was now her home.
“You got keys?”
Robin winced at the volume of what appeared to be Leo’s normal talking voice. “What?”
“Do you have keys?” he said, pointing over at the house.
“Oh, yeah, Howard gave them to me.” Robin fumbled in her pocket, intending to have the keys at the ready when she reached the front door, but as soon as they were free from her jacket, Leo snatched them out of her hand.
“I’ll just go open it up for you.”
Before Robin could react, Leo was scurrying up the sidewalk as fast as his portliness would allow.
“Seriously?” Robin said, shaking her head.
“He’s a little pushy.”
Robin turned to Sheldon and grinned. “You think?”
Sheldon‘s expression matched Robin’s as he reached for the straps holding Robin’s luggage in place. “Why don’t you go catch up with him, and I’ll get this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Sheldon said with a wave of his hand.
“Thanks,” Robin said, and spinning around she trotted after Leo, not at all surprised that he had already disappeared into the house.
As Robin made her way down the sidewalk and onto her property, she began to see the telltale signs of a house that had been empty for far too long. The front gardens were overgrown with weeds, their density choking out any perennial that had ever been planted. Withered leaves from the oaks and birch on the property were everywhere. Blown by the wind, they had drifted into the corners of the fence and mounded against the latticed foundation of the screened-in porch on the right side of the Inn, forming berms of brown, red, and orange.
The dried foliage crunched under her feet as she made her way up the stairs, and as Robin reached the door, she paused to read the words on a sign in the shape of an anchor mounted on the wall. Safe Harbor Inn Built 1894.
“Wow,” she whispered just before walking through the open door. No sooner had she stepped inside when she saw Leo marching toward her from the back of the house.
“Nothing back there except the kitchen, dining room, and the innkeeper’s suite,” he said, whizzing past. “The good stuff must be upstairs.”
For a moment, Robin stood there watching as the little man began to dart up the steps, but the stress of the last few days finally bubbled over. “Leo, stop!”
Robin waited for a second, but when Leo reached the landing of the L-shaped staircase and continued upward, Robin shouted. “Leo, I said stop!”
Leo jerked to a standstill, and looking like he had just sucked on a lemon, he glared down at Robin. “What?” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m just gonna go up and look around. Take a chill pill. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“No!” Robin yelled, seeing him take another step. “Look, I appreciate you taking time out of your day to meet me at the ferry, but I’ve had a very long week, and I still have a lot to do today.” Robin pulled Leo’s business card out of her pocket. “I have your card, and if I decide to sell, I’ll call you.”
“But it’ll only take a minute,” Leo said, glancing back and forth from the second floor to Robin.
“I’m sorry, but not today,” Robin said, waving him down. “Not today.”
Leo pressed his lips into a flat, white line and stomped down the stairs. “Fine,” he said, placing his hands on his hips when he reached the foyer. “But you will call me when you’re ready to sell—right?”
“If I decide to sell, you’ll be the first to know,” Robin said, holding up one hand. “I promise.”
Leo pursed his lips, his eyes becoming slits as he stared at Robin. With a huff, he jammed his hand into his pocket and pulling out a wad of business cards, he fanned them out across the high-top reception podium by the stairs. “I’ll just leave these here, so you don’t lose them.”
Robin sighed and motioned to the door. “That’s fine, Leo. Have a nice day. Okay?”
“Yeah, you, too,” Leo said, and with no intention of paying for a taxi ride, he trudged out the door to make his way back to the ferry.
“Everything else is on the porch, but I thought you’d want this inside.”
Having forgotten all about Sheldon, when Robin spun around and saw what he was carrying, her shoulders fell. “Oh my, God,” she said, taking the cat carrier from him. “I can’t believe I left them outside.”
“By the sounds of their meows, they’re fine,” Sheldon said, grinning.
“Thank you,” Robin said, and putting down the carrier, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her wallet.
“No need for that,” he said, holding up his hands. “Today is on the house.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Adele was a friend. It’s the least I can do,” Sheldon said, handing her his business card. “But I will give you one of my cards just in case you need anything, but only one. High-pressure sales, I’m not.”
Robin’s face brightened. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, and I’ll definitely call you the next time I need a taxi,” Robin said, placing the card alongside Leo’s handful. “And thanks for bringing up the luggage and all. I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem,” he said, turning to leave. “You have a nice one, and I’ll see you around.”
“You, too,” Robin said as she watched him walk to the taxi. “And thanks again!”
Sheldon waved over his shoulder before climbing into the carriage, and with a snap of the reins, he headed off down the street.
Robin took a minute to gather her things from the porch, and after everything was stacked in the foyer, she closed the door and turned around. For the first time, she could take in her surroundings, and when she did, her eyes opened to the extreme.
White pine was the driving force behind Michigan’s lumber boom. Structurally, it was the perfect wood. Easy to cut and shape, its timbers formed the framework of most of the homes on Mackinac, but for interior decoration, pine was much too soft to take the wear and tear of foot traffic or the occasional bump of furniture. For that, hardwoods were used, and a lumber tycoon in the late 1800s had no problem finding hardwoods.
The opulence of vintage red oak was not only visible on the hefty newel posts and balusters running up the stairs, but also in the floor and on the lower half of the walls of the entryway. Thick, raised panels of the hardwood acted as the wainscoting, and after being capped by a rail of walnut, the plaster walls above it were painted in a soft, creamy tan. The oak crown molding blended with the beams running to and
fro to create the coffered ceiling, but while the crosspieces were oak, they had all been trimmed with the darker walnut. The plaster of each inset had been covered in wallpaper in a subtle design barely noticeable from where Robin stood. The background matched the color of the walls, but the minuscule dots of what appeared to be flowers were in the palest of greens.
Robin glanced at the brass lantern dangling from a sculpted medallion in the center of the ceiling, but its incandescence wasn’t necessary at the moment. Natural light was streaming in through a stained glass window at the bottom of the stairs as well as its twin, lighting the landing halfway up, the oval shapes having backgrounds of rippled, clear glass and centers displaying purple irises with leaves of brilliant emerald. The last dash of color in the room came from the tapestry runner on the stairs. On a background of deep forest green, stems of sage and leaves of gold wound their way toward the second floor, and Robin found herself leaning to one side as she followed their ascent.
She debated for a second on whether to follow the path of the runner, but deciding to leave the upper floors for later, Robin went over to the double doors on the far right of the foyer. It took her a few seconds to figure out how to work the inset handles, but when she finally freed the latch from its keeper and slid the doors apart, her jaw almost hit the ground. Victorian parlors tend to do that.
At the time the house was built, parlors were used by many to depict their place in society. Extravagant and spacious, they proved the owner’s worth in not only the furnishings they contained but the decorations as well. Adele spent years making the Safe Harbor Inn a showplace, and her hard work had paid off. The parlor was the first room her guests would view, and the impression had always been a lasting one.
The front wall kicked out like a bay window, and housing three chairs draped in sheets and two tiny tables holding lamps, it was the perfect place to read a book or sip coffee in the morning. The double-hung windows were tall and wide, and with the help of the transoms above each, they almost reached the ceiling. The sunlight was tempered by ivory sheers, and framing the windows were thick drapes in garnet.
The wallpaper Adele had chosen, while it would have been overpowering in a small room, held its own in the sizable lounge. Vertical stripes of tawny acanthus against a backdrop the color of currant ran from floor to ceiling and even with the addition of the accompanying border wrapping the room, Robin could find no fault with it. Opposite the doors was a fireplace, not quite the width of the room, and to the left and right of the brick hearth were slender bookcases, the shelves on one holding novels while the other housed board games and boxes filled with jigsaw puzzles.
Robin went over and lifted the corner of the sheet covering one of the two sofas in the room. Careful not to disturb the thin layer of dust on the cotton, she looked underneath and smiled. She had expected to see an old-fashioned chaise, its fabric buttoned and proper and its edges finished in wood, but instead, she discovered an overstuffed sofa, modern in design, yet having upholstery flowery enough to stay true to the room.
With the need for a bathroom becoming forefront in her mind, Robin left the parlor and headed in the direction Leo had come from a few minutes earlier, but she only made it a few steps before she stopped again. Diagonally set between the wall of the parlor and the dining room was another door and to the right of it was a small brass plaque in the shape of an anchor with White Birch engraved on its surface. Having stayed at a few bed-and-breakfasts over the years, Robin knew many used names instead of numbers for their rooms, and confident she had just discovered the first of many bedrooms in the Inn, she couldn’t help but open the door.
Robin’s eyes creased at the corners at the sight of the white four-poster bed sitting against one wall. Its turned posts reached almost to the ceiling, and even without bed linens covering the mattress or sheers draped over the canopy, it was still something to behold. Flanking the bed was a pair of nightstands, each holding tall brass lamps standing proudly atop lace doilies, and in one corner of the room was a chest of drawers, but it was the other corner that grabbed Robin’s attention. Tucked into an alcove was a bathtub and right next to it was a door. Robin rushed over and looked inside. It was indeed a cute little bathroom holding all the necessities a guest would need, except for one thing. Defeated by an empty cardboard roll hanging in the holder, Robin let out a sigh, closed the door, and returned her attention to the bedroom.
She knew enough about Victorian architecture to know the bay window filling the far wall would most likely not be the last she discovered in the house, and going over, Robin pushed aside the yellowed lace curtains and peered out the glass. The side yard was not overly wide, and toward the front, she could see the back side of the screened-in porch, but instead of latticework hiding the foundation, there was a set of doors. Deciding she’d make her way outside later to investigate, Robin turned back to the room.
Except for the wall holding the bay window, the lower two-thirds of the rest of the walls were covered in vertical strips of wood planking painted the color of cooked cabbage. Quickly deciding she needed to add the washed-out green to her list of least favorite colors, Robin went over to some of the artwork dotting the walls. Most were watercolors of white-barked saplings in various stages of growth, some leafless as winter had already set in and others filled with greenery reaching toward the clouds, but one was different. A faded photograph in a no-frills, dark frame hung above the dresser. Its image void of life, it showed only an empty beach along a birch-lined lake. Thinking back to the plaque outside the room, Robin nodded as she made the connection. White Birch.
Her inquisitiveness satisfied for the moment, Robin left White Birch and rounding the corner, she went into the dining room. Like the foyer, the lower parts of the walls were again covered in oak panels, but the plaster above had been painted a stony blue. If Adele’s decorating had stayed true to the extravagance of the Victorian era, the dining room set should have been ornate. With tufted chairs and intricate carvings in the walnut or rosewood, it would again have spoken the affluence of its owners, but Adele had known bed-and-breakfasts required functionality. The table filling the center of the room was more like something found in a country kitchen. Although not rustic, its trestle base and bow-backed chairs afforded comfort and support to those sitting around its perimeter and the two sideboards on opposing walls added to the hominess of the room. It was clearly a place designed to enjoy meals with friends, old and new.
At the opposite end of the room were two windows framed by long burgundy drapes, and between them was another set of double doors; however, this set was diminutive in width compared to those in the parlor. Her curiosity piqued, Robin went over, opened them and found herself looking at another pair identical to the first at the end of a short hallway. It only took three steps to reach them, and when Robin pushed the second set open, a wave of cold air washed over her as she stepped onto a glassed-in porch.
Robin was surrounded by hazy panes of glass running from floor to ceiling, their thickness doing nothing to stop the outside temperature from reaching the room. Above her head were two sizeable wicker-bladed ceiling fans affixed to the beaded paneling covering the ceiling, and on the floor were oversized squares of ceramic tile in the darkest of greens. Across the far wall were three tiny sets of bistro tables and chairs, their white cast iron design acting as a perfect accent against the floor, while the remaining two larger tables in the center of the room were constructed of rattan with glass tops, both of which were surrounded by bulky wicker chairs with thick flowery cushions. In the summer, it would be the perfect place to enjoy that first cup of coffee in the morning, except summer had already ended, and the chill in the air was all Robin’s bladder needed to announce itself again. Backtracking, she continued to the kitchen with a little more pep in her step.
In sharp contrast to the medium and dark tones used in the front of the house, all the cabinets in the kitchen were white, and as soon as Robin entered the room, she momentarily had to squint. Sunl
ight was streaming in through a long bank of squatty windows to her left, and the black pearl granite countertops were acting like a mirror, sending laser beams of light in every direction.
Several of the wall cabinets had seeded glass inserts in lieu of wooden panels, and behind the decorative panes Robin could make out the shapes of dishes and cups. Tiny mosaic tiles of blue, white, and silver covered the walls between the cabinetry and countertops, and the blue repeated in the spatterware canisters nestled in one corner of the counter as well as on the base of the island in the center of the room. Opposite of where Robin stood was the stove, wider than any she had ever owned, and like the rest of the appliances in the room, its surface was stainless steel.
Still in search of a bathroom, Robin spent only a few moments admiring the kitchen before walking the length of the room to an alcove which housed three more doors. She opened the first, and a moment later she closed it, the smell of musty earth a clear indication that it led to the basement. The next took a bit more investigation, but once she found the light switch the mystery was solved. With file cabinets along one wall and a small desk off to the side, the room apparently was used by her aunt as an office. Seeing a narrow door off to her right, Robin was momentarily elated when she opened it to find a tiny powder room, except, again, all that remained was an empty cardboard roll. “I see a trend that I really don’t want to see,” she muttered.
Stepping back into the intersecting hallway, Robin glared at the remaining door. “Third time’s the charm?” she said, and opening it, the corners of her mouth drooped when she saw the pale tangerine walls of the hall in front of her. Of all the colors in the world, her aunt had picked Robin’s least favorite for the innkeeper’s suite.
“Thank God I like to paint,” she said, and strolling down the short hallway, she opened the first door she came upon. Crinkling her nose at the smell of camphor, other than a few hangers dangling from a wooden rod and an old mop and straw broom, there was nothing else to hold her attention, so shutting the door, Robin opened the next. Stepping into a room void of furnishings, but abundant in space, Robin’s face lit up. It was large enough to hold all the bedroom furniture she currently had in storage and then some, and there was also a bay window completely filling one wall.
