He shook his head. “I’m on duty tomorrow, up at the fort.”
“Then perhaps Monday?”
Silas shook his head again. “I could be there on Tuesday morning, say, around eleven.”
Edward stepped up beside him, clutching Chase’s shoulders as if he needed an anchor. His words slurred when he spoke. “Sarah—she’s worried about you.”
Chase glanced over at the two soldiers, embarrassed by his brother-inlaw’s display. The men were compiling the contents of their tackle boxes. Chase unwrapped himself from Edward’s arm and let it drop. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” Edward laughed. “Sarah doesn’t think you got yourself one of those costumes for tonight yet.”
“She’s right.”
Edward looked down at the dog and then back at the soldiers. His eyes focused on the short poles in Silas Hull’s hand, and Chase’s stomach dropped. Would his brother-in-law beat him to this investment?
“What’s that ridi—” He paused, trying to form the word. “Ridi—”
“Ridiculous?” Silas offered.
He nodded. “What’s that ridiculous thing?”
Silas sighed. “It’s a fishing pole.”
“Not that.” Edward’s hand shook when he pointed to Chase’s side. “That.”
When the dog growled at Edward, Chase laughed. “He’s one of the participants from the dog race.”
“Well, he looks pathetic.”
“I could say the same—” Chase stopped himself. There might be nothing ridiculous about the dog, but it was ridiculous to fight with a drunken man.
The dog growled again, and Edward backed toward the carriage. At least the animal was a good judge of character.
“It’s time to go,” Edward said as he climbed back into the carriage.
Chase looked back at the poles and then met Silas’s eye. “Don’t forget. Tuesday morning.”
Silas nodded.
Chase petted the dog again and climbed into the carriage. When he turned around, the soldiers were gone but the dog was still sitting there, watching him. He wished he could spend the afternoon with the dog instead of Edward.
December 21, 1812
The nights seem to last forever. There is no more oil to light the lantern, no way to obtain any more, but there is enough food to last us through the winter, enough wood to warm our house.
It is almost as if Jonah knew he would be going away.
I can no longer write these words to my husband, but I must write for myself. And for our children. Every day, I think back to those moments that Jonah disappeared. It seems so long ago now, but my mind still sifts through our last hours together that morning. He might have seemed nervous that day. Or was he scared?
In my hurry to fetch water, I never tried to console him or even inquire about his feelings. Everyone who visited us seemed scared at the time, not knowing what the British would do now that they occupied our island.
We haven’t had any visitors since Jonah left, nor have we gone to church or even to the market.
I don’t know if everyone else is afraid, for I am now too scared to leave the house. Scared that I will miss Jonah if he returns. Scared that someone will remember that the children and I are still here and take us away as well.
Chapter Twelve
Mama stood over Jillian, instructing her how to clip and curl Elena’s hair. Elena stared into the mirror of her dressing room as the women hovered over her. Twenty minutes ago she’d declared her hair finished, yet Mama insisted that Jillian continue to curl the strands over and over again around the pearl clip that held back her hair. Her scratches were almost gone, the remaining lines covered with powder, but it didn’t matter. She was wearing a mask tonight.
She squirmed in her chair. “I’m about to fall over.”
Mama patted her shoulder. “You’re doing just fine.”
The clock chimed from across the small room. “The party starts in a half hour,” she pleaded. Anything to get her out of this chair.
“We don’t want to arrive too early, nor do you want to look like you’ve been tromping around the island all afternoon.”
The invitation to attend a masquerade with the governor had arrived while Elena was away on the carriage ride. Her mother hadn’t expected invitations to events like this over the summer, and she was thrilled about another opportunity to meet Mr. Darrington, since the man had managed to elude them last night.
The remainder of Elena’s afternoon had been spent in a flurry, airing out her costume dress for the dinner and then the endless rearranging of her hair and powdering of her face.
“Tuck another feather right in here,” Mama directed, pointing at the two feathers already secured in the pearl clip. “Then we’ll finish my hair.”
She rushed out of the room.
Jillian added the feather and then carefully curled the strands around the clip one more time. When Elena tilted her head, the curls bounced.
“You’re an artist,” Elena said.
Jillian kept her eyes on her hands as she continued to work, but Elena saw the hint of a smile. No matter what Mama threatened, she’d never let Jillian go. A personal maid who could arrange hair in the latest fashions was in high demand.
“Mr. Darrington won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” Jillian whispered.
“He won’t be able to see my face.”
Jillian winked at her. “He won’t need to.”
“I wish you were going with me, to see Parker.”
“Hush,” Jillian said with a nervous glance toward the door. “No one can find out.”
“How long have you two been—communicating?”
“Since October, when he came to the benefit at your house.”
“But he hasn’t been back since then.”
Jillian smiled. “Nell’s son is Mr. Randolph’s steward.”
“So you’ve been writing?”
Jillian shrugged.
Elena reached for the heart locket, and Jillian clipped it on. The necklace would be hidden under her cape, but she still liked to wear it whenever she went out.
She met Jillian’s gaze in the mirror. “Has he said he loves you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, he does. I can tell.”
“But you and Parker—” Jillian began.
“Are just like brother and sister. We always have been, in spite of our parents wanting us to marry.”
Jillian shook her head. “We could never marry.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know and so does Parker, but he wants to enjoy this season… and so do I.”
If only Elena could figure out a way for Jillian and Parker to be happy together.
* * * * *
Jillian handed Elena the papier-mâché mask of a cat before she stepped into the carriage. Sequins glittered on the yellow cape that enveloped her gown, and she felt a bit like a princess. The costume reminded her of the spring she spent three years ago in Italy with her parents, walking along the canals in Venice and visiting the halls of art museums in Florence and Rome. And going to a Venetian ball.
The governor’s cottage was high on a bluff, overlooking the harbor. Stepping outside the carriage, Elena breathed in the scent of lilacs that bordered the walkway. There was a long row of carriages behind her parents’ carriage, waiting for their guests.
“Put your mask on,” Mama instructed as she adjusted her own red-andgold mask. Jillian had woven red-and-gold plumes into her pompadour.
Elena strung the ribbons of her mask behind her head and tied it. She didn’t need a mask to pretend to be someone else, though. She’d become plenty good at pretending on her own.
Masqueraded in a white mask, black tricorne, and flowing cloak, Papa escorted her toward the door. Mama followed close behind.
“Tonight’s the night for you to meet Mr. Darrington,” Mama whispered as they walked toward the imposing front door. “I can feel it.”
“He
might not come.”
“He’ll be here,” she insisted.
A bronze chandelier hung from the towering ceiling in the entryway of the mansion. The ebony staircase split into two on the second floor and wound around the top of the room. Governor Rich greeted them with a well-practiced smile, and Elena lowered her mask, shaking the man’s hand gracefully and yet with perfect control as they’d taught her to do at the Lawnton School for Girls in Chicago.
His smile widened when he shook her father’s hand. Then he motioned for Mr. Bissette to follow him. “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”
She watched Papa walk away with the governor and then stepped forward beside Mama into a ballroom with a banquet board that stretched the length of the ballroom in preparation for dinner. A dozen windows looked out over the village and the lake, and people were pressed together near the windows.
Mrs. Grunier rushed up to them, her lips trembling. “Mr. Darrington is already here.”
Her mother stopped, glancing at the small crowd. “Where is he?”
Mrs. Grunier pointed toward another room. “Last time I saw him, he was talking with Trudy in one of the drawing rooms.” Her smile widened. “He was enjoying her company.”
Elena managed a smile in return. Poor Mr. Darrington. There didn’t seem to be a mother on the island who wasn’t trying to marry off her daughter to him.
“Elizabeth swears that he’s practically offered his hand to Gracie, but I don’t know how that’s possible, so soon after meeting.”
Mama nudged her forward, toward the drawing room. “What is Mr. Darrington dressed like?”
Mrs. Grunier hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure if she should divulge this information. “A phantom.”
“Perhaps you would be able to secure an introduction for us,” her mother suggested. “Since Elena and Trudy are such dear friends.”
“I suppose I could,” Mrs. Grunier said, a bit reluctantly.
“Then we will all have the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”
Elena nodded to Mrs. Grunier and followed her mother to the next room. People were crammed into the large drawing room, shoulder to shoulder, and sipping the finest of colorful drinks to accompany their attire.
Mama grasped for Elena’s hand, and they carefully navigated their way through the room. Her mother scanned the crowd, but Elena focused her gaze straight ahead so no one could accuse her of searching for Mr. Darrington.
“Do you see Mrs. Powell?” Mama whispered.
Elena glanced to her side, surveying the room of mysterious masks and costumes, and then shook her head.
She knew that her mother was starting to feel desperate with so many debutantes already making Mr. Darrington’s acquaintance. If he truly enjoyed Gracie’s or even Trudy’s company, Elena almost hoped he would marry one of them.
Then she scolded herself for her thought.
Mrs. Frederick stopped them as they entered the library, telling them in detail about the picnic Gracie and Mr. Darrington had attended. The man was indeed quite smitten with her daughter, Mrs. Frederick confirmed.
Elena retied the strings on her cape. It seemed to be quite the epidemic—Mr. Darrington enjoying the company of unmarried women across the island.
“Have you met him yet?” Mrs. Frederick asked, her eyes on Elena.
“Mr. Darrington will be joining us soon for dinner at our home.” Her mother fanned her face leisurely. Elena knew she didn’t dare allow the Fredericks to find out that she hadn’t yet secured an introduction to Mr. Darrington, not when Gracie Frederick was their toughest competitor. “He and my husband have become business acquaintances.”
“I didn’t realize—” The surprise in Mrs. Frederick’s tone was apparent.
“A lot of people enjoy my father’s company,” Elena interjected. Even if their money was almost gone, her father hadn’t changed one bit.
“I didn’t mean any offense,” Mrs. Fredrick said.
“Of course you didn’t,” Mama replied, squeezing Elena’s hand lightly.
She had most certainly meant to be offensive. Why didn’t her mother stand up to the woman?
“I’m certain you will enjoy Mr. Darrington’s company as much as we have.”
A bell chimed, calling them to dinner.
Her mother found the cards with the Bissette names on them in the dining room, above each setting with its china plates, wine glasses, and eight pieces of polished silverware. Elena smiled when she read the place card next to hers. Parker Randolph.
The governor had seated the Randolph family with them.
Parker sauntered up to the table wearing a joker’s mask designed with silver foil and a purple joker’s hat with dangling silver bells that chimed when he turned toward her.
He lifted his mask. “How are you, Lanie?”
She inched her chin up. “Quite fine, thank you.”
He looked around the room. “There don’t seem to be any soldiers here for you to chase after.”
“Be quiet.” She shot a nervous glance at her mother. Her mother would be appalled if she found out that Elena had stopped to talk with Lieutenant Hull and his friend.
Parker grinned again. “Or perhaps you are fishing for a bigger catch tonight.”
“I’m not fishing for anyone.”
“Every debutante in this room seems to be focused on hooking poor Chester Darrington.”
Chester.
She’d wondered about his first name. It was dignified, she supposed, if a bit stuffy. He was certainly aloof enough to rise to such a name.
“You can stop looking for him,” Parker said.
“I’m not looking for him.”
“I just saw him surrounded by a consortium of young ladies on the veranda.”
Her mother turned. “Are you talking about Mr. Darrington?”
“I am.”
“Then come along, Elena,” Mama said.
“Don’t worry, Lanie.” Parker laughed. “I’m sure this fish will bite.”
Elena trailed her mother through a series of small rooms until they reached a large drawing room outside the veranda.
“Wait here,” her mother whispered. “I’ll find him.”
With the mask hiding her face, Elena waited near the doorway as the voices around her blended together. The glass doors along the drawing room were open, and as the sun set on the horizon, Elena could see the lights of the boats twinkling below them. The stars would be coming out tonight on a stage of their own, to perform for her and for those who paused their busy lives to watch the performance.
Stepping outside, she moved down into the maze of sculpted hedges and manicured gardens, joining people standing in pairs and enjoying the warm evening. There was a fountain and a small gazebo, and torches were lit along the pathways.
Then she saw a man dressed in a black cape and mask painted with green-and-black diamonds, looking down at the harbor below. She stood frozen by the hedge, yet she was curious to know if this was Mr. Darrington. And if it was, where had all his admirers gone?
Someone walked toward them and Elena turned away, looking at the rosebushes in the garden. Then she heard Mrs. Grunier’s voice. “I was hoping to find you,” she said. “I’d like to introduce you to a friend of Trudy’s. Miss Elena Bissette.”
Elena took another breath. It was finally time to meet this man.
Mr. Darrington spoke, his voice muffled by his mask—but his words were still clear to her. “I’m afraid Miss Bissette’s reputation precedes her.”
Afraid? Did he think she’d acted improperly with his brother-in-law?
Elena leaned back on a post, wanting to run and yet worried they might hear her if she left. She put her hand on her warm head. She couldn’t allow herself to faint.
“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.
Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan Page 12
