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—”
“They won’t hear it from me.” Her hand slipped into her pocket, and she drew out an envelope folded into thirds. “Jillian asked me to give you this.”
He hesitated, glancing around them before he took it and stuffed it inside his waistcoat.
Her mother nodded at Parker and then nudged Elena toward the aisle. Two rather large ladies blocked them from moving toward the front of the church, and her mother tried to force Elena between them. The ladies didn’t move.
“Pardon me,” her mother said. “We’re trying to say hello to the Darringtons.”
The women looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “We’re all waiting to speak with them,” one of the ladies said.
Mama tried to press Elena forward again until Papa joined their side. “You’re making a fool out of yourself, Deborah,” he whispered.
“But Elena needs to meet him.”
“In the proper place and time, my dear.”
“He is leaving soon,” Mama insisted, her voice panicked.
“But he won’t remember meeting her here, not with this crowd of people.”
This time her mother didn’t listen to reason. She took Elena’s wrist and continued to move forward until there was a barrier of shoulders and arms that she couldn’t pass, not without, as her father put it so bluntly, making a fool out of herself.
Elena turned to appeal to her father, but she only saw his back as he went toward the door. For a moment, she felt abandoned by the one man who was supposed to take care of her, the man who had told her that he wanted her to marry for love. But then she realized he had already tried to stop his wife from her foolishness. It was time for Elena to stop her now.
“Papa’s right,” she whispered. “He’ll never remember meeting me, with this crowd.”
Her mother was trying to edge around another woman, but there was no room for her to pass. “He most certainly will.”
“We’ll seem desperate, Mama.”
Even if her mother was desperate, she knew quite well that they could never let Mr. Darrington know this. Her mother didn’t seem so concerned at the moment about their appearance, perhaps because Mr. Darrington was preparing to leave the island. If she didn’t introduce Elena soon, she might not have an opportunity to do it.
But that didn’t mean Elena must show her desperation as well.
Elena took a step back, away from the crowd. Mama tried to nudge her forward again, but she shook her head. They would have to meet Mr. Darrington another time.
Elena shook the minister’s hand at the doorway, and her mother moved slower than normal toward their waiting carriage, lingering first by the doorway and then by the side of the building before she reluctantly got into the carriage with her family.
February 13, 1813
Winter lingers on, but I have begun singing again. The music sustains me in the darkness.
Thomas and Molly sing with me about God’s goodness even when we don’t feel it, about His joy even when we are sad, about His peace even when we worry so.
Nickolas Westmount came again last week, carrying bread and jam for the children. This time I was ready with my questions. At first he avoided answering, as he had the time before, but when I persisted, he finally told me some of what he knew.
The British, he said, might have taken my Jonah to the fort. They’ve demanded every islander renounce their citizenship with the United States and take an oath of allegiance to their king.
Jonah Seymour would never renounce his allegiance to our country. His father died fighting for this country during the first war with the British. If he’d been old enough, Jonah would have fought too. What would the redcoats do if he wouldn’t swear his allegiance to the motherland? Nickolas couldn’t answer that question.
If Jonah is at the fort, perhaps the British will return him soon. Once the weather turns warm again, won’t they need him to care for the light?
Nickolas couldn’t answer those questions either, but this time his visit filled me with hope. Perhaps Jonah hadn’t been killed or wounded or trapped in a cavern. Perhaps he was safe at the fort, biding his time.
As Nickolas hurried away from the house, I realized there was one more question I hadn’t asked. And he never volunteered the answer.
If they were imprisoning those who wouldn’t swear allegiance to the crown, why had the British allowed Nickolas Westmount to remain free?
Chapter Nineteen
Elena stepped through the doorway of the lighthouse and waited as the mice scurried away. Her heart pounded as she walked toward the spiral steps.
“Chase?” she quietly called up to the tower.
Silence was her only answer.
She shouldn’t want him to be here, not as much as she did. Nothing could happen between them except friendship. Yet what was so wrong with their being friends?
It had been three nights now since she’d met Chase. Three nights since she’d been able to escape the house on her own. Last night it had been raining too hard for her to leave their house—her father would have guessed something was amiss if she’d tried to go in that weather. Clouds had lodged themselves over Mackinac tonight, swallowing even the smallest star, but the rain was gone.
Tonight she would wait. And she would draw. She hadn’t seen her father in the hallway tonight, but she suspected that he knew she’d left.
Had Chase been back here since their first meeting? On her entire bike ride over, she prayed that he hadn’t given up on her, that he would come again. They’d never made any promise to continue to see each other, but he’d said he wanted to see her. She hoped it was true.
Her lantern lit the walls of the kitchen, and she climbed on a chair to the top shelf above the table to retrieve her sketchbook and pencil box. If Chase had found it, at least he had returned it to her new hiding place.
Instead of going up the steps to the tower, she moved back into the parlor and sat down at the desk. Picking up one of her charcoal pencils, she began to draw. She drew a man on a dark horse riding along the shore, his strong profile facing the lake. Lightning flashed behind him, and she felt its power as she drew it, just like the power of the man.
Lost in her world, she didn’t hear the door open. When she looked up, Chase was studying her with his easy smile.
She caught her breath, words escaping her.
He flung his hat on the post. “Hello, Andy.”
Trailing behind him was a white dog spotted with black. The dog scooted up beside her and she set her pencil down, petting his damp fur before she looked back up at Chase. “I didn’t think you would come.”
He leaned back against the doorpost. “It seems to me that you’re the one who didn’t come on Saturday night.”
“You were here?”
“I was, and I have to admit, I was a bit lonely.”
“I was with my—” She hesitated. She wanted to see this man, but she wasn’t ready to tell him about her parents.
He studied her for a moment. “I missed you.”
The dog nudged her hand, prompting her to keep petting. She laughed as she brushed her hand over his back again. “Who is this?”
“My new companion,” Chase said simply. “I tried to take him back to where I thought he lived, but the people at the house said it looked to them like he’d found a new owner.”
“He’s a smart dog, then.” She leaned back in her chair. “What did you name him?”
“I was going to call him Andy, but the name was already taken.” He shrugged. “Now I can’t decide what to call him.”
The dog licked her cheek, and she laughed. “He’s friendly.”
“What should we name him?”
Her heart leaped at the word “we,” and then she felt silly. Chase was only asking for her help.
“Something practical, perhaps, like Spot or Moses.”
“I can hardly believe the word ‘practical’ just came from your lips.”
She laughed again. “Or something more exotic…like Akiko.”
“Sit, Akiko,” he tried to say, but he butchered the name. “I can’t say that.”
“If he were my dog—” When she hesitated, he stepped closer, watching her.
“What would you name him if he were your dog?”
She looked toward the window. “Something that reminded me of the stars, of the people who love watching them as I do.”
He turned a wooden chair around and sat in it. “How about Galileo?”
She smiled. “That’s the perfect name.”
Chase leaned over to pet him. “How do you like that name? Galileo.”
The dog barked once, as if he agreed.
Chase moved his chair toward her, looking down at the desk. “What are you drawing?”
Her eyes traveled down the pad and she slammed her book closed. But it was too late, and she knew it. He’d seen what was on her paper.
The grin edged further across his handsome face.
“It’s a picture of a friend,” she tried to explain.
“A good friend?”
She felt the heat climbing her cheeks and hoped he wouldn’t see the pink tint of her skin in the shadows.
“I didn’t expect you to return so soon,” she stammered. “It’s been too cloudy to see the stars.”
“The stars weren’t the only reason I wanted to return.”
“I—” Surely he could see her red face now, even in the dim light.
He crossed the room, waving her to join him. “Let me show you something.”
She followed him to the other room. The bedroom. Even though there was no mattress left on the bed, she felt strange, being here with him. What had she been thinking, hoping to meet this stranger here? She’d been so silly, wanting and wishing to see him again.
He opened the trunk and pulled out the book. “I wanted you to see this.”
She stared at the cracked cover and her heart sank. She had thought he had meant her, that he had returned tonight to see her, but he had come back for Magdelaine’s diary.
She was being so foolish, hopelessly opening her heart to a stranger who wanted to be her friend. Just a friend.
Rain began to patter against the windows, and lightning flashed through the room. If the storm continued, they might be stranded here for hours.
He motioned for her to sit on a rickety-looking chair beside the bed. She tested the chair, and it seemed sturdy enough. As she sat, she avoided his gaze so he couldn’t read all that was in her eyes, in her heart. For if he looked too closely, she would be exposed—all her hopes, relief, even desire was there, as transparent as the air they breathed.
It wasn’t for him to see.
“You found Magdelaine’s journal.”
He nodded.
“How did you find it?”
He shifted on the bed frame like a schoolboy caught telling a fib. “I was looking for your drawings.”
“Ahh—” She should at least pretend to be angry, but his compliment made her smile instead. Even if she wanted to keep her work hidden, he’d wanted to see it.
“I read a few pages, and then I stopped.”
“Why didn’t you read it all?”
His smile faded as his eyes grew serious. “I wanted to share her story with you.”
It felt so warm in the room, as if the ghost of the lightkeeper had returned to light the stove. Heat flickered on Elena’s cheeks, but she didn’t dare break from his gaze. He would think she was scared, and she wasn’t scared…at least not of him harming her.
The only thing she feared tonight was that he might hurt her heart.
As thunder cracked in the distance, she reached out and brushed her hands over the cover, honored by his gift.
“I wanted to share it with you,” he said, “but it seems you’ve already read her story.”
She sighed. “It’s a story without an ending.”
He put the journal on the bed by his side. “Do you think this Magdelaine would mind if I took her story home to read?”
“I don’t believe she would mind at all.”
He looked around the dusty room, seeming to take in the sights of the bare furniture and the curtains that had been chewed by mice. “I like being here with you.”
Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan Page 17
