Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan

by Melanie Dobson

  “What did you do?” she yelled.

  Elena looked up, thinking at first that her mother was angry with her. Then she saw Silas backing toward the hall.

  “Don’t, Mama,” she said. “Lieutenant Hull—he saved me.”

  Mama stopped, looking at Silas speculatively. “Saved you from what?”

  “Is Mr. Bissette home?” Silas asked.

  “I’ll get him,” Claude said.

  Mama helped Elena stand, and Elena leaned against her as they went up the stairs to her bedroom. As her mother loosened the bands of her corset, Elena heaved in deep breaths that helped to clear her mind and strengthen her body. Mama drew a bath and sprinkled drops of jasmine and lavender oil into it before she helped Elena into the warm tub.

  “What can I do?” Mama asked, her voice cracking.

  Elena wasn’t sure how to respond. Mama always knew what to do. “I want to rest.”

  “I never should have let Jillian leave.” Mama screwed the lid back onto the lavender oil and placed it on the pedestal sink. “Perhaps she would return.”

  Elena shook her head. “She’s working up at the fort.”

  “I’ll talk to the lieutenant.”

  Elena slipped farther down into the soothing folds of the water. “You should apologize to him first.”

  Mama nodded before she shut the door behind her.

  Silas would make it clear that Elena hadn’t done anything wrong, but her innocence wouldn’t keep the circuit of society ladies from talking. If her fall had been discussed and elaborated on in detail, she couldn’t imagine how quickly this encounter with Edward would spread.

  She cringed at the thought of Chase hearing the story through the gossip of society women.

  She sank deep into the water, submerging her face, as her hair floated around her.

  She never should have encouraged Edward on their first meeting at the Grand. Nor should she have gone walking alone in the woods.

  She’d tried to stop Edward from forcing himself on her, and yet Edward’s actions would still wound Chase. He would be devastated at what Edward had attempted to do, for his sister’s sake.

  If only she could stop the story from reaching him in Chicago. Or at the very least, she wished she could shield him from the blow.

  May 1, 1813

  Flowers have replaced the snow, and I have been busy sewing new clothing for Molly and Thomas. When I am finished, I shall take them to the British fort to see if the soldiers can tell me what happened to the children’s father. My husband.

  My greatest fear is that they will demand my allegiance as well and take the children from me.

  Nickolas knows what happened to Jonah. I saw it in his eyes, and yet he refused to tell me. How can a man live with himself after betraying his loyalty to his country—and hiding what happened to an innocent man?

  My hands hurt as I write this, from sewing and cooking and making repairs in the house. There is no longer any fuel for the lamp.

  I can’t stop working, for the sake of my children and for Jonah when he returns.

  Even if I had a way to leave Mackinac, I wouldn’t. Not until I find out if Jonah is still alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “You have another telegram, sir.”

  Chase looked up from his rented desk on the fourteenth floor in the Owings Building. The boy seemed to space out his deliveries, one every hour or so, instead of bringing the telegrams all at once. Chase certainly encouraged a budding entrepreneur, though he wasn’t sure he should encourage such misuse of the boy’s time.

  The messenger held out the envelope, and Chase tapped on the stack of unopened messages piling up since early this morning. “You can put it here.”

  Chase dug into his pocket and pulled out a dime. The boy took it and scurried off for his next delivery. Chase glanced out the window, where the lake and sky blended together in the distance. Whaleback steamers dotted the horizon, hauling coal, lumber, and grain to and from the city. As one industry faded away, others were budding to take its place. The world was changing so quickly, it felt almost impossible at times to keep up with progress.

  But it was his job to stay one step ahead, so he picked up his pen once more to finish his letter to Guglielmo Marconi inquiring about his proposed wireless signals. He’d barely completed two sentences before Richard cleared his throat from the door.

  “Nelson Reese is here to see you.”

  Chase waved his pen. “Send him in.”

  He completed one more sentence and then looked up. Nelson was a lanky man with thick spectacles on his long nose. His gaze darted from the window to Chase and then to the floor. Most of the inventors Chase met didn’t know the first thing about business or business meetings, but he didn’t mind educating them. He didn’t know the first thing about inventing.

  Chase pointed toward a chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Last night, out on Lake Michigan, he’d seen ridges on the moon and dark spots that astronomers believed to be bodies of water. Brilliant white spots dotted the moon’s surface, as well, and what appeared to be rocks… or perhaps they were mountains.

  Only a handful of astronomers had seen such a close view of the moon before, and now he joined them. If he and Richard could work with Nelson to produce more of these telescopes, thousands of others could see the majesty of the skies.

  If men like the ones before him persisted, they might find out in his lifetime what was on the moon.

  “I’ve been testing your telescope,” he explained. “On Mackinac Island and then last night on Lake Michigan. I wanted to be sure, you see.”

  Nelson fidgeted in the chair. “Sure of what?”

  He nodded toward Richard, standing beside Nelson. “Richard and I want to partner with you, to make and distribute your telescope.”

  Nelson crossed his arms, his eyes shifting between the men. “I was looking for an investor, not a partner.”

  “I understand, Mr. Reese.” He crossed his legs. It wouldn’t pay to let this man think he was nervous, but the reality was that he really wanted to be part of making this telescope even if it didn’t generate a profit. “Some companies do just invest, but my father and I—we like to have an active part in making sure our investments are successful.”

  “How does that work?” Nelson scooted the chair closer to the desk, and Richard sat in a chair beside him.

  His assistant was even more anxious for the company to invest in this telescope, but Chase wished he would stop tapping his foot on the carpet. It wouldn’t pay for any of them to be nervous.

  Chase shuffled through another stack of papers on his desk and pulled out a contract that he and Richard had written with their attorney. Nelson took it from him.

  “You patent this telescope and we will find a manufacturer to make it,” Chase explained. “Then we sell them to department stores and put advertisements in the major newspapers across the country so people can see the wonders of the heavens for themselves.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “The wonders of the heavens?”

  Andy would have said something much more eloquent than that, but it was the best he could do. “What’s wrong with wonders?”

  “Nothing, I suppose.” Richard glanced at Nelson and then looked back at Chase. “It just doesn’t sound a bit like you.”

  Chase nodded at the papers. “Can we focus on the business at hand?”

  Richard scooted to the edge of his chair, looking over Nelson’s shoulder at the contract. “After the cost of making and distributing the telescopes, this says that you and S. P. Darrington & Company will split the profits in half.”

  Nelson pushed the spectacles up his nose. “Half the profits?”

  Chase shifted on his chair. He’d been through this conversation many times with inventors. They often wanted more than half of the profits, but they didn’t take into account the risk S. P. Darrington & Company was taking. Chase wanted to invest in the telescope, but his father would never allow th
em less than a 50 percent partnership.

  He reached for the contract. “I’m sorry it’s not satisfactory.”

  “Oh, no.” Nelson tugged the papers closer to him. “So if you sold, say, a thousand of these, what would our profits be?”

  Richard reached across the desk for another paper outlining the potential profit margin. He slid the paper toward Nelson.

  “Here’s what you would make if we sell a thousand.” Richard pointed down the column. “And here is the amount if we sell ten thousand.”

  Nelson gasped. “Do you think we can sell ten thousand?”

  Chase nodded. “If we do our job right by pricing and advertising it well. And then we hope people start telling their friends how amazing your telescope is.”

  Nelson held out his hand. “I’d like to sign.”

  Chase handed him the pen. “Do you have a plan on how you would use this money?”

  Nelson studied him for a moment, as if Chase should know the answer. “I’ll build a stronger telescope.”

  Chase leaned back, pleased with his words. “Of course.”

  He and Richard shook Nelson’s hand, exchanging the satchel with the telescope for a signed contract to make many more. After he left, Chase swiveled in his chair and watched the man and his worn bag climb onto a streetcar along Dearborn Street. He was almost sad to say good-bye to it.

  “Andy would be pleased,” he said, so quietly he didn’t think anyone heard him.

  “Who’s Andy?” Richard asked.

  He glanced back at his assistant in surprise. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t talk about Andy or Elena, not with Richard or anyone else, yet her name flowed naturally from his lips…even as she haunted his thoughts.

  He picked up the stack of messages on his desk and began thumbing through them. “Don’t you have something to do?”

  Richard watched him for another moment. “Nothing pressing.”

  “Surely you can find something of moderate importance to occupy your time.”

  Before Richard could respond, someone knocked on the door. Chase expected the messenger boy again, but instead the doorman stood in front of him, a panicked look on his face.

  “Your father is on the telephone, Mr. Darrington. He said it’s an urgent matter.”

  Chase dropped the stack of messages. His father never used the telephone.

  The doorman led him quickly to the booth in the lobby.

  * * * * *

  The afternoon sun warmed the bedroom, but even with the sunshine Elena shivered under her covers. No matter how many wool blankets her mother piled on top of her, the coldness still clung to her skin. She closed her eyes in the light, the rays warming her face.

  God had been there in the woods. She felt Him just as strongly as she’d felt His presence in the lighthouse. He had protected her from the hands of a man who wanted to hurt her.

  God had been there, and He’d listened to her. Now she prayed a new prayer. She prayed that God would protect Chase, as He had protected her, from the man who wanted to ruin him. According to the Scriptures, the enemy meant to steal, kill, and destroy, but if they followed God’s voice, He could use this situation for good. If only Chase would let Him.

  She rolled away from the sunlight, Edward’s words playing over and over again in her mind. Did Chase always run when a woman began to love him? Perhaps his leaving her had nothing to do with either her father or her mother. Perhaps he’d been planning to run even before they saw each other at the Grand.

  She could pray for Chase, but she never should have allowed her heart to get entangled with a man she didn’t know.

  Mama walked quietly into her room and sat down on the bed, holding out a cup of tea to her. Elena could smell the gentle aroma of chamomile. “Nell made it for you.”

  Elena took a long sip. Perhaps it would ward off this chill that plagued her.

  Her mother took the cup from her and cradled it in her hands. “Are you all right?”

  Elena leaned back against the pillows as the tea began to warm her from the inside. She didn’t quite know how she was, nor could she find the words to express it. “I’ll recover.”

  “Of course you will.” Mama placed the cup on the nightstand and then tucked the blankets around Elena, like she had when Elena was a child.

  Elena’s smile flickered, and then she swallowed hard. “The women will talk, won’t they?”

  “Probably.”

  Her stomach plummeted again. “I’m so sorry.”

  She heard footsteps and turned her head as her father slipped into the room.

  Mama patted her hand. “There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about, Elena. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She shook her head. “If I hadn’t been there alone…”

  Papa sat down on the other side of the bed. “You should be able to go anywhere on this island you like, Elena, without worrying.”

  She swallowed, wishing she could believe his words. “What are the soldiers going to do with Mr. Powell?”

  Papa glanced down at his folded hands before he looked back at her. “They’ll have to let him go tonight.”

  “Let him go!” Mama exclaimed. “But the lieutenant—he saw what the man did.”

  “What he tried to do,” he corrected her. “Thank God he didn’t hurt her.”

  Mama glanced at Elena. “He hurt her plenty.”

  The room felt as though it were swimming around her, the walls closing in tight. It was true; he hadn’t committed a crime—but he’d intended to hurt her.

  She wiggled herself up on her elbows. “I want to go to my lighthouse.”

  “Your what?” Mama exclaimed.

  “My lighthouse, over on the eastern bluff.”

  “Lightho—” Mama stammered. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  Papa stood up. “Claude can go with you.”

  She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  Mama trailed him out the door. “What lighthouse?” she asked him again before she shut the door.

  After the fort’s cannon saluted the sunset and the world melded into black, Elena and Claude walked together out the back door. No one would see her in the darkness, and with Claude at her side, she wasn’t afraid of Edward or any other man. She didn’t comment about the pistol Claude carried on his waist. At one time she might have been afraid of the gun, but tonight she was glad of it.

  There was no reason for her and Claude to hurry as they walked down the alley or the wider lane that led to the trail. Both her parents knew where she was going tonight.

  Years ago Claude had told her about the lighthouse he’d found when he was a boy, but he’d never told her how he’d come to find it. After that day he’d led her to it, she’d rarely spoken of it to him, afraid someone else might hear.

  As she stepped onto the trail a few steps behind Claude, she spoke. “When you were a boy…how did you find the lighthouse?”

  “My granddaddy told me all about it.”

  She took a deep breath. “Was Jonah Seymour your grandfather?”

  He lifted a branch along their path, and she ducked under it. “Mr. Seymour wasn’t my granddaddy.”

  “What were the names of your grandfathers?”

  “Nickolas Westmount and—”

  She interrupted him. “We—I found a journal written by Magdelaine Seymour. It talked about Nickolas.”

  He stopped walking. “What did it say?”

  On the bluff in front of them was the lighthouse. She nodded toward it. “If it’s still here, I can show it to you.”

  As they stepped into the lightkeeper’s home, a scurry of mice feet rushed into the shadows. Claude hung the lantern on a hook and surveyed the room.

  “How long has it been since you were here?” she asked.

  “Since I showed it to you in ’87.”

  “But how long before then?”

  He paused. “A good thirty years.”

  She sat down at the chair beside the desk. “Why haven’t you come back
?”

  “This place brings joy to you, Miss Elena, but it brings nothing but sorrow to me. My granddaddy died in 1818 a broken man.”

  She hesitated by the dresser. This beautiful tower had been a place of sadness for Magdelaine as well. Perhaps reading the journal would also bring Claude nothing but sorrow.

  She opened the trunk and searched through the clothes, but the journal wasn’t there.

  “He didn’t bring it back,” she muttered.

  He watched the trunk like it might share its secrets with him. “What did Magdelaine say?”

  “She talked about missing her husband,” Elena said. “And how your granddaddy brought her and her children food.”

  Claude leaned against the stone wall. “He wanted to help them, and I suppose he did at first. But then he did something terrible.”

  A shiver chilled her. “What did he do?”

  Claude heaved deeply, in and out. “He reported to the British that Mrs. Seymour was living at the lighthouse.”

  “How could—why would he do that?” Especially to someone like Magdelaine Seymour, who needed him.

  Claude took his watch out of his pocket and twisted the timepiece in his hands. “He got scared, I think, about what would happen to his family if they found out he was keeping this secret. And the British offered rewards to those who turned in people who hadn’t pledged their allegiance to the king.”

  “So he took their money—”

  “I’m not proud of it, Miss Elena.”

  She tried to smile, to reassure him. What a terrible thing it must be, to carry the weight of what an ancestor had done.

  “What happened to Jonah?” she asked.

  “I’m not certain,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was told Magdelaine went to the fort to search for Jonah. The fort was struck by lightning and there was a fire. Magdelaine was killed.”

  Her voice caught. “And her children?”

  “Legend has it that they disappeared, killed in the fire maybe, but I sure wish I knew what happened to them.”

  Tears stung Elena’s eyes. She was silent for a moment, her heart grieving for Thomas and Molly. “We’re both carrying a heavy burden for bad choices that others made.”