“Hmm, I think we got some sweet ol’ gals bein’ chased by men like that right here at the Grand. I told Miss Fox about one just today.” Ray began to brush Ben’s dinner jacket off.
Had he said anything about Ben to her? “I see.” He cleared his throat.
The man beamed. “Don’t you worry—I know you be a good man, and I didn’t say nothin’ about you to Miss Ada.”
“Thank you.” He recognized the woman from Detroit. And somehow connected her to Greyson Luce. But how?
En route to the Grand, with sore muscles from canoeing with Jack the previous evening, Maude headed up the hill to the imposing structure built atop the lower bluff. Drat! Why did the handsome stranger Mr. König have to show up at the bicycle shop yesterday, right when Maude had decided her only chance at employment was at the very hotel where he was staying? But she wasn’t about to get sidetracked by someone staying for the summer—likely less—no matter how good-looking he was. No matter that he had injured himself saving her brother. If she kept trying, she could convince herself she had no interest in the man. No. She couldn’t talk herself out of her fledgling feelings for him. But how would she avoid him if he saw her there? At least in a short time, Friedrich König would return to wherever he was from.
Straightening her best skirt, she scanned the groups of people attired in workman’s clothing, at the back of the hotel. The employees clustered near early blooming hydrangea bushes, some of the men smoking. She edged toward what must be the servants’ entrance. She’d left her bicycle behind in her cousin’s stable, not wishing any of the servants to take notice of her spiffy new machine.
She flexed her feet. The walk up the hill, in her stiff new boots, was sure to bring blisters. She entered the building. Never had she seen a hall so long. Few islanders worked inside the ostentatious building. Which was to her benefit, because there’d be little chance of running into them here if she obtained a position. The cavernous Grand Hotel still smelled of fresh-cut pine, eight years after it had been built. As she trod the spotless wood floor, passing maids pushing rolling carts, she detected hints of paint, lemon oil, and beeswax, as well.
A woman with skin the color of coffee set her dust rag aside. “Help you find your way, miss?”
“Mrs. Fox’s office?”
“The housekeeping manager?” The servant cocked her head.
Should have worn something simpler. “Yes.”
“Follow me.” The solidly built woman led Maude down the long hall.
Flowers dotted almost every surface in the corridor, bright shades of red, yellow, and lilac. As lovely as they were, each step hammered caution through her. Although the Grand had brought additional business to the island, most natives of Mackinac didn’t want anything to do with the showy place. Certainly, her family hadn’t, other than supplying goods.
Framed pictures of exotic locations lined the walls in the middle of the long hall. Brass placards affixed to the bottom of the gilded, oversized wood frames named castles, pyramids, Central Park, and river locations. Likely destinations that the wealthy travelers to the hotel had also visited and would find familiar. So unlike the paintings at her inn.
The maid waved an arm toward an alcove. “This is Mrs. Fox’s seating room.”
“Thank you.”
Maude walked beneath the scalloped arch. Within, black-leather padded seats lined the walls. What am I doing here? No one would hire her. But she couldn’t have Father sell the inn and take them to the mainland.
Pulling her skirts close, she sat in the chair closest to the arch in case she changed her mind and left. She needed this job to prove herself. Maude tugged at her gloves, removed them, and tucked them inside her reticule.
The minutes ticked by, and Mrs. Fox’s office door, stained in tones of darker mahogany and lighter cherry, remained closed. An unvarnished placard, mounted in the center of the upper door panel, proclaimed “ADA FOX, HOUSEKEEPING MANAGER,” and hung askew. It needed adjusting.
Maude rose and stepped cautiously over the rich red-and-green Persian rug then hesitated at the door, her hands shaking. Behind this door sat the woman who could make her dreams come true. Or deny them. The sign must be straightened. Maude adjusted the placard until it sat perfectly even. Quick footsteps from within the office echoed before she could step away. The heavy door opened inward.
Maude straightened as she stood face-to-face with a compact woman dressed in fine but serviceable clothes. Such as she should have worn for this visit.
The matron stared at her with dark eyes. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here about a job.”
“I see.” The lady raised one eyebrow. “Do you make it a habit of creeping up and standing behind doors?”
Oh, no, this was going badly. Perspiration beaded Maude’s upper lip. “No, ma’am, it’s just that your sign was off kilter.” She was off kilter, too.
“Off kilter?” A smile tugged at the woman’s thin lips. “Oh, you mean that board they stuck up there?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman sighed. “The proper frame should arrive soon. Then all will be set aright.”
“Yes.” If only Maude’s own situation could be fixed so easily. Greyson’s wed to Anna Forham. Prickles of indignation sped down her arms.
“Come in.” The lady whirled into the office, revealing multiple layers of petticoats beneath her skirt, and stepped behind a sturdy, dark-stained table used as a desk.
Maude followed and sat where directed. She held out her application, and the woman took it.
Dear Lord, what am I doing here? She inhaled and smelled only her fear—creeping through her pores as she awaited her interview. The salt-and-pepper-haired woman before her held up Maude’s application and scanned it before setting it back on her desk—unadorned save for a gilded photo frame.
“Have you any experience with housekeeping, Miss …”
Maude didn’t intimidate easily, but the matron’s stern appearance flustered her. Lord, I need this job if I’m going to prove to Father that I can run the hotel. She met Mrs. Fox’s direct gaze. “Welling. Maude Welling.”
Brown eyes behind silver frames widened, and for a moment something flickered over the woman’s features and then vanished. Had she recognized her name? “Miss Welling, I’ve come from Detroit where I ran a very tight ship. I expect the same here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Maude looked down at her lap. “I have years of experience here on the island.”
“Where?”
“At the Winds of Mackinac.”
The housekeeping manager’s lips compressed. “The Winds of Mackinac, you say?” Mrs. Fox’s tone held steel.
“Yes.” Bad move, wrong thing to have said.
Did Mrs. Fox know Maude was the daughter of the proprietor?
“I’m expecting the owner shan’t want you coming over to us. Did you manage to secure a letter of reference?”
“Not from my employer”—Maude explained, barely managing to avoid saying father—“but my teachers and other businessmen on the island have offered me letters.” Maude placed them atop the table.
After several minutes examining the references, the woman nodded. “Most impressive.” She offered a tight smile. “You realize you can’t come dressed …” Mrs. Fox waved a hand toward Maude.
Her cheeks heated, as the woman’s eyes flicked from Maude’s elaborate hat to her double-breasted cropped jacket, her best herringbone skirt, and down to her shining new short boots.
“You’ll need to pick up your uniform. It will be deducted from your wages, as will your housing, which will be at—”
“No, thank you, ma’am—I won’t require lodging. I have … relatives on the island.”
The woman’s features froze, but her index finger tapped on her spotless desktop.
“Thank you for this opportunity.” Maude pressed her fingers to her mouth. She was gushing.
The woman’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Your enthusiasm is appreciated. We run a
tight ship here, and while I can be demanding, you’ll find I reward those whose work is exemplary. And you, my dear, will be on my list to watch!”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you.” Or my father.
Mrs. Fox’s features hardened. “Keep to yourself. Be a good girl. Work hard—and you’ll do fine. Don’t mix with the guests, nor for one moment be alone with a man in any of the rooms. I’ll explain more of our rules when you work on Monday.”
“Yes, ma’am. What time should I arrive?”
“By four should be fine.”
Maude swallowed. She’d not risen before seven o’clock in her life. “Yes, ma’am.”
Sumptuous fabric almost tethered Ben to the high bed. How had he returned to his grandparents’ Bavarian estate? No—it was his uncle’s now. He struggled to move, but pain surged through him. He was on Mackinac Island. Abed at the Grand Hotel even though it was midday. At this rate, he’d never get his story done.
The door opened. Light from the hallway spilled in across the emerald floral carpet.
“Just me, Mr. König.” Ray crossed the room, opened the brocade curtains, and lifted the shades. “Thought I’d let you sleep a little longer before you changed, sir.”
“What’s the time?”
“Nearing lunch, sir, so I figgered you best be rising. And I brought you a telegram from the front desk, right there.” He handed it to Ben.
“GL a fraud,” his editor had telegraphed. “Pursue story.”
He moved his legs to the side of the bed, intense pain shrieking through his back. Oh, Gott, bitte hilf mir. Oh, Lord, please help me.
“Sir?” Blevins rushed to his side. “You look like you gonna pass out.”
“Ja, we should go to the doctor.” His image, in the mirror across the room, swam. Ben closed his eyes. Instead of slipping into his own comfortable and well-worn tan dungarees, shirt, and tweed jacket, he’d be forced to don the attire of a well-to-do industrialist.
“I can send him right up, sir.”
“Nein. The island doctor.”
“We got one right here for our own people.”
Two birds with one stone—he’d have the island doctor check him and make discreet inquiries about Greyson. “Ray, help me get dressed, and then let’s get to the town doctor.”
After her interview terminated, Mrs. Fox insisted that Maude acquaint herself with the hotel layout. The hotel made the Winds of Mackinac inn minuscule, yet the inn possessed three full stories and occupied several acres of land, including a park adjacent to the waterfront. The Grand Hotel truly deserved its name. But she needed to get home instead of perusing.
She paused around the corner from the assistance desk, which occupied an alcove between the two wings.
“I require a carriage to go see the town doctor.” Mr. König’s voice carried into the hallway.
Oh, no, he was worse. But Maude dare not approach him here.
“We have our own physician on staff—”
“I wish to see Dr. Cadotte.” Mr. König’s commanding tone brooked no argument.
Oh my. Was he distressed that he’d helped save Jack? What if Father found out—would he say she needed to keep better track of her brother?
She’d get to the doctor’s office as soon as she could. Maude would need to pay for Friedrich König’s medical bill so that Father wouldn’t hear of it. If he did, he’d worry even more about Jack, and that might cause him to have another spell. Her own heart clutched at the thought.
“The carriage can be ordered, but it will be about twenty minutes.”
“Fine.” Mr. König’s words sounded as though he’d ground them between his teeth.
As stealthily as she could, Maude slipped around the corner. Then ran all the way down the hall, dodging maids as she ran for the exit and toward her cousin’s shop to change and get her bike. She had twenty minutes or so to get to the doctor’s office, explain all to her uncle, and pray that Mr. König would be well. What if something was seriously wrong with him? Outside the hotel, she continued to run, not pausing until she reached Stan’s stables.
Her cousin waved to her. “Maude—your filly comes in on the afternoon ferry.”
“Oh, no.” She’d forgotten both her quarter horse and Jack’s Thoroughbred were being returned from the Upper Peninsula where they’d wintered.
Stan slid the stable door farther open, allowing in more sunlight. “I’ll rent her out if you can’t give her exercise.”
Without Robert there to ride with and Jack always bicycling now, it would be best.
“Yes, please!” she called out as she jumped onto the bike then hitched up her skirts and pinned them. She should defy Father and get some bloomers. “And pray for Friedrich König—he’s the man who saved Jack. He’s hurt. I’m going to François’s office to let him know he’s coming.”
“Sure will.”
Maude rode as quickly as she could. Her uncle’s office was less than a mile away. She flinched as she rode alongside a dray piled high with hay bales. She was always afraid one was going to fall off the top and crush her; they were stacked so high and not even secured with rope.
Soon she arrived at the physician’s office. Surely he could fix up poor Mr. König. What a pity it would be if the kind man sustained injuries requiring an early return home to Detroit.
Why did her plans for the summer all have Mr. König as a shadowy figure in them? Canoeing, picnics, bike rides, carriage rides, and perhaps even a theater production. How would she do any of those things if she were to work at the Grand six days a week? Much less ride her mare. Without Greyson, Sadie, and Uncle Robert to frolic with, would she even have a social calendar to fill anyway?
❤
Gott sei dank. Ray had obtained permission to accompany Ben to the town doctor’s office. God be thanked, because Ben almost dropped to his knees from the pain. He panted slowly as the hotel employee half carried him into the white clapboard-sided building.
Once inside, Ben sat at a colonial-looking oak bench—austere with no padding. Ray removed his hat and approached the young woman at the counter, whose shocked expression presumably sprang from seeing a black man in this office.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes’m.” Ray twisted his hat in his hands. “Mr. König here got hurt yesterday and a Miss Welling tell him he can come see Doc Cadotte.”
The woman rose and peered around the servant at him. Ben started to scowl at her and then regretted his action.
“Is he staying at the Grand? I saw the carriage.”
“Yes’m.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be here, then, eh? He should be treated up there.” Her staccato pronunciation of her words hammered home that she was aggrieved. Yet the office otherwise seemed empty.
A flimsy door opened, and Miss Welling exited, a nervous smile affixed to her pretty face. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Glad to help, Maude.” The man leaned over and attempted to kiss her forehead. She pulled away and glanced at Ben.
What was she doing here, and was the doctor, with graying hair, Miss Welling’s new sweetheart? It wasn’t unheard of for a woman to marry a man many years her senior if he was well situated. Judging from the spartan office, however, this man wasn’t wealthy—although Ben knew some of the very well-to-do chose to hide their assets. Dr. Cadotte wouldn’t be the first. Indeed, the wealthiest woman in America, Adelaide Bishop, was rumored to live like a skinflint.
Maude took several steps toward him. “Mr. König—are you much worse?”
“Ja, afraid so.”
Eyes like rich caramel scanned his face and torso before Maude sat down on the bench with him. Her hands outstretched, for a moment he thought she might take his hands in hers, but then she clutched them together in her lap.
The receptionist joined them. “You know Mr. König, Maudie?”
The young woman’s cheeks flushed. “I do. He saved Jack from crashing into the bicycle-shop barrier. Mr. König fell onto the rocks.”
“Oh.
” The receptionist slowly walked to the still-open door where the physician remained, looking over a notepad.
The woman whispered in his ear, and the doctor nodded. “Mr. König, come back with me.”
Ray bent over from his waist, with dignity. “You want help, sir?”
Ben guarded his right side, keeping his arm close to his body. “Ja.”
Maude rose and stepped back, her smile tremulous. “Mr. König, I must get home and help with some functions at the inn tonight. But I’ll check with François, that is Dr. Cadotte, tomorrow to see how you are.”
The lovely islander moved nearer him, wafting the scent of lilacs. “And I’ve paid your bill.”
When she left, the door closing behind her, a chill of absence surged through Ben. How could he already mourn the loss of her company when he barely knew her?
An hour later, after being poked and prodded, Ben realized why Maude’s words about the bill troubled him so much. How had she known he would require the doctor—for certain? What was she doing there in the first place? Why hadn’t she seemed surprised to see him? Odd—but as a reporter he seemed to question even the most innocent of actions. He exhaled, sending a sharp pain through his back.
The doctor probed Ben’s back ribs. “Mr. König, might I inquire as to your relationship with Maude?”
Ben swallowed, wishing to ask if the physician commonly tried to kiss young women patients. “I’ve only recently met her—and her brother.”
Cadotte laughed. “You’ll run into Jack all over the island—he’s never still.”
When the man’s prodding fingers ceased torturing his ribs, he placed a wet and malodorous, camphorated cloth over them and began to wind cloth around Ben’s torso.
“Too tight?”
“Nein.”
“You’ll need to leave this poultice on several days. Then I want to see you back.” The man continued his bandaging and then tied off the cloth.
“You don’t kiss all your patients, do you, Herr Doctor?” Ben coughed into his hand.
My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island Page 5
