“Oh?” Her voice held a note of caution. “You don’t strike me as the chatty type, Mr. König.”
“Sometimes.” He grinned at her and pierced a potato chunk. He needed to be careful not to blow his cover.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Islanders don’t normally converse with visitors.”
“Ja. But they’re so pleased I saved Jack. I think they’re so excited about their island sprinter that they’re gushing with words for me.”
“Ah, the island gossip chain has already transmitted the news, then.” She sipped her coffee.
“Ja. I’ve heard so many things at the Grand, too.”
“Such as?” Her chin jerked up a little higher.
Ben shrugged, hoping to get this safely back on topic and extricate himself from the suspicion he was casting on himself. “Captain Swaine would be a good husband and provider.”
Perhaps the dark-haired man was the real reason Maude didn’t appear to be grieving her broken engagement. Other than her tears at the wharf.
“That’s no secret.”
Ben shouldn’t be wasting his time mooning over the island girl. Needed to further explore the potential stories from the Grand. Preferably for articles that Banyon would accept rather than something about his rival’s daughter. His boss had never seemed the vindictive sort, although he’d often complained bitterly of Forham’s tactics in journalism.
Maude cocked her head to the side, ringlets bouncing against her ivory neck and trailing down her bodice. “Are you all right, Mr. König? Are you in a lot of pain?”
“Not too bad.” Tomorrow would be the Sabbath. The best place to get information might be at church, if after-service conversations were anything like those in Detroit and Chicago. “Does your invitation to attend church still stand?”
She flushed and raised her coffee to her lovely lips. Setting the cup into its saucer, she met his eyes. “I was making you aware of our place of worship. Anyone is free to attend.”
Disappointment was chased away as a physical reaction of anger shot through him. A recollection commanded his thoughts. Years earlier King Otto had begun a persecution of the Catholics in Bavaria. Father hadn’t been able to practice his faith—definitely not after he married Mother. The children had been baptized in the Protestant faith.
“Ja, that’s a good thing that any who wish may attend.”
Tonight, he’d have to get cracking on all his potential articles. Even the one that included Maude’s name. Still, looking at her pretty face, he’d have to push himself hard to get typing.
Chapter Seven
Surely it was pain that kept Ben awake and not guilt at what he’d begun typing. Now he was late getting to church. From its peeling paint, sagging shutters, and crumbling shingles, the place could use repairs.
Two stragglers loitered at the door—one of the boys turning to gawk at him.
“Whatcha doin’ here?” Jack Welling drew out the last word as though it was the very last place on God’s green earth that he’d expect to see Ben.
He shrugged. “They serve good coffee here in the fellowship hall, ja?” Hopefully the Mission Church’s coffee klatch served up enough gossip to be chased for actual truth.
“Yup.” Jack jerked a thumb to point to the basement of the building. “Dad says they just don’t allow us whippersnappers.”
“Aw, I like coffee.” The other boy dashed inside, leaving Jack behind.
“We were gonna sit in back together.” Jack’s shoulders rose and fell.
“Sit with me, then.” Ben planned to observe. And listen well.
“Nah, I better take you up to sit with Muddie and Dad.”
Ben stiffened. “Nein.” He had no desire to sit next to Maude’s new beau, if Captain Swaine also attended.
But the boy darted ahead of him up the stairs and into the church. Exhaling loudly, Ben followed Jack and took a few long strides to catch up to enter the narthex. Inside, the two doors to the sanctuary were open, and the seats that lined either side were about half filled. He could have easily slid into an open pew without detection. The entire interior was painted white, even the pew backs, which gave the building an austere feeling.
In a loud stage whisper, the boy called, “Come on! It’s up front.”
Instead of hiding in the back as he’d planned, Ben would be on display. He stifled a groan when parishioners turned to look as they strode forward.
Jack stopped at the end of a pew where only the two Wellings sat. Mr. Welling leaned slightly forward to give his son a stern look. Jack ignored the silent admonition and sprinted to the back of the church. Welling’s sigh could be heard all the way at the end of the pew.
Bronze coiffed hair gleamed with light from the stained-glass windows as Maude gestured for him to move closer. Ben slowly maneuvered down the pew to join them.
“Mr. König, how good to see you here.” She offered a radiant smile.
His heartbeat raced as he sat beside her. She wanted him here, after all. Might Maude even care for him? Warmth flowed through him. Interrupted immediately by the wheezy sound of an untuned organ.
“Oh dear.” Maude’s knuckles grew white as the organist, a pleasant-looking young woman, attempted to coax some semblance of good sound from the ancient instrument.
Ben scanned the room. A piano hid in an alcove to the right.
“They need to replace our organ, but we haven’t the funds yet.” Maude’s sweet lips pinched together.
When the minister raised a palm toward the organist, the screeching sound ceased. Red-faced, the poor woman stood. Wie pienlich—how embarrassing. With eyes downcast, she trod back to her seat. But Ben felt dozens of eyes pinned on him rather than on the organist. Did the parishioners know he was tasked to expose one of their members? He’d not seen Luce on his way in. Was he wrong in assuming he attended the same church as Maude did?
After the doxology and prayers, the minister stood to preach.
“Today I will speak about The Prince and the Pauper and how that relates to our Christian walk.” Adjusting his clerical collar, he scanned his audience.
Ben cringed. How did the man know that Ben, like the pauper in the story, was acting the part of a prince—but only momentarily?
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Shivers washed through Ben’s body.
“Are you well?” Maude placed her small cotton-gloved hand on his much larger one. Her fingers looked perfect lying atop his.
“Two shall become as one.”
She pulled her hand away, settling both in her lap.
The preacher continued, “God has made us all princes.”
Ben shifted in his seat.
“As well as princesses.” Reverend McWithey smiled beneficently at Maude and several young women up front.
“He makes us all heirs to His kingdom.”
Ben felt like a section of linotype being examined for defect or error.
“And God makes heiresses of His kingdom, too.”
Mr. Welling coughed.
“Some of you think you are paupers. You’ve never accepted that you have already been given keys to the kingdom—so you don’t live a kingdom-honoring life. Some of you knew you were sons and daughters of the Lord but chose to live an ungodly life. Others are only about to hear the good news of salvation and eternal life in Christ.”
As the man went on, Ben’s convictions grew. So much of how he viewed himself was based on seeing himself as in an impoverished state and lamenting that he wasn’t living in a manor house. Much of this feeling was based on his parents’ reaction to their reduced state after his uncle, who’d inherited the family estate in Germany, refused to honor his grandparents’ wishes that Ben’s family live in their own part of the manor house and be free to come and go as they wished. That had suited his traveling musician parents. But his uncle became ashamed of Ben’s family, calling his parents gypsies and itinerants.
Ben had only vague recollections of the day they’d come home to the
estate to be told they were no longer welcome. All their possessions had been packed, and they were told to find housing elsewhere. Only they hadn’t. Instead, his mother, crushed by her elder brother’s hostile actions, sought a life for them in America, losing Ben’s sister on the way.
He blinked back the tears that threatened his eyes. When the sermon ended, Ben wished only to leave and be alone with his demons. With his memories of the pauper he’d become. And his ribs had begun to hurt again. He had no trouble making his excuses to the Wellings before he returned to the hotel. So much for overhearing coffee klatch gossip.
Poor Mr. König. It had been very nice to see him again, but between her concern for the kind man and Reverend McWithey’s sermon about lies and the trouble they caused, Maude’s head ached. Extra coffee at the church hall hadn’t eased the pain, either. She vowed that before she slept on this Lord’s Day, she must address a few things. She stood in the hallway of the inn on the first floor, preparing to take action.
Beginning tomorrow, her days belonged to the Grand Hotel. She’d have to wake before daybreak, travel to the hotel, and check in precisely at 4:00 a.m. She opened the front door to exit onto the wraparound porch. She smelled Father’s cherry pipe smoke and followed the scent.
Brilliant pink mixed in the evening sky, above golden striated clouds and tipped down onto the azure blue water of the straits, its low waves rolling in on the nearby beach. Cool early night breezes ruffled her puffed sleeves, and Maude grasped her arms at the elbows as she approached the man who denied her the fulfillment of her plans to run the inn.
“Maude?” Father’s lips flattened. “Did you need something?”
“I’ll be up early tomorrow morning, Father, so don’t wait breakfast on me.” She kissed his forehead, smelling his Ayer’s Hair Vigor tonic.
“Fine. Sleep well.”
Would she? Knowing she was employing a deception? “Good night.”
Maude retreated inside then down the hall to the inn’s rear exit, in search of Bea. Lifting her skirts, she trod down the back stairs of the inn and out to the detached laundry room. A whoosh of moist, starch-scented air greeted her.
“Hello, miss.” A rosy-cheeked Jane lifted sheets from one tub and into another while Jeanette turned the crank on the rotary clothes washer nearby. Half past eight at night and Jane had served breakfast to them at eight that morning. What a long day. Jane wiped her wrist against her forehead, where curls clung to her brow.
“I’m looking for Bea.”
Maude’s gut twisted. She was about to involve her friend’s sister in her scheme. Bea emptied the chamber pots and tidied up before breakfast so she’d be able to help Maude rise in the morning.
“She’s in bed, miss.”
“Thank you.” Maude returned to the inn and went to the girl’s room, on the servants’ hall. Light beneath the door revealed she was yet awake. Maude tapped on the door, and Bea opened it.
“I need a favor.”
“What?”
“Can you please wake me when you start your morning rounds?”
Bea’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Don’t ask.” Maude smiled faintly and motioned as though holding a key to her lips and locking them. “Mum’s the word, Bea.”
The girl imitated Maude’s movements and added a motion of throwing away the key.
Had Maude just enlisted the help of the one person most likely to share her activities with anyone who would listen?
Chapter Eight
Something jabbed Maude—Huron warriors attacking and nudging her with their spears, their faces painted black and red. They hissed at her in their unintelligible dialect. They’d take her from Fort Michilimackinac as they had her grandmother many times removed.
Maude sat up in bed, gasping.
A dark form loomed at her bedside. “Get up.” Bea’s command echoed in her ears.
“Oh, Bea …” Maude took two long, slow breaths. “What time is it?”
“It’s the devil’s own hour, Pa always said—three in the morning.”
Maude groaned. “Thank you.”
The girl rustled around the room, lighting the gaslights.
Maude threw back her covers then slid from the high bed.
Bea clucked. “Best get moving if you have someplace to go.”
The girl was downright irritating.
Maude bent beneath her bed to retrieve her maid’s uniform. “Can you help me?”
“Not my job.”
“Yes, but …” Ire rose. “If you wish to keep your position, help me, and mind your tongue.” Remorse washed over her as soon as she’d uttered the words.
Bea moved closer and unbuttoned the gown’s back closing. Why was her nightdress not buttoned in the front? She’d turn it around tonight. No need in relying upon Bea.
The girl bent and lifted the gown so swiftly that it caught Maude by surprise and she fell back against the bed.
“Sorry.” The girl’s accompanying sniff stabbed Maude’s heart.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Maude squeezed the girl’s thin shoulders.
“It’s all right.”
She’d leave her camisole on and change her undergarments that night. “I’ll need a bathwater this afternoon, Bea. Can you tell the workmen? I’ll be using the tub in the laundry house.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me that—it makes me feel a hundred years old.” Getting up this early had her feeling double her age, already.
Hours later, bone weary at the Grand Hotel, Maude lost count of the number of ceramic chamber pots she’d emptied before the sun had risen. The senior housekeeping staff followed behind her, their stoic faces masking whatever opinions they had of her lack of skills.
As she closed her last room behind her, another door nearby flew open.
One of the senior maids, Amanda, who’d look more at home in a tavern, with her brassy hair and overly made-up face, emerged.
A tall dark-haired man in blue pajamas threw his arm out toward the long hall. Friedrich König. “Out! And don’t come back. I will be speaking to Mrs. Fox of your behavior.”
She’d been warned of men who tried to take advantage of the maids and was told to run from the room if that happened. Had this man attempted an offensive behavior? Was he a rogue and trying to throw suspicion off onto the maid?
Maude ducked her head and pulled her cap low. Heart hammering in her chest, she turned her attention back to her task. The offended servant headed straight for Mrs. Fox’s office.
What if I’m assigned his room? A million pins jabbed her thick hair into a severe bun, and her black-and-white maid’s uniform masked her figure, hanging limply from her shoulders. Surely he’d not recognize her.
Maude continued on her rounds, sweeping, polishing, and wiping until she feared her shoulder socket would come loose.
The lower staff’s immediate supervisor, Mrs. Stillman, passed by. She lifted the brass watch that dangled from her bodice and announced, “You’re late for break. Follow me.”
Breakfast scents carried from the servants’ dining room—five hours after her first shift, at 9:30 a.m. At home about now, she’d be preparing to go down and eat with her family. Was Jane this exhausted when she served breakfast?
After entering the long narrow room, Mrs. Stillman waved Maude toward the table’s far end. “You eat last. You’re newest.”
Maude’s stomach squeezed in protest. “Yes, ma’am.”
Waiting for the food to be passed to her end of the table, Maude tapped the arm of the dark-skinned woman adjacent. “What time does shift end?”
Brown-black eyes shone dark against the whites of her eyes as they widened. “Don’t you know, girl?”
“No.”
The heavyset woman tossed back a glass of milk. “Off the clock at half past two.”
“Two thirty?” Maude resisted a groan.
“Um-hum.” The older woman’s full lips drew up into a shy smile. “I’m Dessa. I have the top
floor.”
If Maude had the top floor, then she’d have less chance of bumping into Mr. König. “I’m Maude. I’m assigned rooms on the main floor.”
“You startin’ down heah?” The woman’s thick Southern accent carried the last word out in two syllables.
“Yes.”
The maid sniffed. “And you brand new?”
Maude stiffened at the woman’s accusatory tone. The other servant averted her gaze.
When the food finally made it to them, Dessa turned Maude’s way again. Little remained in the bowls of biscuits, grits, eggs, sausage, and potatoes.
“Ain’t enough grits to take three bites.” Dessa divided the amount in two and passed the bowl to Maude.
“You can have my grits.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.” In her fatigue, she’d lapsed into what she’d always called older women. And why shouldn’t she call this coworker ‘ma’am’?
“Ma’am?” The woman chuckled. She pushed the last of the creamy hominy grits onto her plate.
“Dessa?” Maude cleared her throat. “Do you think Mrs. Fox put me on the first floor so they could watch me closely?”
Chewing on a buttered biscuit, the servant closed her eyes, her face beatific as if savoring every morsel. “Mebbe so.”
“Do you think they don’t really want any local girls working here?”
“This be the first year they hired any of ya’ll.”
“I was afraid of that.” She emptied her portions onto her plate—filled only about a third full. She bowed her head and offered up a quick prayer.
When Maude opened her eyes, Dessa smiled. “You a good reminder to me of what I forgot to do—thank the good Lord that I got a roof over my head, food in my belly, and that I ain’t a sla—” Her head shot up.
The room came to a hush as Mrs. Fox, attired in a black day dress, entered the room. “Continue on. Don’t let me disturb you.”
As the manager made her way down the long table, she periodically stopped and squeezed a shoulder or bent to whisper something in one of the maid’s ears. A frisson of concern shot through Maude. Not only did she have to work later than she thought, which would intrude on her time with Jack, but she’d be exhausted when she returned. Plus, she’d be changing her clothes at the stable during peak time rather than closer to the lunch hour.
My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island Page 7
