My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “And guess what?”

  Maude pulled off her nightgown then moved to her armoire. “What?”

  “Your father’s got a visitor, too.”

  Searching for all her undergarments, Maude inhaled the scent of dried lavender that lay beneath the drawer liners. “Oh?”

  “A lady.”

  Maude swiveled around to look at her. The girl’s eyes sparkled in merriment.

  “Are you going to tell me who?”

  “Old friend.” Bea scratched beneath her cap.

  Those pins itched terribly—how well Maude knew. “Come here. Let me help you.”

  She plucked a half-dozen pins from strategic places on Bea’s scalp. “You’ve jabbed them in too tight, Bea.”

  The girl patted her head and accepted the hairpins from Maude. “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  Maude returned to her quest to gather all the items needed for her ensemble. Stockings, corset, petticoats. Maybe she did need assistance if she was to get ready quickly.

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  “Mrs. Wolf?”

  “Wolf? Wonder who that is. Bea, I hate to ask, but, yes, I do need help.”

  Maude gazed at the lovely pink vase of pink and raspberry peonies that Jane had placed on the bed table the previous night. They were the most perfect specimens that had ever grown in Mother’s garden. And Friedrich was the most perfect specimen of man she’d ever met. And his kiss. She pressed two fingertips to her lips, remembering the response he’d stirred in her. Was God moving her in another direction? But to Detroit? She wanted to cough just thinking about the stale air she’d be forced to breathe there. But if they lived in a grand home out in the country and didn’t farm. Then maybe.

  Bea helped her into her undergarments and pulled the laces on the corset gently tight. Thank goodness, she knew to not constrict Maude’s lungs overmuch.

  “Oh, Fox, not Wolf.”

  Maude stiffened.

  “Ada Fox?” Oh, no. What did she intend to tell her father? Maude jerked upright as Bea pulled in the last section of the corset.

  “Sucking in your breath to get a smaller waist?”

  Maude exhaled. “No. Please loosen it.”

  “Sure.”

  With a rushed toilette, Maude would be able to head downstairs, before the clock struck again. “I’ll wear the navy gabardine with the dropped waist.” Perhaps the demure day dress would be best—especially if Mrs. Fox was there to dismiss her or expose her secret.

  “That’s a plain outfit.”

  What if Friedrich were coming to ask for her hand in marriage? He had kissed her and embraced her—and they’d been seen. No—a rich man from the city, a cultured man like him, he probably kissed many girls. But he said he loved her. Did he tell them all that? Greyson’s betrayal rose up like a hissing serpent, taunting her. She went to her jewelry case, atop her chest of drawers, and opened it. She found the bracelet Greyson had given her at Christmas. Wearing it would remind her to guard her heart.

  “Hurry, miss, they’re waiting for you.” Bea sighed loudly.

  Maude fiddled with the clasp, finally turning to the younger girl for assistance.

  “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” She pretended to tweak the girl’s nose as she passed her and headed into the hall and downstairs.

  At the landing, the sweet sound of piano notes carried down the hallway, reminding Maude of the days before Mother had died. The music ceased as the song ended. A man’s deep laugh accompanied her father’s and a woman’s low chuckle.

  Was Ada Fox truly his friend? But if so, why hadn’t she come to visit earlier? It had been far too long since Father had welcomed friends to the inn. What would Mrs. Fox say? And Friedrich? Her heart hammered against her new Coronet corset, which didn’t seem as flexible as the advertisements touted.

  Hesitating in the hallway, Maude heard Mrs. Fox. “Peter, doesn’t this remind you of the old days?”

  Pressing a hand to her pleated bodice, Maude strained to hear her father’s response.

  “Oh, Ada, it surely recalls those jolly days in my parents’ parlor.” Warmth coated Father’s words.

  Entering the room, she found her father and Ada seated together. And at the piano—Friedrich König.

  Maude almost didn’t recognize her supervisor. Dressed in a pale yellow skirt and blouse, the woman appeared thin and delicate—her hair upswept into a fluffy chignon. She looked far younger than Maude thought her. The silver-rimmed glasses that either perched on her nose or hung from a chain around her neck were noticeably absent. A heavy gold locket dangled on her Alençon lace–covered bodice.

  Friedrich rose from the bench, and bowed. “Miss Welling.”

  Father gestured toward her supervisor. “This is my old neighbor, Ada.”

  “How good to have you in our home, ma’am.” At least for Father.

  Maude moved toward Friedrich, sensing his discomfort and feeling her own escalate rapidly as Mrs. Fox cast her a quick glance. Of warning?

  He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Comfort surged through her. Suddenly it seemed as though she had an ally. And while Greyson had been her friend through thick and thin, this type of succor was qualitatively different—like comparing their inn to the Grand Hotel. Lovely, sturdy, and long-lasting—versus new and larger than her dreams could have imagined. But the jangling bracelet taunted her.

  “Sit down, Maude.” Friedrich slid over on the piano bench and gestured for Maude to join him. She hesitated. What would Mrs. Fox think? Or Father?

  When Friedrich flashed a toothy grin, she pulled in her skirts and sat beside him, his warm shoulder pressed against her own. If she moved back, she’d fall off the edge, and he had nowhere left to move. Looking up into the man’s eyes, she could see the flecks of gold in his blue-gray eyes, and her mouth went dry. He was so close. Her lips warmed as though expecting him to lean closer and … Stop it right now!

  Mrs. Fox cleared her throat. “Mr. König, would you please play Stephen Foster’s ‘My Old Kentucky Home’? It’s one of Peter’s favorites.”

  “Oh, yes, Ada—my mother loved that song.” Father sounded more excited than he had in a long time. “Do you remember the swing we had on the old oak tree?”

  “Right outside the window of your mother’s parlor. Yes, indeed, and we could both fit on it then.” Mrs. Fox laughed. “Like your daughter and Mr. König are sitting now.”

  Maude’s cheeks heated at the thought of Father having sat so intimately with Mrs. Fox. What else didn’t she know about the woman?

  “Are you ready?” Friedrich glanced down at the music and placed his hands over the keys.

  But while she had to periodically glance at the sheet music, Friedrich did so only when she turned the page, smiling gently at her and then continuing on, playing the tune from memory.

  They spent a good hour or more, with the wealthy industrialist playing requested songs without music, when they didn’t have it. But when he was complimented, he dismissed each comment, shrugging as though his abilities were nothing.

  “Let me excuse myself. I should be going.” Friedrich’s gaze accused her, but of what, Maude didn’t know.

  She slid to the side of the bench and then stood, pulling the wrinkles from her skirt.

  “Good to visit with you Mr. Welling. Mrs. Fox.” Friedrich bowed curtly. He was obviously uncomfortable, but Maude didn’t understand why.

  Father came to them and clapped a hand on Friedrich’s shoulder. “Nonsense, König, stick around! Stay for lunch.”

  “Nein, I must be going.” The wealthy bachelor’s face contorted as though he’d asked for plum pudding but had been offered pickled herring instead.

  Ben’s nerves were frayed like jammed paper that had gotten stuck in one of the printing presses, shutting the entire operation down until it was removed and discarded. He didn’t trust Adelaide to keep up her end of the bargain. Would she reveal his identity? Or that Maude was her emplo
yee? Would she disclose that he and Maude were locked in a passionate kiss the night before? By the way a twitch had started near her left eye, Mrs. Bishop might be as distressed as he was.

  He hoped Ada Fox, or Adelaide Bishop, wanted his silence enough that she’d keep their secrets. But watching her with Mr. Welling, he was reminded of a black widow. Was this sweetly feminine front she conveyed the method by which she’d snared her three previous husbands? Had she swooped in on her first husband and then the next two and relieved them of their assets when they died?

  The eccentric woman, Adelaide Bishop, had been written about in numerous newspaper accounts, but every report varied, and so the compilation made no sense. A good journalist wanted truth and confirmation, of which there was none for Adelaide Bishop’s memoirs. He’d sit, he’d watch, and he’d put up with his roiling stomach if it meant he could help Maude. On the other hand, Mrs. Bishop had nothing to gain since the man hadn’t inherited his wife’s estate.

  Ben tried to relax, but with Maude pressed close to his side, her rose-and-lilac perfume delicate and lovely, his efforts failed. Under the gaslights, gold and copper hues shimmered in her gently waving hair. Tendrils had worked loose all around her face, giving her an angelic look of innocence. This close, her pink lips beckoned him closer.

  Maude leaned her head back. “Please don’t go yet.”

  He drew in a deep breath full of her floral essence. Lost, hopeless—he had nothing to offer her. “Ja.”

  “You don’t have to continue to entertain us, Mr. König.” Maude’s leg bumped against Ben’s, sending a sensation of pleasure through him. Her limb then moved away far too quickly for his liking. He shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. Soon he’d be back at his desk or on the streets of Detroit, chasing stories. He should go. But he couldn’t seem to get up.

  Her father took his seat again. “With any luck, we’ll be seeing more of you, Ada, now that I know you’re here.” Mr. Welling’s voice held the same hope Ben felt in his heart.

  “We need to invest time and renew our old friendship.” Mrs. Bishop certainly knew about investing with largesse—she’d gotten in on the railroads and transportation north to the very hotel at which she now worked.

  Maude’s father laughed. “You make it sound like a banking transaction, Ada.”

  When she cringed, Mr. Welling covered Adelaide’s hand with his.

  “Maude and Friedrich, come, you two—sit over here and relax.” Mr. Welling pointed to the chaise lounge across from them.

  Ben stifled a grin of satisfaction. Her father called him by his first name. Progress. Maude eased from the bench, and Ben rose, following her to the chaise.

  “My husband Jonathan so enjoyed to play. But he died last year—apoplexy.” Mrs. Bishop raised a handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed.

  “How tragic.” Maude’s wide eyes reflected genuine concern.

  “Where had you settled, Ada?”

  “Oh …”

  Someone rapped at the door.

  Welling rose and went to the door. The scent of baked ham wafted in from the kitchen, tempting Ben to take up the offer of lunch.

  Beatrice bobbed a curtsy. “Excuse me. A boy from the Grand sent a note for you.”

  “Did you give him a tip from the jar?”

  “No. He’s waiting for a reply.”

  “All right.” He turned to face his guests. “Excuse me, while I handle this.”

  Eyebrows drawn together in consternation, Welling departed.

  Mrs. Bishop offered Ben a tight smile. “We lived in Lansing and later in Detroit—where you live, I believe.”

  “Detroit? Ja.” Was she baiting him?

  “I worked at a university fraternity house.”

  Maude sat straighter. “My former fiancé lived in one of those.”

  “Yes, Greyson was one of the young men who lived with the fraternity where I served as house mother.”

  “Really?” Maude frowned.

  “He was fairly quiet. It was understood he had a young lady he planned to marry upon return to the island.”

  Maude’s cheeks glowed scarlet.

  “But all manner of rumors circulated among the young men—you know how they can be.”

  “Ja.” Ben did know, but he wasn’t of that ilk.

  “Some try to pass themselves off as something they are not.” She arched a brow. The faux housekeeping manager was definitely baiting him.

  He swallowed back bile. “Sometimes for good reasons.”

  “Sometimes not.” A smirk tugged at Mrs. Fox’s lips. Dressed so femininely, she showed how handsome a woman she was. Attractive enough to catch the eye of her old friend, or possible beau? At the hotel, she always appeared so dowdy, and her clothing today concealed her slim figure.

  Peter Welling reentered the room, scratching his chin.

  “Father?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you all right?” Maude leaned forward as if to stand, but her father gestured for her to remain seated.

  “Request for your uncle Robert to come by sometime for a chat.”

  Ben drew in a fortifying breath. “I believe I should be going soon. I have an appointment myself.”

  Mrs. Bishop also rose. “Myself, too—but, Peter, I so wish you could accompany me to the theater. I have tickets available to me for any of the presentations.”

  “I don’t know, Ada. I’m barely out of mourning.”

  Mrs. Bishop held out her hand. “As old friends? Might you escort your widowed neighbor to see The Gondoliers?”

  “Father, tomorrow night is Islander Night at the theater. It might be a good time for Mrs. Fox to get a feel for the island flavor.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” Mrs. Bishop grinned like a newsboy who’d just sold his last paper for the day. “And Miss Welling, you and Mr. König might enjoy watching the performance reserved for guests of the Grand. I believe that takes place a few nights from now—perhaps Monday.”

  “A grand idea, Mrs. Fox. If Mr. Welling permits.” Ben nodded toward the man.

  Welling harrumphed. “About time Maude got out of the house again for social events instead of running around raising money for the church.”

  Mrs. Bishop’s head dipped, as she looked sideways at Maude, much like a bird about to pluck a worm from the ground. “You don’t say? I imagine you worry, Peter, over her wearing herself out with these endeavors!”

  “I do. Indeed, last night she didn’t return from her rounds until very late.”

  Ben clenched his jaw and watched Maude’s face pale.

  A slow grin grew on Adelaide’s face. “Perhaps both your daughter and I have a confession to make—and Mr. König, too?”

  What a devious woman.

  When neither Ben nor Maude responded, the matron popped open the fastener on her clutch, from which she retrieved a silver coin. She held it out to Maude. “For your charitable efforts, dear.”

  Peter Welling began to laugh. “Don’t tell me she actually was at the Grand Hotel, too!”

  “Yes, I was, Father.” Maude’s lips rolled together. “Last night.”

  “Oh, how could you?” Welling scowled. “Soliciting for Mission Church up there?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Bishop snapped her reticule shut. “Happy to part with my money for a good cause, Peter.”

  Ben reached into his pocket and Mrs. Bishop glared at him. “I understand Mr. König has agreed to play the piano at church sometime.”

  “Ja, I’d be glad to do that.” He exhaled slowly and pulled his hand from his pocket.

  Mrs. Bishop tugged at her gloves. “If only all young people would search their consciences.”

  “Ja.” A schnitzel-sized lump formed in Ben’s throat.

  Adelaide took Maude’s hand. “It’s amazing what can happen when one seeks to do God’s will instead of insisting on one’s own way about things.”

  What about him? Was journalism his way of insisting on his will and avoiding the talents God had
given him? Music wasn’t what had ruined his life—his uncle’s behavior was what had sent them away from everyone they’d known and loved. And cost Friedrich his sister.

  Mr. Welling took Ada’s elbow and guided her from the room. “I’ll send the carriage for you at seven o’clock tomorrow, then, Ada?”

  “Perfect.” She smiled up at Welling but then turned her direction to Maude. “And Miss Welling, I hate to have to tell you this, dear, but we shan’t be expecting you back at the hotel again unless it is purely for social reasons.”

  Maude’s lower lip trembled as she gaped at the woman.

  A smile twitched at the wealthy recluse’s lips. “I’m sure you understand, don’t you?”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  As did Ben. Maude was fired—but in the nicest way possible.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A swath of local color highlighted Ben’s Friday afternoon agenda. Determined to wear his own clothing, even if it meant acquiring a few stares, he dug through his trunk for his tweed jacket and tan trousers. He could always tell people that he was going for a hike.

  Feeling his nubby jacket’s texture reminded him that the life he was playing at was borrowed rather than owned. He drew in a deep breath of the cedar-lined trunk as he located his pants. He’d wear a linen shirt the newspaper had paid for, though. The sound of the trunk closing caused an ache in Ben’s chest. It was as though his whole life was compartmentalized into that one leather trunk.

  Today, Jack Welling was Ben’s “appointment.” The two of them would head down to the Chippewa encampment near the water. Checking his pocket watch, Ben realized it was time to go. He cleared his desktop and slipped his notes about his active story leads into the dresser drawer, beneath his undershirts.

  Someone pounded on the door. Ben startled. “Who is there?”

  “Hey, Friedrich! It’s me!”

  Ben opened the door, two matrons shooting him wide-eyed stares as they marched past.

  Jack gave a crooked grin, and Ben reached out to muss the youth’s hair. “You ready?”

  The housekeeping manager rounded the corner. “Good day, gentlemen.”