My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “Mrs. Fox.” Ben bowed in her direction.

  She glanced between the two of them. “Does your father know you’re here, Jack?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ben bent closer and whispered in the boy’s ear. “Yes, ma’am. Say ‘yes, ma’am,’ not ‘yeah.’”

  The boy straightened. “Yes, ma’am, my father knows I came up here. Gonna show old Friedrich where the Indian stuff can be bought.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “I see.”

  Delicious scents wafted from the food cart a servant rolled by.

  Jack appreciatively sniffed the air. Quick as a flash, he lifted the cover from a dish. “Umm, smells good!”

  Mrs. Fox placed a hand over the boy’s and pressed the lid back down. “Are you hungry, child?”

  Rubbing a hand over his midsection, Jack nodded.

  Why would he be hungry? The family enjoyed sumptuous meals in their private dining quarters.

  “Cook told me not to eat if I’m late to the table.”

  Ben frowned. “What does your father say?”

  “Dad sleeps a lot lately, or he looks at the books and sighs at his desk. Sometimes he naps outside on the porch, so the gardener and I put a blanket on him so he don’t get cold.”

  “Merciful Father.” Mrs. Fox’s eyebrows rose into two inverted v’s.

  “He’s that, for sure.” Jack’s constrained smile indicated that he misunderstood the woman’s retort as literal. “Well, we better get going.”

  Offering a tight smile, Mrs. Fox strode off down the hall.

  “Whew, thought I was in trouble.” Jack elbowed Ben as he locked his room and pocketed the key.

  “I was going to meet you down by the bike stand.”

  “I was here early.”

  “So how did you find me?”

  Jack winked and touched the side of his head. “I’ve got a few brains in my noggin.”

  Ben chuckled then followed the boy down the hall and outside. “I’ll get you some lunch, okay?”

  “Thanks.” Jack pointed to the bike lying on the ground. “Had some trouble getting Sis’s wheels to fit in right, so I laid it in the grass.”

  “I’ll walk it down the hill for you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Why didn’t you ride your own bike?”

  The boy’s freckled cheeks grew rosy. “Dad said I couldn’t ride my bike for a week.”

  Ben chuckled. “So you think that means you can ride your sister’s? I suspect your father meant no riding whatsoever.”

  Jack hung his head.

  “Say, are you ready to accompany me to the Indian settlement?”

  His tawny head shot up. “Let’s go!”

  After carefully walking downhill with the bicycle, dodging horses, carriages, and pedestrian traffic, Ben and Jack approached the Indian settlement near the point where Lakes Michigan and Huron met.

  All along the encampment were lined stalls of vendors and picketed horses. Ben purchased sandwiches for the two of them, and they sat watching some of the women performing leatherwork.

  When he was done, Jack shot up. “Come on.”

  The boy led Ben to a squat woman with tanned and withered cheeks. She smiled warmly at them.

  Jack jerked a thumb toward Ben. “Miss Lulu, this is my new pal, Friedrich.”

  She motioned to him, her long dark braid bobbing. “Come. Sit.” She patted the wood bench across from her.

  Ben caught the subtle scent of maple and corn bread emanating from the woman. He hoped he and Jack didn’t reek of the liverwurst and cheese sandwiches, mounded with hot onions, they’d just ate. But they probably did. He sought peppermints from his pocket and offered one to the boy.

  In a basket at the woman’s feet lay jars of trinkets, spools of thread or wire, clips, scissors, small boards, and rows of multicolored beads.

  Maude’s brother plopped down at the woman’s feet. “Whatcha makin’, Miss Lulu?”

  She pressed her lips together. “Nothing for you, Jack Welling.”

  Lulu laughed, bent, and retrieved a square-shaped interwoven basket filled with berries. “Go rinse them, Jack. Blueberries from the mainland. Picked them ourselves.”

  The boy grasped the basket and headed toward a pump spigot nearby.

  “He a good boy, that one. His sister has hands full, though.” She bent and chose a bottle full of tiny red beads and sat up, poured them into her lap, and began threading them onto the needle.

  “What are you making?”

  “A rose for the church fund-raiser. The Mission Church has been friend to my family all my life.”

  Ben warmed to this topic. “Ah, I believe Miss Welling is also trying to raise funds.”

  “Ha! She supposed to do that, but she not make anything for the bazaar this year. Too busy at hotel.” Lulu’s dark eyes speared his.

  He didn’t want to betray Maude’s confidence.

  Lulu turned and spit on the ground. “Grand Hotel maid. She shame her father.”

  “I don’t believe that was her intention.”

  The woman smiled and looked him up and down. “She up there for you? At least you look like real man—not like that boy she not marry.”

  Ben felt his face heat. “No. She wasn’t there for me.”

  Jack returned, the basket empty and streaks of dark blue around his lips. “Thanks, Miss Lulu.”

  “Nice meeting you, ma’am.”

  A shy smile flitted across her face, but then she leant her full attention to her beadwork.

  Jack sprinted off. Ben followed him past tents and canopies, under which tables piled with goods enticed visitors to splurge on Chippewa or Odawa handmade items. Tiny dolls attired in deerskin dresses attracted two little girls attired in matching white sailor dresses.

  Jack turned and jogged back to Ben and grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s go into town and get a Coca-Cola at Uncle Al’s.”

  Soon they’d reached the docks and the main part of town.

  Couples and families crowded around a demonstration in front of the emporium. Ben smiled at a towheaded boy being hoisted up onto his father’s shoulders. In a few short years, Ben’d be thirty. Would he ever have a family of his own?

  “Ugh! I don’t know why anybody’d want to watch demonstrations of all those baby things.”

  At the front of the observers stood a titian-haired woman and a blond man. Anna and Greyson.

  After he dropped Jack off at the inn, Ben developed a splitting headache. Banyon wanted that story as soon as he could get it and as salacious as possible. Now all he wanted to do was get to his room and lie down for an hour or so before he and his typewriter got busy. He entered the hotel’s side entrance and hurried up the steps and into his hall, heading straight for his room.

  Not allowing her dark bombazine skirts to slow her pace, the head of housekeeping strode directly toward him, a determined look on her face. “Mr. König, I have a telegram for you.”

  “Mrs. Fox, delightful to see you.” As soon as he spied her quirked eyebrow he exhaled. Not the thing to say to the housekeeper. His boss would be berating him if he could hear what Ben had said. Thankfully, the hall was empty save for a young couple lingering on a chaise longue. The Grand’s orchestra had an afternoon performance, and that likely attracted many guests.

  She handed him the telegram. “I’m looking forward to hearing you play again, at the Wellings’ church.” She looked up at him. “Before you return to Detroit, that is.”

  Had she looked at the message? He scanned it. “Needed back at the office soon. Finish story pronto.” He scowled.

  Touching his hand lightly, the older woman met his gaze. “Mr. Steffan, I’m not sure you’re cut out for what it takes to be an editor at the Detroit Post.”

  If she meant drive, she was wrong. “I’ve worked hard for this.”

  “Mr. Steffan, you are a virtuoso. There simply is no other word to describe your talent. I have traveled the world over, as you know, and I don’t make this pro
nouncement lightly.”

  Such musical talent amounted to nothing but ruin for his family. He half-closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sudden memories of his uncle screaming at them to get out. “I love my profession. I just don’t love what it takes, sometimes, to bring in a story.”

  “And you don’t have that passion for music.”

  “No.”

  She took a quick look at her watch. “Dear me, I’ve got to get ready for the show.”

  “I hope you find it enjoyable.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Her smile was genuine and her eyes sparkled behind her silver glasses. “I’ve never had anything but a good time with Peter, ever. Now his mother—that’s another story.”

  “Oh?”

  “She has affected both our lives. I just pray it isn’t permanently.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Maude closed her bedroom windows to the chill morning rain. She lowered the wood slat blinds and closed the heavy velvet drapes. Today she’d organize her wardrobe herself, instead of asking the servants to help. Three raps sounded on the door.

  Bea entered carrying a wide House of Worth dress box. “Delivery here, Miss Maude.”

  “Just call me Maude. No more of this ‘Miss Maude’ business.” The box, banded by a wide ribbon, was stamped with the name of Detroit’s premier clothier—Botentorte’s.

  “Sure thing … Maude.”

  Together they set the heavy box atop Grandmother’s old leather trunk. “You should have let Jack help you, Bea.”

  Maude didn’t have to ask who’d sent it. Uncle Robert had ordered dresses in the past for special occasions.

  “Is Uncle Robert downstairs now?”

  “Yes, in the parlor, but your dad said no interruptions. That includes you.”

  “Surely not.”

  Maude waited until Bea departed and then descended the steps, praying she’d get to talk with Robert.

  She stood outside the office, listening.

  “I’d like to know what’s going on.” Father’s voice rose.

  “Nothing, with you stonewalling!”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  Jane emerged from the kitchen, balancing a teetering silver tray covered with sweets in one hand and the coffee service tray in the other.

  Maude swooped toward her. “Let me help.”

  “No, miss, I’ve got it.”

  Maude grasped the handle of the coffeepot before it slid precariously to the tray’s edge. “There—I need a good cup of coffee, too.”

  Jane’s cheeks reddened. “Sorry, it’s just that yer uncle is here, and—”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Father’s voice carried into the hallway.

  “Miss Welling, I wouldn’t go in there, if I were ye.” Jane bit her lower lip and bowed her head.

  Carrying the silver coffeepot in one hand, Maude threw the office door open with the other, just as her uncle finished saying, “… what my mother wanted.”

  The two men stood in the center of the office, only a foot or so apart.

  Father whirled on her. “Get out!”

  His hand was raised as though he might strike her. His cheeks took on an odd purplish hue.

  Maude gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. He’d never hit her. Behind her, Jane hastily set down the pastries and the coffee service tray before fleeing from the room.

  “Were you invited in?” Father wiped spittle from around his mouth and lowered his hand.

  With trembling hands, Maude turned and set the pot down on the tray then swiveled back, meeting her father’s stony gaze. Maybe he hadn’t taken his medicine.

  Robert took several steps toward her and pulled Maude into his arms. She could hear Robert’s heart pounding in his chest, echoing her own. He released her and faced her father.

  “You have no business treating her so brusquely, Peter.”

  “She’s my daughter!” He lowered his head toward his left shoulder.

  Something was definitely wrong with him. Maude pushed past Robert.

  “Maude is an adult, and because she is your daughter she deserves your respect.”

  She tried to get past her father to go to his office, to check his medication vials, but he grabbed her arm, squeezing it so hard she cried out.

  “Get out of my house!” Father abruptly released her and crumpled to the floor, clutching his chest.

  “No!” Maude sank down beside him. She couldn’t lose him, too.

  ❤

  Ben entered the Winds of Mackinac inn’s lobby. No servants were in sight, not even Beatrice.

  A loud thud reverberated from farther down the hall—near the family’s personal quarters.

  “Father!” Maude’s cry set a fire under Ben.

  He hotfooted it down the hall.

  “Muddy, what’s wrong with him?” Jack’s voice carried from the family parlor.

  Inside he found Mr. Welling lying on the floor, Maude holding his head in her lap, and Robert Swaine standing over them.

  “Was ist falsch?”

  Swaine gaped but gave no explanation of what was happening.

  Mr. Welling shivered, his color ashen.

  Ben pulled off his coat and laid it atop the man. “Go get the doctor, Jack!”

  The boy met his eyes and nodded, but didn’t move.

  Using a calm tone, Ben slowly but firmly urged the boy, “Ride your bicycle to Dr. Cadotte’s and tell him to come quickly.”

  Maude sniffed and stared up at Ben. “It’s his heart, I think.”

  “Does he have any medication?”

  “In his office drawer.”

  “Get it.” When she flinched at his brusque command, he softened his tone. “Please.”

  “Oh, God, I cannot lose Father, too. I cannot.” Sobs wracked Maude’s frame as she departed.

  Swaine shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. We just needed to clear the air.”

  “Looks like you’ve done more than that.” Ben saw Welling’s eyelids flutter, but the man didn’t move.

  Soon Maude returned with a glass vial. An apothecary’s label affixed to the front read “DIGITALIS.”

  “Mr. Welling, can you take some medicine now, ja?”

  The man opened his eyes and looked up at his daughter. Maude opened the container and administered a dose to her father, smoothing hair from his brow. Her uncle shifted back and forth, a tremor visible in his hands.

  Ben pointed to the divan. “Swaine, should we settle him over there?”

  “Yes.” The captain moved and took one side while Ben took the other.

  Mr. Welling was a bulky man, but with the sturdy captain’s help, Ben hoisted him up and carried him carefully toward the divan.

  “Let me put a pillow behind his head.” Maude tucked an overstuffed chintz pillow under her father’s neck.

  “Good.” Ben glanced at her worried face.

  Maude’s father groaned.

  “Sir?” Ben leaned in.

  Welling shook his head. “Oh …”

  “Father!” Maude pressed her ear to his chest.

  Ben pulled a chair close to the sofa so Maude could sit.

  “I’m going up front to watch for Jack and the doctor.”

  Welling strained to sit up. “Perhaps it is Robert’s duty to go do that.” He practically spat out the words then began to cough and reclined back onto the chaise.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for Jack.” Swaine departed.

  “Stay, Friedrich, please.” Maude’s gentle shake of her head urged Ben to not ask any questions. “Father, try to rest now. Just close your eyes.”

  Her father groaned but pressed his eyes shut. In a short while, he appeared to be entering sleep.

  Maude leaned in and whispered, “I think it’s best if my uncle Robert leaves.”

  “Ja?”

  She mouthed, “They were arguing.”

  He nodded and took two steps before she grabbed his hand. “Can you see if Jack has returned?”


  “Ja.”

  Closing the door gently, Ben scanned the hall for Swaine and found him at the reception desk, speaking with Beatrice. He motioned for the captain to come aside with him, and the girl departed.

  “Captain Swaine, your niece thinks it might be best …”

  The man raised his hands, effectively cutting Ben off. “I’ll go. But send me word immediately about what the doctor says.”

  “Ja.”

  “I wish my brother-in-law wasn’t so darned rigid. If only he’d …”

  Jack flew through the front door, his face pale and wet.

  Ben grasped the boy’s arms gently. “Your father is resting well.”

  “I’ve got to see him.” Tears coursed down the boy’s face as Ben moved a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  Swaine grabbed his hat from a nearby peg. He’d not even spoken an encouraging word to his nephew. Ben tamped down his frustration and tried to focus on the boy’s immediate needs.

  “You’ll see your vater, your father, in a moment. But, for now, you must be calm, ja?”

  Jack’s starry eyelashes, so like his sister’s, blinked furiously, but he nodded.

  “Your father and sister are counting on you to help keep calm in the house. Can you do that?”

  The boy wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Ben fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to him. Jack blew loudly.

  “Let’s go back outside—get some fresh air.”

  As they stepped onto the porch, Dr. Cadotte, atop a shiny black bicycle, rode up the street, dismounted, and set his bike against one of the gardener’s prize rhododendrons.

  The physician strode up to them. “Jack, I need you to take Maude to the office and preoccupy her while I examine your father, all right? Don’t let her in.”

  “Yes, sir, I can do that.” The boy stood an inch taller at the command.

  “Mr. König, I’ll need your assistance if we must move Mr. Welling and get him to his room. Undressed and such.”

  “Glad to oblige.”

  An hour later, after Mr. Welling had been situated in his own bedchamber and had fallen asleep, Dr. Cadotte took Ben aside.

  “I’ve got to get him to the mainland to a specialist. If you have any influence on Maude, please use it to get her to accompany him.”

  “Why wouldn’t she take her father?” From what Maude had said, she wasn’t the problem—her father had been obstinate about going.