My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  The girls giggled as they clattered down the staircase, and Sadie shushed them. Jack followed, as sedate as an undertaker. Had being in the place where their mother had died upset him? When he reached her, Maude wrapped an arm around him and drew him close.

  He cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered in her ear. “I think Opal is sleeping in my room!”

  Maude whispered back, “Don’t make a scene, Jack Welling!”

  From the other room, the haunting notes of “Clair de Lune” wafted toward them. The pianist was accomplished. Gifted even, as whoever it was caressed the walnut Kimball piano. This song, one of Mother’s favorites, was a tune Maude had rehearsed over and over again, trying to get the song just right. In her head she could hear, in her heart she could feel how the music should sound. But she couldn’t accomplish it on her own. Only one person she knew played that well.

  Robert moved alongside her, his woodsy fragrance pleasant. “I’ve procured the services of Mackinaw City’s newest pianist at the Northwoods Hall. We’re hoping to find him a position at the Grand as well.”

  Was it possible that Ben would stay? Tears threatened to flow as Robert nestled her arm through his and they made their way across the Aubusson carpets to the music room.

  Broad shoulders strained his brown tweed jacket as Ben’s head bent over the piano. He had no sheet music but played with his eyes closed, as though he felt the music. As though the notes flowed through him. Shivers of delight flowed through Maude as tears streamed down her face.

  “I give you a man of many talents. He’s the island’s newest correspondent for the Mackinac Express, he’s the new assistant editor for the Mackinaw City Courier, the pianist for the music hall on the mainland and hopefully for the Grand Hotel as well.”

  Ben rose from the bench and bowed. “I’ll be working very hard. And it’s all honest work.”

  Father stared, his lower jaw open. “But …”

  Matilda entered the room. “Ada Fox has arrived.” She curtsied stiffly then left.

  Dressed in soft tones of mauve and yellow, Maude’s former supervisor, and the wealthiest woman in America, looked perfectly the part of an island matron, albeit decidedly slender without the many layers of clothing she wore at the Grand.

  “Ada.” Father strode to her side, took her hands in his, and kissed them. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you.” She beamed as one by one the girls approached her and curtsied and introduced themselves.

  Robert ushered them away and brought Maude’s friend forward.

  “And of course, Sadie you already know.” Her uncle grinned as he gazed at Sadie, resplendent in her gown that was cinched at her tiny waist.

  “Indeed, I do. And you make the very image of a proper lady, Miss Duvall.”

  Sadie blushed.

  “But I’m most interested in hearing from Mr. Steffan.”

  Ben rose and bowed in her direction.

  “Should I call you Assistant Editor Steffan?” A tremulous smile tugged at Ada’s lips, and if Maude wasn’t mistaken, fear darkened her eyes.

  “Ja.”

  Maude glanced between the two. Ada’s shoulders sagged slightly and a muscle jumped in her cheek. She gazed at the floor as though she were memorizing the rug’s pattern and its many colors.

  “I’m the assistant editor of the Mackinaw City Courier, Mrs. Fox.”

  The woman’s coiffed head lifted, and Maude spied tears in Ada’s eyes. “God bless you, young man.”

  “The Lord has, ma’am. I’ve found enough employment to make a nuisance of myself in these parts for some time to come.”

  Bea bobbed up and down in her new Mary Janes. “Does that mean we can celebrate?”

  “Do we get cordial?” Opal piped up.

  “Yes, can I have the cherry cordial?” Bea clasped her hands to her chest.

  “Only a little.” Sadie wagged a finger.

  Ada moved alongside Maude and whispered in her ear. “My dear, I believe you’ve found a keeper.”

  She patted Maude’s hand. “Go play a tune with him. One of the songs you enjoy. Go on, now.”

  Cheeks burning, Maude joined Ben on the piano bench. He slid over, allowing her to take the lower register.

  “I thought you’d gone.” She couldn’t look at him.

  “I’d never leave without saying a proper good-bye. But now I won’t have to.” His eyes sparkled.

  “No, you won’t.” She tried to look away but found herself drawn toward him, taking in his every perfect feature. “But what about the story about Greyson?”

  “Gone. Kaput.” He met her gaze directly and then took her hand in his, a little thrill shooting through her.

  She swallowed. “And your job in Detroit is gone, too?”

  “I haven’t been officially notified, but, yes, that would be a good guess.” He arched an eyebrow at her, and she could imagine him as the aristocratic little boy living on his grandparents’ estate. But had he never left, Ben wouldn’t be with her now.

  “Why don’t we play some fun music?”

  After he and Maude finished playing, Ben hesitated. He’d rather remain here, his shoulder pressed into her soft arm, inhaling her delicate lilac-and-rosewater scent, while admiring her slender neck and pretty face up close. But he reluctantly rose and assisted the woman he loved from the bench. “Can I get you anything?”

  He’d noticed Matilda, the only apparent house staff, struggling to keep up with the steady inflow of refreshments before dinner.

  “No, thank you. I believe we’ll be going into dinner now.”

  When Matilda slid the pocket doors back, Peter and Ada followed Robert and Sadie, trailed by the girls, as they moved from the music room into the adjacent dining room. The two mahogany-and-cherry-paneled doors disappeared into the wall, revealing a room so like his home on his grandparents’ estate that Ben sucked in a breath. The flocked wallpaper had to have been imported from London because it perfectly matched that which hung in the dining room from his youth. The heavy crystal stemware on the table was from the same French manufacturer who’d furnished his parents’ wedding collection—confiscated by Ben’s uncle.

  Ben strode to the front of the table, which could accommodate eighteen guests. He pulled out the heavy, ornately carved chair for Maude.

  From behind them, two male servants attired in green-and-gold waistcoats and trousers emerged through another, narrower, pocket door. One hoisted a massive silver soup tureen, decorated with turtles, onto the eight-foot-wide dark cherry sideboard. He set it there as the other servant delivered a tray covered in assorted rolls to either end of the table, accompanied by small bowls of butter.

  Mr. Welling cleared his throat. “Robert, would you say the blessing?”

  “Yes, sir.” He paused. “Lord, bless this meal, this fellowship, and may what is shared here tonight be truly from the heart. In Lord Jesus’ mighty name. Amen.”

  The dinner passed with happy chatter as course after course was served. While Ben relished the meal, beside him, Maude only partook of several bites of each of the sweet peas, beef tenderloin in burgundy sauce, wild rice, and the chocolate ganache cake that had been specially prepared. He patted her hand. “Are you all right?”

  She beamed up at him. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  One of the servants tapped Ben on his shoulder. “There’s someone in the garden out back who wishes to speak to you, sir.”

  “To me?”

  “Yes.”

  The man gently tapped Maude’s shoulder. “And you, too, miss.”

  They followed him out. Apprehension built as the door swung open. Twilight had just begun. The sky still possessed a blaze of pink and blue as the sun set and the moon made its appearance. But with the many tall trees shading the backyard, dusk predominated.

  The entire garden was lit with what looked like a million candles, each nestled in a glass jar.

  Maude sucked in a breath of wonderment watching the flickering illumination. This was exactly how she’d imagin
ed her prince would propose to her. She sniffed back the tears, reaching out to touch the potted palm tree, which had been moved from the foyer to the backyard. The wrought-iron bench was draped with a crushed velvet throw, and two round pillows were nestled on either end.

  “What is it, Maude?” Ben turned toward her and cupped her face in his firm hands.

  “Nothing, it’s just that …” Maude exhaled then drew in a slow breath full of the aroma of roses, carnations, lilies, and the last of the lilacs. “This was my dream. Sadie must have done this!”

  The garden was like a fairyland, with the flickering candles, the gentle breeze rustling the trees, and the scent of flowers surrounding her. Exactly how she’d imagined her prince would arrive and ask her to be his own. She’d given up that childhood fantasy long ago, when she’d convinced herself that her friend Greyson would be a “good enough” husband. It had been wrong to think she should settle for anything less than true love as God intended for her.

  “Let’s sit.” He guided her toward the bench, and they nestled together, his cheek pressed against hers.

  Then he drew back and ran his thumb over her chin, sending a shiver of delight through her. “Maude, I know I have nothing to give you. But I’m willing to work hard to support us. I’m not even sure what it is that God has called me to do for a living. I do know this, though—I want to marry you someday. When we’ve both been completely honest with each other and when you have time to forgive me for the ruse I played at the Grand.”

  “You were just doing your job, Ben.” Maude shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s not uncommon for reporters to assume a false identity to investigate. And that was actually part of your name—part of who you are.”

  “True, but I should have told you. Should have trusted you. And I wish you’d trusted me enough to have shared about your inheritance.”

  She cringed. “I didn’t know about it myself until a few days ago, and I’m still unclear how this all works. I do know, though, that you’d never inherit any of my, of our, holdings—my grandmother had some kind of strange codicil put into her will. Wouldn’t that bother you?”

  “That’s all right. I think with four jobs I should be able to keep myself going.”

  He pulled her close, and she inhaled his sandalwood scent, felt the heat of him as he pressed his lips to hers and drew her closer yet into his arms. Surely she was in heaven. He deepened the kiss, and she yearned to pull him even closer but didn’t know how that was possible.

  A twig cracked and Ben pulled away. “Who’s there?”

  “Aw, it’s just me, you two lovebirds.” Jack ambled up from behind a bush.

  “Jack Welling, what are you doing here?”

  “I snuck out here. I gotta tell ya somethin’, Muddie.”

  She cringed. “What?”

  He stepped closer. “About you and me. And our money.”

  “Our money?”

  “Yeah, what Uncle Robert was keeping for us and what shoulda been Dad’s.” He bobbed his chin several times. “But now you got control of it.”

  Maude exhaled loudly. “Oh, Jack. Please—not now.”

  Her brother drew up right beside them, patting the back of her hair. “Here’s the way I see it, sis. I need a bunch of money soon for my Olympic training.”

  Ben cleared his throat and leaned forward.

  Maude swatted Jack’s hand away from her hair, where pins were now coming loose. “Jack, you are annoying.”

  “Here’s the thing.” Jack grinned a sappy grin. “You know I’ll be good for it—as far as getting it back to ya later.”

  “Go away!”

  Someone rounded the corner of the house, a lantern swaying in her hands. The light revealed Ada’s serene countenance. “Jack, leave your sister be.”

  The woman sounded exactly like Mother used to. She went to Jack and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You run on in and get another dessert before the servants put it all up.”

  Jack hesitated, rocking sideways back and forth like he did when he really wanted to say something badly.

  Ada clapped her hands together. “Jack, I forgot to tell you. I’ve found a sponsor for you, for your training.” Her voice held more hope and enthusiasm than Maude had ever heard the woman muster. She reminded her of how Mother would encourage them and get excited over their projects.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I’ll pop into the house with you and tell you a little about it, but then I’ve got to catch up with your father.”

  The two disappeared into the back of the house.

  Ben’s warm lips covered Maude’s, and she didn’t resist. Ben’s arms, locked below her waist, pulled her up and against him, crushing her to his broad chest.

  He pulled away and leaned his head against hers. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Once again, he moved his mouth over hers, and she responded to him, not caring if he thought her unladylike or not. He was hers. And she was never letting him go again. She tasted the sweet coffee on his mouth and inhaled his scent of sandalwood, wool, and his own unique male scent. He pressed his face against her curls.

  Leaning back, he lifted one lock of hair. “Your curls feel like silk.”

  He pulled her close again, and she rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of her neck against his own.

  “Ahem!”

  They broke apart. Robert slowly moved toward them on the candlelit path. “I have a couple of things I’d like to say to you both.”

  Ben stood and held out his hand. “Captain Swaine, this isn’t the time nor place for any business discussions.”

  “But …”

  “Let me say that I expect to court Maude in a, shall we say, more traditional manner than I’ve managed thus far.”

  Maude laughed. “Hopefully this time you can simply be Ben Steffan, and I shall be Maude Welling, inn manager and not a maid.”

  “Exactly.” Robert clapped his hands together.

  “Is that all?” Ben’s voice held a dismissal.

  “No. I’ve arranged for some chaperones.”

  Another lantern bobbed as someone rounded the corner. “Robert?” Sadie Duvall marched forward, her sisters trailing her in a line.

  Ben leaned in and kissed Maude’s cheek. “They’d make good bridesmaids, wouldn’t they?”

  She pulled away. “Is that a proposal, Mr. Steffan?”

  “Soon.” He kissed her again. “Would you like it to be?”

  “Soon. Very Soon.”

  Author Notes

  The Detroit Post, my hero Ben’s periodical, is a fictional newspaper. Detroit had many newspapers during the time of this story. Although the Detroit Free Press is a real newspaper, this story and the characters associated with this renowned newspaper are fictional. The Grand Hotel, a gem of a resort hotel, still dominates the cliff side on Mackinac Island. Maude’s inn was inspired by the Windermere Hotel, a beautiful landmark inn on the island, but Winds of Mackinac is fictional. Both the Grand and the Windermere have lovely websites that share their histories.

  This story and all the characters were created from fiction. One character was inspired by a real woman—a reclusive hermit who was the wealthiest woman in America but lived like a pauper. While there are real-life Cadottes and a Cadotte Street on Mackinac Island, all of the Cadotte references in this book are complete fiction, as are the Wellings.

  Mackinac Island was a site originally populated by the Chippewa and Odawa people. This was an important area for the Native Americans, especially for trading and, according to my research, at a spiritual level. The French and their missionaries came into the area in the 1600s. The British and the Americans followed. Churches mentioned in this story, such as the historic Mission Church, the oldest church building in Michigan, sought to bring Christianity and services to the Native Americans. The Mission Church is now under the control of Michigan State Parks and is open to the public. It one of my favorite places to visit on the island.

 
In my research, I found Mark Twain a visitor to the island. Of course since my hero is fictional, he had no real influence on Twain’s novel The Prince and the Pauper, but it was fun imaging it. Ships sinking in the Great Lakes were an all too common problem at this time. The story of ships sinking in the Mackinac Island harbor, however, is fabricated. The Round Island Lighthouse was indeed being built in 1895 because of the problem that Round Island itself presented by its location in the Straits of Mackinac. The light was not functional until the following May.

  Grayling fish were abundant in Michigan but ended up being decimated early in the twentieth century. While you can find delicious whitefish in Mackinac, you won’t find Michigan grayling fish on any menus. And pasties, filled with delicious meat, potatoes, and other vegetables, and wrapped in a pie shell, are indeed a regional favorite.

  A Michigan attorney I consulted confirmed that codicils can be added to wills. He also indicated that these cumbersome additions can be contested and overturned by the courts.

  A little neat fact: you’ll find my grandmother’s names on the cover of the book! Maude Carrie (Williams) Fancett was born in 1895, one of the reasons I chose that year for this story. I never knew her, as she died when my father was twelve and she was only in her thirties. The name for my heroine almost got changed by Barbour. I’m glad they let her stay Maude, which was a popular name at that time, and that all three of her names are on this beautiful cover.

  I had the pleasure of working on the island when I was sixteen and fell in love with the magical place. I’ve been privileged to visit often. I can truly say, “My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island” and am blessed to be able to write, and share, this story!

  ECPA-bestselling author Carrie Fancett Pagels, Ph.D., is the award-winning author of a dozen Christian historical romances. Twenty-five years as a psychologist didn’t “cure” her overactive imagination! A self-professed “history geek,” she resides with her family in the Historic Triangle of Virginia. Carrie loves to read, bake, bead, and travel—but not all at the same time! You can connect with her at www.CarrieFancettPagels.com.