The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection

by Kristin Billerbeck

  Thomas quickly stood up and tried to dust himself off. His shirt collar was awry, and there were scuff marks on his sleeves and shoulders where the dog had placed his paws. “I’m not making a very good impression, I’m afraid,” he apologized.

  To his amazement, she shook her head. “On the contrary, you’ve made a very good impression. It was wonderful to hear you laugh. Plus anyone who’ll let a dog slobber over him has to be a good fellow.”

  “I didn’t exactly let him,” Thomas pointed out. “This beast is huge, and whatever Emerson wants, apparently Emerson gets.”

  The dog returned with the stick, dropped it at Francie’s feet, and waited with obvious anticipation for her to throw it again.

  “I’ve created a monster,” she said, her voice bubbling with amusement. “I suspect Emerson will want me to throw this stick all afternoon.”

  The dog barked sharply and pawed at the stick, then tilted his head and looked at Francie beseechingly.

  “He certainly knows how to look appealing,” Thomas said. “I wonder if dogs do that naturally or if they learn it.”

  “It’s a God-given gift,” she replied, leaning over to scratch behind Emerson’s ears. “There isn’t a puppy alive that wasn’t born with the ability to steal our hearts. They all have those melting eyes.”

  “You must be a dog owner,” he commented, thinking about someone else who was terribly close to stealing his heart.

  “No,” she said. A shadow passed over her face but vanished as Emerson shoved his head into her knee. She obligingly picked up the stick and tossed it for him again. “I’ve never had a dog.”

  “You seem so natural with this brute, though.”

  “I’ve always wanted a dog, and Emerson is not a brute. He’s as innocent and playful as a child.”

  Thomas watched Emerson bound back to them with the stick in his mouth. “A big child, perhaps,” he admitted.

  She laughed as one of Emerson’s ears flopped over the top of his head. “I’ve lived overseas or in boarding schools my whole life. When we lived in China, I had a squirrel that I was taming—or trying to tame—but I didn’t get far enough to be able to say it was my pet.”

  This woman was fascinating. Who would think of a squirrel as a pet? He had to find out more. “How were you taming it?”

  “I laid a nut or cracker on the ground and waited as the squirrel stole it. Each day, I moved the treat closer to me, until eventually it would take the tidbit from my fingertips.”

  “That was rather dangerous,” he reproved. “Squirrels carry nasty diseases. What if it had bitten you?”

  Emerson barked, and she obliged by throwing the stick again. “I was so desperate for a pet that it was a chance I was willing to take. Plus,” she added, dimpling, “I was nine. That kind of logical thinking was not my strong point.”

  He tried not to frown. At nine, he would never have approached a squirrel and would certainly never have encouraged one to come to him.

  “Have you had any pets?” she asked. “A cat, perhaps? A parakeet?”

  “No. Cats make me sneeze, and a parakeet requires too much care.”

  “A fish?” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “No. Not even a goldfish. I’m afraid I get so involved in my studies that I don’t have time to care for an animal.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she commented as Emerson returned, stick in mouth, and sat expectantly for her attention. “They do require a commitment, but the love you’d get back would certainly be worth it, I’m sure.”

  Francie pretended to wrestle the stick from the dog. “Look at this,” she continued. “He trusts me. He doesn’t know me from Mother Goose, but he understands that I’m not going to hurt him. He has faith.”

  Something seemed to be stuck in his throat. He couldn’t respond, and, truth be told, he didn’t have any words to say if he had been able to speak.

  There was no way she could have known the impact of what she’d just said, yet the fact was that her words cut to the bone. He’d always struggled with the conflict of what he saw and what he felt. As a minister’s son, his pain had been particularly difficult.

  Doubting Thomas.

  Yet standing beside the fence, his clothing disheveled and his pride disintegrated, he wanted what others had. More than anything, he wanted that. He wanted the ability to believe completely.

  In Francie’s guileless blue eyes, so clear with uncompromised faith, he saw the dreadful image of his misgivings. He knew he was frowning—again—but he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. This morning as he’d shaved, he’d noticed that what had been tiny lines in his forehead, caused by hours of studying, had deepened to carved grooves.

  He was too young for that. He knew it, and he could not stop it.

  Francie was gazing at him with a look that told him she’d spoken to him and was awaiting an answer. Unfortunately he’d been so caught up in his own concerns that he hadn’t heard her speak. “Excuse me?” he managed to say, hating the flush that crept up his neck.

  “I’m going to take Emerson back to the stables.”

  “Now?”

  The dog pawed at her leg. “I think I’d better,” she said, “or I’ll be here all day, tossing this stick until my arm falls off.”

  He couldn’t let her leave. “I’ll go with you,” he offered, trying not to think about his soiled clothing. Fortunately his jacket would cover the worst of the stains, and he shrugged into it quickly.

  “It’s not necessary,” Francie said, her cheeks a bit pinker than he’d remembered.

  Thomas stopped buttoning his jacket in midmotion. “If you don’t want me to come along—” he began, but she interrupted him.

  “On the contrary. Please come. I’d appreciate the company.”

  They walked toward the stables, discussing the books they’d read. His heart leaped for joy when he found out that she, too, liked Tennyson. “‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’ is so exciting,” she told him fervently. “It’s got to be one of my favorite Tennyson poems.”

  He preferred Tennyson’s romantic works, but he would never admit it, so he nodded and agreed. “I usually wouldn’t think that war could be fodder for poetry, but that work is riveting.”

  Their path to the stables took them past the site of the Grand Hotel. “Look at that,” Francie breathed, stopping to take a look. Emerson sat beside her, apparently ready for a break from his labors. “Isn’t it extraordinary? I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I hear that the turnout for the opening is supposed to include all sorts of famous people.”

  Thomas couldn’t stop a frown from forming. “I’m afraid I can’t share your opinion of the place.”

  “Why on earth not?” she asked, running her fingers across the top of Emerson’s head.

  “It’s wasteful.” Even as the words emerged from his lips, he wanted to recall them. He knew he sounded priggish and self-righteous, but he spoke the truth. “How can they expect to fill those rooms? This is a tiny island.”

  “More people will come to stay—”

  “Chicago and New York and Boston have splendid hotels,” he pointed out. “Have you ever stayed at the Palmer House in Chicago? Now, there’s a tremendous hotel. Why, the barbershop, I’ve heard, is paved with silver dollars.”

  Francie’s smile was faint but polite. “I’ve heard that story about the silver dollars in the barbershop, but I must confess that I’ve never had the fortune to stay at the Palmer House so I haven’t seen it. In fact, I’ve never been to Chicago.”

  If he could have managed to kick himself, he would have done so gladly. Of course she wouldn’t have been able to stay at a hotel as expensive as the Palmer House. He hadn’t either. What he knew of the luxurious hotel was simply what he’d heard from others.

  He studied her face covertly as she watched the hotel site. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

  “Do you really think the owners will be able to rent all the rooms?” he asked, trying desperatel
y not to sound judgmental.

  She turned to face him. “Why not? It’s a lovely building.”

  “But isn’t it rather—daring?”

  To his amazement, she answered, “I hope so.”

  For once, he didn’t have an argument ready. Daring? Somehow Francie and daring didn’t seem to go together. Or maybe it was Thomas and daring that didn’t go together.

  The conversation didn’t progress further, for at that moment Emerson barked at a worker who came close to them. Francie recognized him as the fellow who had spoken to Marie that day on the path.

  He smiled at them both, patted the yellow Labrador on the head, and left without saying a word.

  “I think he knew Emerson,” Thomas said.

  “I suspect Emerson knows everybody on the island,” Francie retorted, laughing as the dog watched the construction worker leave. From the way the dog looked back and forth at them and the laborer, it was clear he was torn between which one to follow. “If we’re to get this pup home, we’d better take him. Otherwise, I fear he’ll go with that man.”

  She urged Emerson to come with them, and the dog, after one last longing look at the retreating back of the hotel worker, trotted along beside them.

  The stables were dark and humid. Thomas automatically pulled back at the intense smell of the horses, but Francie didn’t seem to have any problem with going on in. “I have your dog,” she called, and a man came out of a dark stall, wiping his face on his grimy arm.

  “Emerson! Were you visiting folks today?” he asked in a deep voice. The dog leaped happily on his broad chest in greeting. “Yes, you’re a good boy; yes, you are.”

  “That’s a beautiful dog you have there,” Francie said.

  How could she be so cheerful in the presence of such an overwhelming stench? Thomas tried not to inhale any more than necessary. If there was any satisfaction to be found in the moment, it was that his clothes needed to be cleaned anyway, so the smell was just added cause.

  “Aw, thanks, but he’s not my dog,” the man said. “He’s a hanger-on, as near as I know. This feller’s been here since I can remember.”

  “Does he belong to the owner?” Thomas asked. “Somebody must be feeding him. He’s hardly skin and bones.”

  The stableman shook his head. “We all feed him. He’s not the owner’s dog; I can tell you that. I guess he likes the stables because they’re warm, and you know, I think he likes the company of the horses.”

  Thomas glanced at Francie. Her face was soft, and her eyes were luminous in the golden rays of sunlight that broke through the slats in the door. Little flecks of straw floated in the air like miniature shards of gold. Even in this lowly setting, she looked like a princess.

  As she looked down at the dog, which now lay sprawled across the floor of the stable at her feet, he wished that he could gather up the hound and hand it to her as a gift.

  Silly, that’s what he was. Women wanted jewels and furs and expensive perfume, not a vagabond dog sprawled on the floor of a stable, his fur patchy with dirt and smelling of horses.

  Francie raised her head and smiled. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  Beautiful? He turned his head to take one more look at Emerson, and—no, it wasn’t possible. Or was it? Could the dog have just winked at him?

  Chapter 6

  Reverend Carlton, would you offer the blessing?” Aunt Dorothea asked.

  The Carltons had joined the Harris family for dinner, and the leaf had been put in the table to accommodate them all. To Francie’s right sat Marie, and to her left, Thomas.

  “I’d be honored,” Reverend Carlton responded. “Might we join hands as we petition and thank our Lord?”

  Marie readily grasped Francie’s right hand, and Thomas lightly took her left as the minister began the prayer. “Dearest Lord, we are gathered together as family and friends to share the fruits of Thy bounty. We thank Thee for Thy generous gifts, so many of which are laid upon this table. We thank Thee for the gift of food, which nourishes our bodies. We thank Thee for the gift of shelter, which protects us from the storms of life. We especially thank Thee for the gift of companionship and love, which feeds our souls and strengthens our hearts.”

  Marie squeezed Francie’s hand at those words, and unexpected tears sprang to Francie’s eyes. She’d missed being with her family this past year; Aunt Dorothea and Uncle Leonard, Cousin Marie, and even Grandmama Christiana had welcomed her into their lives without hesitation, and their openness had filled an aching void. They had taken her into their home—and their hearts—and treated her as if she’d always been there.

  Reverend Carlton had just pronounced the “amen” when Middle Meg bustled into the room with the side dishes. Soon plates, bowls, and platters were being passed around the table, and conversation was buoyant and happy. In the background, Middle Meg sang a rousing rendition of “Oh! Susanna” from the kitchen.

  The dinner was wonderful, as was anything that Middle Meg cooked, baked, or stirred. Francie devoted herself to thick slices of honeyed ham, piles of buttered corn, and warm sweet rolls dripping with jelly, until her stomach was stuffed as full as it could possibly be.

  Middle Meg served coffee and tea and left an apple pie and a stack of sugar cookies in the middle of the table, although everyone vowed there was not a smidgen of room left for more food in their bellies. “Just in case,” Middle Meg said with a wink as she placed the platters in the middle of the table. “You never know. You just never know.”

  Francie groaned. She wanted nothing more than a nap, but unless she nodded off in her teacup—which was seeming like a greater possibility as the moments of “polite conversation” ensued—she was destined to stay at the table for a while longer.

  Talk turned quickly to the Grand Hotel. Francie felt Thomas stiffen beside her, and her drowsiness evaporated. Please, God, don’t let Thomas argue. This has been a lovely day. Nothing should spoil it.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him. He sat stick-straight, occasionally opening his mouth a bit and then, seemingly thinking better of speaking, closing it. Small splotches of red began to grow on his cheeks.

  Uncle Leonard boomed, “The hotel is bound to be a success. I know the fellows who are behind it, and they’ve got what it takes. Where there’s money to be had, you’ll find those who can make it grow. Money is a crop as sure as wheat or corn or barley is. And those who can plant it and make it grow are farmers. Money farmers.”

  “This crop is bound for failure,” Thomas burst out. All heads swiveled toward him as silence overtook the room. “I don’t know these financial experts, but at the very least, they should have put their funds in something safe and secure. A bank, for example, would have been an outstanding choice. But sinking it into something as unknown as this …”

  “Mackinac Island is not ‘unknown.’” Marie’s voice broke in, and the tone in her words was fierce. Francie spun to look at her in amazement. She looked just as angry as Thomas did. “I’m sure they studied the situation, made forecasts and predictions, and looked at this every which way, inside out and upside down.”

  “Marie! Such language!” Grandmama Christiana fanned herself vigorously. “How very common.”

  Everyone began to speak at once. Aunt Dorothea and Mrs. Carlton began loudly discussing the attributes of the pie, trying to cover the arguing voices. The volume escalated until it was nearly unbearable.

  Francie wanted to cover her ears, anything to make the horrible din stop. This was terrible.

  Then Grandmama Christiana trumpeted over the cacophony, “Leonard, I forgot to tell you about the oddest thing. I saw ghosts in the garden the other night.”

  The voices fell silent, and the others at the table turned to stare at her. Aunt Dorothea cleared her throat. “You did? Are you sure? You saw ghosts in my garden?”

  Grandmama Christiana shot her a withering look. “I said I saw ghosts, and that’s what I meant. I saw ghosts. Two ghosts.”

  Uncle Leonard harrumphed. “Mother,
there is no such thing as a ghost.”

  “Then you explain to me what I saw.”

  He patted her hand. “I think you made a mistake, that’s all. It must have been a trick of the light.”

  Grandmama Christiana’s spine snapped into a rigid line. “I know what I saw. There were two figures, and they floated toward each other and embraced. It was some kind of a ghostly lovers’ rendezvous.”

  Uncle Leonard hooted. “You need to have your spectacles adjusted. You couldn’t have seen a ghost because ghosts don’t exist. This sounds like one of Francie’s Fancies.”

  The family nickname for her artwork stung like a nettle, and Francie froze. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing thoughts, which were already overwhelmed by Grandmama Christiana’s pronouncement.

  Mrs. Carlton said, “You probably saw a couple who took a wrong turn on a late-night stroll. That would explain why you saw them in each other’s arms.”

  “The breeze off the lake can be quite strong at night. Maybe you saw the shrubbery and trees moving in the wind,” Aunt Dorothea suggested.

  “Aren’t any of you worried?” Thomas interjected. “There are all sorts of people on the island, working on the hotel or stationed at the fort, and we don’t know what they’re like. Who knows what kind of unsavory intentions they might have?”

  Mrs. Carlton shook her head. “I must say that I agree with Dorothea. The evenings here are quite pleasant, with that soothing lake air, and I’m sure that many people are taking advantage of the cool and refreshing zephyrs.”

  Reverend Carlton chuckled. “I’m sure this is a simple mistake. After all, has anyone else seen these shapes? Dorothea? Leonard? Or you, Marie? Francie, have you see anything unusual at night in the garden?”

  Francie didn’t dare meet Marie’s eyes for fear her cousin would read the truth in her expression. Instead, she ducked her head slightly and applied herself to the diligent folding and refolding of her linen napkin.