No one could misconstrue Sally’s meaning as her smug gaze raked downward from Anna’s threadbare coat to her sagging wool stockings.
Anna blinked back tears of angry humiliation. The Bible said to turn the other cheek. It didn’t mention how tough that could be.
Out of nowhere came the warm masculine voice of the distinguished stranger. “If the uniform is that fashionable, perhaps you should wear it.”
Anna’s jaw dropped. She could have hugged the man for lobbing that volley at Sally. He’d come to her rescue in as spectacular a fashion as Mr. Rochester had lifted Jane out of the driving rain and onto his horse.
“The nerve,” Sally said under her breath, before pasting a smile on her lips. Cocking her head until the ostrich feather on her stylish turban swept downward, she fixed every ounce of feminine wile on Anna’s hero. “How witty you are, sir. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She extended a hand.
He ignored it. “At least you’re correct about that.” He nodded curtly. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Without another word, he strode out of the store and straight into Anna’s heart.
* * *
Despite the blustery December weather, Brandon Landers felt hot. He couldn’t stop thinking about the young woman in the store. Her friend had called her Anna. Intelligent, lively and unspoiled, her enthusiasm reawakened hope—and a much more frightening emotion. No woman had generated such feelings since before the war.
Anna clearly hadn’t two dimes to rub together, but she had the nerve to walk away from a degrading job. He had to admire a woman who put ideals ahead of money. Add to that her interest in antiquities, a rare quality for someone her age, and he could soon find himself attracted to her. That was precisely the trouble. She couldn’t be much more than twenty. Pretty young women paid no attention to wounded war veterans chasing the other side of thirty.
At least for a few minutes she’d helped him forget the painful task ahead. He must evict the tenants from the property his father had sold shortly before his death. Worse, they didn’t know the house and business had been sold. Apparently Father had overlooked that little detail.
He fingered the envelope in his pocket, and tension rippled through him. He hated delivering bad news and would never force a family to move on such short notice if there had been any other solution. MacKenzie, Father’s attorney and new owner of the property, insisted they vacate the house by the end of the month or Brandon must return the purchase price. Since Father had already spent that money, and Brandon couldn’t acquire such a sum, MacKenzie had offered to take the family’s Pearlman house as payment.
Brandon’s gut clenched. That house was all that Father had left him. He must evict the tenants from their home or lose his own.
A gust of wind struck, and he tucked the envelope deep into his pocket. That loathsome task could wait until the man of the house arrived home from work. Until then, he’d look over the storefront where he planned to open his bookstore.
He hurried along the boardwalk, shoulders hunched against the wind. The leaden sky hadn’t yielded snow yet, but it threatened. The cold weather had frozen the puddles and forced him to spend more for coal than he’d anticipated. At this rate, he’d run through his meager savings before spring. He needed to get the bookstore up and turning a profit soon, but the storefront required work. A lot of work.
To turn the old harness shop into a viable bookstore, he needed to replace the front window, install bookshelves and build a sales counter—none of which he could manage himself. That meant hiring a carpenter or handyman.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the dim interior. It smelled like a tannery. Dust, dirt and debris filled every corner and crevice. He poked his cane into the wall, and the plaster crumbled onto the plank floor.
“I need help,” he muttered.
“I might be able to assist you with that,” answered a painfully cheerful voice.
Brandon turned to see a man of middling height with unruly hair standing in the open doorway. Informally dressed in a mackinaw coat, he looked every bit the workman Brandon needed.
“You’re looking for work?”
The man laughed and shook his head. “I already have a job as pastor at the church across the street, but I know pretty much everyone in town and can put out the word for whatever you need.”
The man sure didn’t look like a clergyman. “Aren’t you dressed a little informally for a minister?”
The pastor laughed again and extended a hand. “Call me Gabe.”
Brandon stared at the outstretched hand. Ever since the war, he couldn’t set foot in a church. Too much had happened—things he didn’t want to remember, things no one could forgive. But he also couldn’t deny basic civility.
“Brandon Landers.” He completed the handshake. “I’m settling my father’s estate.”
“My condolences. We heard he’d passed away unexpectedly. Will you be staying in Pearlman?”
“At the family home.” This conversation was already taking too long. Soon the man would invite him to church, and he’d have to make up an excuse. He eyed the dark street with its glimmering streetlamps and checked his watch. Five o’clock. Best get his unpleasant task done before it got too late. “I need to leave.”
“But didn’t you want to hire someone?”
An inquiry couldn’t hurt, if the price was right. “Do you know a young man who needs a job?” A youth would cost less than a skilled carpenter.
Pastor Gabe glanced at the filthy interior. “I’d think you’d want someone to clean the place first. I know a lovely young woman who could do the work for you. She’s a first-rate worker and could use the money. The family is struggling to get by, and I learned today that her widowed mother had her hours reduced.”
“I beg your pardon, Pastor. I feel for them, but it’s not a job for a woman. I need shelves built and the window replaced.”
“I see.” The minister tapped his chin. “Her brother and foster brother are excellent with their hands. I’m sure they’d step in for any construction required.”
“That means hiring two people when I could simply hire one.”
“I doubt either one would take money away from their sister. Hendrick Simmons is busy starting up his new aeroplane-engine plant, and Peter is managing the garage, but I’m sure one or the other could make time for a little construction.”
Simmons? Brandon stiffened. That was the last name he wanted to hear. Once he delivered the envelope, none of them would have a thing to do with him. They certainly wouldn’t work for him, not at any price.
Chapter Two
“You quit?” Ma froze, her soup spoon poised in midair.
Anna pushed her chair away from the rickety kitchen table. The potato, rutabaga and salt pork stew that had smelled so good minutes before now turned her stomach.
“You can’t just walk out,” Ma insisted.
“I’ll get another job.
“That’s not the point, dearest. Mrs. Neidecker was counting on you.”
Anna couldn’t look her mother in the eye. “I finished the day’s work. Everything’s ready for her Christmas party. All she has to do is hire someone to clean up.”
Ma shook her head. “A Simmons always finishes the job. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Though Anna’s mother was short on stature, she was long on resolve. “I’m perfectly capable. Mrs. Vanderloo doesn’t expect me until Thursday.”
Anna hated that Ma was always right. “Well, you can’t wear that skimpy uniform, for one thing.”
“Evelyn would never ask me to wear something that wasn’t modest.”
Anna wasn’t so sure. Mrs. Neidecker had got it into her head that her house should look like the Rockefellers lived there. That meant m
aids in fancy uniforms and Graves, the butler, in a tuxedo. Apparently she’d seen pictures of some rich person’s house in a ladies’ magazine.
Ma squeezed Anna’s hand. “We need the money.”
That much was true. Ma’s hours at the Vanderloo house had been trimmed, and the Williamses dropped her in favor of a girl who accepted half the pay. Now, Anna had quit her job. She ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Now, don’t you fret. We still have the money your brother gives us each month. I hate to accept it, now that he has a family to support, but it can’t be helped.”
“I’ll get a job at the Belvidere cannery. I heard they’re paying a dollar an hour.”
Ma’s gentle smile faded. “But I need you here. You’re my only daughter. What would I do without you?” She brushed a strand of hair off Anna’s forehead as if she were still a child.
“It’s only Belvidere.” Ma meant well, but Anna hated being coddled. “I’ll take the train back and forth each day.”
“But you wouldn’t be home as much. I hear the cannery works its people long hours and then the train ride on top of that. I’d hardly ever see you. Please stay. For me?”
That was the problem. All of Anna’s friends had moved on to bigger and better things, but she was still stuck in Pearlman, living with her mother, with no future in sight. At the age of twenty, she hadn’t even had a real beau yet. Oh, she’d fallen for men, disastrously, but they either didn’t notice her or fell in love with someone else.
That man in the mercantile, the one opening the new bookstore, would turn out just like the rest. She couldn’t wait for someone to sweep her off her feet. She had to take care of her own future. That meant getting a good-paying job.
“The only jobs that pay well are at the cannery,” Anna pointed out. “If I get a job there, we won’t have to take money from Hendrick anymore.”
Ma heaved a sigh, which signaled she’d come around to Anna’s way of thinking. “I suppose we have no choice then, but I hate the idea of you riding all alone on the train every day. I wish your father were here. He’d know what to do.”
If Papa hadn’t died, Ma wouldn’t have had to struggle raising two children, and Hendrick wouldn’t have had to quit school in the eighth grade to take over the garage. Everything would have been different. Anna might have been able to go to college. She wouldn’t have worn homemade dresses sewn out of the scraps from Mrs. Fox’s dress shop. But Papa had died—horribly. She shuddered, and shoved the memory into a dark corner of her mind.
Ma must have been thinking about him too, because she sniffed and dabbed her eyes.
Anna hugged her. “Papa was the best of men. He would have taken care of us.”
“He always did.”
Anna was so caught up in the painful memories that the knock on the door didn’t register right away.
Ma noticed it first. “I wonder who that is.” Her eyes grew round. “I hope nothing happened at the plant.”
Fear ricocheted. All that machinery at her brother’s new aeroplane-motor factory. The open belts and whirling lathes. The infernal racket. What if a belt caught Hendrick’s arm? What if a heavy machine fell on him?
A blinding memory—one she desperately wanted to forget—shot through her head. The truck falling, her father’s body jerking from the impact, the cry... She pressed her hands to her ears and squeezed her eyes shut to make it go away.
“Are you all right, dear?” Ma asked gently.
Anna shook off the memory with a forced smile. “I’m fine.”
The knock sounded again, loud and firm.
Ma rose. “I’ll get it.”
Anna’s pulse accelerated. What if something had happened to Hendrick? She couldn’t let Ma hear the bad news first. She leaped to her feet and reached the door first.
The next knock rattled the hinges and made the knob jump in her hand.
“All right,” she snapped, yanking the door open. “There’s no need to pound down the—” But the last word stuck on her tongue, for before her stood the distinguished gentleman from the mercantile.
This wasn’t bad news at all. He’d come to talk to her. Perhaps he’d brought her the archaeology book.
“Oh. You.” The minute the words left her lips, Anna blushed. A scholar wanted intellectual conversation, not some moony girl who couldn’t string two words together.
Yet he looked as taken aback as she was stupefied. “You’re Miss Simmons? Or do I have the wrong address? This is 502 Main Street?”
“Yes, it is.” What on earth did the address have to do with dropping off a book? “I’m Anna Simmons.”
If anything, he looked even more distressed.
“And I’m Mrs. Simmons,” said Ma from behind her. “Do I know you? You look a little familiar, but I’m afraid my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.”
His discomfort eased a bit when he saw Ma. “You knew my father, Percival Landers. I’m his eldest son, Brandon.”
“Little Brandon?” Ma pushed past Anna. “The last time I saw you, your parents still summered here. You couldn’t have been more than twelve and barely reached my shoulder. You laughed all the time.”
Anna lifted her eyebrows. Clearly, he’d outgrown the laugh.
“Then your parents stopped visiting,” Ma continued. “Of course your father would come to town periodically to see how the garage was faring. He was such a kind man, always concerned for us, especially after my husband’s death.” She leaned closer, as if she wanted to tweak his cheeks. Thankfully, he was too tall. “My dear boy, I’m so sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard your father had passed. So young. He couldn’t have been more than sixty. My dear Brandon. I’m so sorry.”
So this was Brandon Landers. Anna had never met him, though Ma had mentioned once or twice that Mr. Landers had two boys. She knew about his father, of course. The elder Landers was a silent business partner of her father’s, though Anna had only seen him a couple times after Papa’s death. He always brought papers for Hendrick to sign and left her brother agitated.
“How is your younger brother?” Ma bubbled on, oblivious to Brandon’s discomfort. “Reginald, is it?”
“He’s fine.”
“And your wife? You must be married by now.”
Anna shot her mother a glare, though she had to admit she wanted to hear the answer. Why hadn’t she considered that Brandon might be married? Because he’d done his own shopping. No married man shopped for groceries.
He shuffled uncomfortably. “No, I’m not married.”
Ma, whose greatest joy in life was matchmaking, didn’t let up. “A fiancée, then? A handsome man like you must be engaged.”
“Ma,” Anna hissed under her breath.
He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not. Please forgive me, but this is not a social call.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Is the man of the house at home?”
“Hendrick?” Anna surveyed the envelope, but he held it so she couldn’t see the address. “Why would you want to talk to him?”
Ma stepped aside. “Do come in, Mr. Brandon, and sit a spell. My son no longer lives here. He married this September and is living at the orphanage, Constance House, with his lovely bride. They’re feeding the children at this hour, so I wouldn’t recommend interrupting, but you can wait here with us and have a cup of tea.”
Brandon Landers in their shabby living room? Anna choked. “I’m sure Mr. Landers has supper waiting for him.”
“My business can wait.” He avoided looking at her.
Oh, dear. The letter brought bad news. Hendrick had put everything into opening his new aeroplane-engine plant. He did not need trouble with the garage. It was their only source of income right now.
Brandon started to tuck the envelope into his coat.
No. Anna couldn’t let him spring bad news on Hendrick. She’d do it. She grabbed the envelope from his hand. “I’ll see my brother gets it.”
Startled, he snatched for the envelope, missed and settled for holding out his hand. “I’d rather deliver it myself.”
She pressed the envelope to her breast. What horrible news was he trying to keep from her? “I’m not a child. If there’s trouble, I can handle it.”
Ma fretted, “What is it? Did your father leave some instructions for Hendrick?”
Perspiration dotted Brandon’s upper lip despite the freezing temperatures. “I’m sorry. My father should have informed you. Someone should have informed you.” His gaze landed on Anna for a second before flitting away.
“Informed us of what?” asked Ma.
Brandon shifted uncomfortably. “I believe it would be best if I deliver the letter to your brother.”
He held out his hand again.
Why did he want this so badly? He must be trying to hide something from her. Anna hesitated long enough to notice that the envelope came from a law firm in Detroit and was addressed to the Simmons family at 502 Main Street in Pearlman, Michigan. Well, she was a member of the Simmons family. She had every right to see this letter too.
She ripped open the envelope. Ma gasped and fluttered her hands with a cry of protest, but Anna would not be deterred. Brandon paled when she pulled out the single sheet of paper. She was right. He was trying to hide something.
“Anna,” Ma reprimanded sharply. “That’s meant for Hendrick.”
“It’s addressed to all of us, the Simmons family, and that includes me.”
“Please don’t,” Brandon pleaded, his palm open.
Anna paid him no notice. She had to know what that letter said. She carried it into the kitchen where there was more light, but as soon as she read the first line, she wished she’d let Brandon Landers give the letter to her brother. She heard the front door open and close.
Legacy of Love Page 2
