Legacy of Love

by Christine Johnson

  Anna had no doubt. The former occupant wasn’t known for keeping a pristine shop, and the place had sat vacant for a year. “I can do it.”

  “You would work six days a week, full-time on those days you don’t clean the house, afternoons on the days you do. After we open, you will be responsible for handling sales and maintaining inventory. The shelves must be dusted, misplaced books reshelved in the proper location, detailed records kept of all sales...”

  Anna listened to his list of duties and began to wonder what would be left for him to do.

  “You don’t plan to work at the store?” she asked when he finally stopped.

  His jaw tightened. “I will be in and out.”

  That sounded suspiciously as though he would leave her alone to deal with the customers. Though she appreciated his trust in her abilities, she also worried that customers would have questions she couldn’t answer. “But you’re the owner. Shouldn’t you be there, at least at first?”

  “I have other business to attend to,” he said stiffly, his gaze drifting again to the window.

  What other business? Brandon had spent every day this week at that bookstore. Yet suddenly he didn’t want to be near it. She swallowed hard. What if it was because of her? But then why hire her? Why offer her the job? She knew a handful of women who would leap at the opportunity.

  “The wage is a dollar an hour,” he said.

  Her jaw dropped. A dollar an hour? That was more than she could get at the cannery, and she wouldn’t have to spend part of her wage on the train.

  “Do you want the job or not?”

  She swallowed. “Yes. I’ll take it.”

  The hint of a smile returned. “You will?”

  She nodded, momentarily ecstatic. Then her emotions jumbled into a knot. Working with him could throw her life into turmoil. Hendrick’s caution came to mind. Stay clear of Brandon Landers. Rich men like him don’t fall in love with poor girls.

  She’d have to check her emotions at the door. The spark she’d felt last night meant nothing, which she’d best remember.

  Chapter Seven

  Brandon knew the moment he was alone with Anna in the parsonage parlor that he couldn’t work alongside her. He’d be hard-pressed to get through dinner. Something about her drew him as irresistibly as iron to a magnet.

  Oh, he wanted to work with her. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her, but that path could only lead to despair. If she ever discovered what he’d done in the war, she’d hate him.

  As it should be. Anna deserved much better than him.

  The sooner he could get away from the parsonage, the better. He glanced around the parlor with its oppressive decorations. Every bow and festoon reminded him of the families who wouldn’t celebrate Christmas, thanks to him. The scent of pine and cinnamon and cloves gagged him. As soon as dinner ended, he’d make up some excuse and graciously bow out.

  When each member of the family arrived, he memorized their names and greeted them with civility, but once the eleven adults sat at the dining-room table and conversation turned to the minutiae of everyday life, he paid only passing attention.

  The sprigs of holly with their bright red berries mocked him. While the others laughed and told stories of Christmases past, he tried to stop his ears. He did not deserve happiness on this or any Christmas. Why hadn’t he made an excuse or feigned illness? The only reason he’d been invited was to offer Anna a job. He’d done that, and she’d accepted. Business over. He did not have to endure a family’s joyful celebration.

  At last the cake was served. Soon he could leave.

  Anna gazed at him with gratitude for providing the dessert, and curious warmth stole into his heart, just like it had last night. She did like him, and, try as he might to deny it, he did care.

  At that point, Anna’s mother began a direct frontal assault on his bachelorhood. “Doesn’t Anna look lovely tonight? Red is particularly good for her coloring.”

  He had to admit he hadn’t paid much attention to her dress. It was adequate, simple and serviceable. He didn’t care about lace and trim. Not when the woman in question boasted sky-blue eyes that glittered with excitement. Clothes didn’t make the woman. Her spirit did.

  “She’s a very hard worker too. Isn’t she, Mariah?” Mrs. Simmons was saying. “Don’t listen to anything Evelyn Neidecker says. Anna had good reason to resign, and it has nothing to do with the quality of her work.”

  Evelyn Neidecker must be the mother of the snobbish girl in the mercantile. Mrs. Simmons need not worry that he’d listen to anything a Neidecker said.

  Confident she’d gained sufficient leverage, Mrs. Simmons moved in for the attack. “Naturally, she should have a position where she can use her talents. Did you know that she received top grades in literature?”

  “Ma,” Anna hissed, embarrassment coloring her cheeks a lovely shade of pink.

  Her mother, like every mother before her, seemed determined to convince him that Anna was the finest woman to walk the face of the earth. He didn’t need any persuasion. Anna was the finest woman he’d ever met. The trouble lay with him.

  Since he couldn’t explain the problem, he evaded her attack by diving into the white cake with caramel frosting.

  “Her teacher wept when she learned Anna couldn’t go to college.” Mrs. Simmons paused expectantly.

  “She would be a fine student,” he mumbled between bites. She’d certainly be better than his kid brother, Reggie, who was wasting his education.

  “I plan to go to college,” Anna asserted, her cheeks still pink, “as soon as I earn enough for tuition.”

  Her determination broke his heart. No job in Pearlman paid enough to fund a college education. He wished he could pay her more, but the store’s bank account hovered near the bottom. The wage he’d offered her was already double what he’d intended to spend. The bookstore had better turn a profit and soon.

  “What would you study?” the pastor’s wife asked Anna. Her elegance and fashionable attire would have told him she came from money even if he hadn’t met her blustering father and pretentious mother.

  “Classics,” Anna answered without hesitation.

  Nearly everyone chuckled, as if humoring a child, but Brandon respected her passion.

  “She should study what excites her,” he said. “The world would be a better place if more people pursued education and fewer resorted to war. Classics are the foundation to a solid education.”

  “And that’s how I can study archaeology,” she said. “I want to find ancient treasures, like that Egyptian tomb Mr. Carter just unearthed.”

  “Egypt!” Felicity’s father, Mr. Kensington, guffawed. “You don’t have to go to Egypt to find treasure. Rumor has it there’s one right here in Pearlman.”

  Brandon stiffened. Not that ridiculous rumor again.

  But Anna leaned forward, eager to hear more. “There is? Where?”

  “Nowhere,” Brandon said to quell the buzz of excitement that had started around the dinner table. “It’s something someone made up years ago.”

  Kensington thumbed his gold pocket watch. “That so?”

  “In my estimation,” Brandon said firmly, “the greatest treasure in Pearlman is its citizens.”

  Kensington laughed. “Well said. But tell me, what is the greatest treasure in your family?”

  Brandon stared down the man. He knew the way the wealthy operated. They thought they were entitled to know everything. Well, they weren’t.

  “Our rare book collection,” Brandon stated decisively.

  Anna didn’t look as though she quite believed a book collection could be valuable, but he had no intention of explaining. He’d thought this rumor had been crushed years ago.

  “That reminds me,” he said. “I just received a newspaper with the latest ne
ws on Mr. Carter’s find. There are even photographs.”

  Her gaze settled on him, sending his fickle heart soaring again. As expected, she forgot about the Pearlman treasure.

  “There are?” She clapped her hands together. “I can hardly wait to see them. Are there pictures of the inside of the tomb? The chambers are supposed to be packed with treasures. What does it look like? Can you tell if anything’s gold?” She spoke faster and faster, as if trying to grasp a fleeting dream.

  “I’ll loan you the newspaper the next time you clean the house.”

  Her smile offered greater payment than he’d ever received for the mere loan of a newspaper, but he stifled a return smile when he realized everyone else had grown silent. The women cast knowing smiles at each other. The men watched their wives then looked to each other to confirm what they’d figured out. Clearly Anna’s placement across the table from him was no accident.

  Brandon squirmed and glanced at the doorway. With dinner over he could now beg his leave. He opened his mouth, but the words became stuck when he spotted Hendrick Simmons’s glare.

  Clearly the man hated the idea of Brandon being matched with his sister. Brandon understood. He wouldn’t be pleased either, but the truth was that this match could never happen. He gave Hendrick a curt nod to indicate he had no intention of pursuing a relationship with Anna.

  Instead of relief, the man’s eyes narrowed, and he scooted away from the table. “It’s time to take Ma home, Anna.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion.

  Anna’s smile fell. “Already?”

  “I’m quite comfortable,” Mrs. Simmons chimed in. “Let’s stay for coffee.”

  Mariah, Hendrick’s wife and a woman of quiet command, touched her husband’s arm. “It’s Christmas Eve.” Her throaty voice drew Hendrick back into his chair.

  Brandon took that as his cue to excuse himself. The family needed its time together. He would gracefully retire and leave them to their holiday celebration.

  He rose. “Thank you for the delightful dinner, ma’am,” he said to the pastor’s wife, “but I should be returning home. It’s growing dark.”

  “Please stay,” she urged with the gracious ease born of wealth. “I’m sure your assistance helping the ladies home would be most welcome.”

  That delicate wording no doubt referred to Mrs. Simmons, since Anna could easily walk the six or seven blocks.

  “I can bring Ma,” began Hendrick before stopping abruptly. Judging by his wince of pain, the change of heart had been spurred by a sharp jab of his wife’s persuasive elbow.

  “That would be lovely,” Ma Simmons said over top of her son’s objections, “but you and Mariah need to return to the orphanage soon. I’m sure Mr. Brandon won’t mind taking me home.”

  The short, plump woman had an uncanny ability to calm people. She hadn’t the grace of the pastor’s wife or the command of Mariah, but something else that Brandon couldn’t quite define. If he’d been the sentimental type, he’d say she had a glow about her, but seeing as he preferred science to sentiment, he could only say she was amazingly persuasive. She had a knack for getting her way while making the other person glad to do so.

  “Now that that’s settled, let’s take coffee in the parlor,” Ma Simmons urged, “where we can enjoy Felicity’s beautiful Christmas decorations. Mr. Brandon, will you escort me?” She held out her hand, and he had no choice but to help.

  * * *

  Brandon assisted Ma into the parlor with such tenderness that Anna’s heart swelled with gratitude and something much more dangerous. She paused in the arched entry to watch him fawn over Ma, ensuring she was warm enough and situated in the best possible place to both view the sparkling tree and converse with the family. She rewarded him with the smile reserved for family and close friends. If it were up to Ma, Brandon would be her son-in-law by year’s end.

  Could it happen? Anna bit her lip to contain her roller-coaster emotions. He was simply helping an injured older lady. Any gentleman would do the same. It meant nothing more than that.

  A sharp rap sounded on the front door, halting the various conversations.

  “I wonder who that could be,” Felicity said as she glided to answer the door, her green silk gown rustling softly as she passed.

  Anna wished she could move that gracefully. Instead, she’d always jerked along like a wounded bug. Ma said it was because she’d grown too fast, all in one summer when she was fifteen, but that was over five years ago. The countless hours walking with a book atop her head should have done something for her awkward gait.

  “Gabriel, you really should hire a butler,” Mrs. Kensington called out loudly, as if the pastor couldn’t hear her from five feet away. “Felicity is much too busy with the children to answer doors.”

  Pastor Gabe nodded, though Anna suspected he let his mother-in-law’s advice skip right in one ear and out the other. Mrs. Kensington always offered suggestions. Anna thanked the Lord above that she didn’t have to deal with someone like that, unless...

  She glanced at Brandon. Was there a Mrs. Kensington in his family? His mother had passed years ago, and his father had just died, but there might be sisters or aunts or cousins. She shuddered. Judging by the Neideckers and the Kensingtons, wherever there was money, there were people determined to get their way.

  Felicity had not yet returned. Though the conversations had resumed, Anna could still hear muffled voices in the hallway. One sounded masculine.

  Brandon suddenly stiffened, and his color drained.

  Anna looked toward the hall, but Felicity hadn’t returned yet. Still, Brandon had risen and was walking slowly toward the parlor doorway. Before he could reach the festooned entry, Felicity appeared, followed by a tall, dark-haired gentleman a few years older than Anna. His suit was styled in the collegiate fashion, and he grinned when he saw Brandon, who had halted a few steps short of the entry.

  “Merry Christmas, brother.” The man spread wide his arms, revealing a candy-apple-red satin waistcoat.

  Anna stared at the garish thing, which was out of place beneath the tweed suit and completely inappropriate during a time of mourning. Brandon must have noticed the same thing, because he didn’t move a muscle. No embrace. No word of welcome. To anyone present, it was clear that Brandon had no love for his younger brother.

  The brother shrugged and lowered his arms. “No one was home, so I traipsed around town until I saw your car parked out front.” He gestured toward the street with a thumb.

  Anna looked from Brandon to this man and back again. They had the same nose and chin. They stood about the same height, and their hair was the same shade of brown, but the resemblance ended there. The younger brother carried himself with a jaunty ease that Brandon never had. The bottom button of his waistcoat was undone. His hair was styled rakishly, and no dimple dotted his chin. He grinned quickly and laughed loudly. She suspected most women would consider him the more handsome of the two, but he acted with such reckless disregard for propriety that her guard went up. That man would break hearts without a second thought.

  “Reggie,” Brandon finally said, clearly pained. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “It’s Christmas, old man. Of course I’d come home.” Again he surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping past the couples and decorations until it landed on her. “I don’t suppose you’d care to make introductions.”

  Brandon’s expression got even grimmer when he saw Reggie smiling at her.

  “This way.” He tugged Reggie toward Pastor Gabe and Felicity before proceeding around the room. Anna couldn’t help noticing he’d started as far away from her as possible.

  Reggie gallantly kissed the ladies’ hands and shook the men’s. In every way he acted the gentleman, but Anna had seen similar behavior last summer on her trip to Montana, and that man had turned out to be a criminal. No matter how han
dsome the face, she had no intention of letting Reggie Landers kiss her hand.

  “Little Reggie,” Ma cooed when he got to her. “You were just a lad the last time I saw you. I don’t suppose you remember stopping by the house with your father.”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “Quaint little place. So sorry to hear Dad sold it.”

  Anna saw Brandon cringe, his scowl growing deeper. Clearly there was no love between the brothers, at least not on Brandon’s side. For whatever reason, he resented Reggie, and that reaction was enough to reinforce Anna’s caution.

  While Reggie and Ma chatted, Minnie arrived with the coffee service. Just seventeen and still finishing high school, Minnie worked weekends at the parsonage. At least Felicity didn’t make her wear a uniform.

  “Set it on this table,” Felicity directed.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  At the sound of Minnie’s voice, Reggie turned around, and Minnie froze. Her eyes widened, the tray tilted and the whole service—cups, cream, sugar and coffeepot—crashed to the floor.

  A collective gasp went up. For a second, Anna wondered why Minnie acted as though she knew Reggie. Impossible. Their paths could never have crossed, yet Minnie had clearly been thrown by his presence.

  “Are you all right?” Felicity reached for Minnie, who backed away from the mess, hands covering her mouth and tears in her eyes.

  Shards of china littered the wooden floor, and the dark stain of coffee mingled with the cream in a great muddy pool. Flecks of liquid dotted her stockings and apron. Tears threatened to spill, and Anna rushed across the room to help.

  “Oh, no.” The girl sobbed and tried to pick up broken bits of china. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Meeks. So sorry.”

  “Stop,” Felicity commanded. “You’ll cut yourself. Did the coffee burn you? Is anyone hurt?”

  Minnie just kept sobbing and gathering jagged bits of porcelain into her apron.

  Anna tugged her to her feet. “Come with me. We’ll fetch a mop and broom.” She knew how embarrassed Minnie must be with everyone watching her.