Legacy of Love

by Christine Johnson

  “I’m fine. Should be getting home.” He looked around for his car and realized he’d left it at the bookstore. His only escape was on foot, and he took it.

  Alas, the minister came with him. Despite his shorter stature, he kept pace with Brandon. “Hendrick will get over it.”

  Brandon let the comment pass.

  “So will Anna,” Gabe said. “She’s resilient, strong. Did you know she was in a fire this past summer?”

  That brought Brandon to a stop. “A fire?” He glanced back at the house. The dust probably looked like smoke. No wonder she’d been so frightened.

  “Not here,” the minister said, mistaking Brandon’s glance. “It happened in Montana. Mariah took Anna and Hendrick west with her. She had to prove the man who’d claimed our Luke wasn’t really his father.”

  Brandon struggled to piece together what the minister was saying. This man who’d claimed to be Luke’s father must have been in Montana.

  Gabe chuckled. “Judging from your expression, you’re surprised to learn Anna made such a long trip.”

  “Long? It couldn’t have taken more than a few days by train.”

  “Oh, no. They drove.”

  Brandon had to blink. Several times. “A car?”

  The man’s grin got wider. “That’s what I said when Mariah proposed it, but my sister has a mind of her own, and no one—man or woman—will stop her once she sets her mind on something. The best I could do was convince her to take Hendrick and Anna along.”

  “Then Anna has traveled.” That explained her hunger for adventure.

  “From what I hear, she loved every minute of the trip.”

  “Except the fire, I assume.”

  Gabe and Brandon began slowly walking toward the bookstore. “Lightning sparked a wildfire near a school.” Gabe shook his head. “Mariah told me Anna stayed calm and helped bring the children to safety. That sort of experience can either drive fear deep into a person or make them stronger.”

  “I gather you think it made Anna stronger.”

  The pastor didn’t answer at first. “When I first met Anna, she was a shy, awkward girl of seventeen. I’m guessing she never had a beau. I hardly ever heard her speak in public. She talked a little around family but barely said a word to me. When she returned from Montana, she chattered away to everyone.”

  Brandon had a difficult time imagining Anna acting shy. She didn’t hesitate to tell him what she thought.

  “Don’t worry about Hendrick,” Pastor Gabe said as they reached the bookstore and Brandon’s car. “He’s just a little protective of his kid sister. She was only seven when their father died, so he ended up being more a father than a brother to her.”

  That explained a great deal. If Brandon had had a sister, he would have scrutinized each suitor. A daughter? Any man who approached her would find the Spanish Inquisition easier than dealing with him.

  “If he doesn’t come around,” the pastor continued, “I’ll have Mariah speak to him.”

  The pastor’s words came as a jolt. Apparently he’d already matched Brandon with Anna.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Brandon said quickly. If Pastor Gabe approached Hendrick, it would only second the man’s fear that Brandon wanted to marry his sister.

  “If you say so.” Gabe bade him farewell before loping across the snow-covered street.

  As Brandon opened the door to his car, he wondered how many people in town had paired him with Anna. Probably everyone. It was a small town, after all. He settled behind the wheel. By offering her a place to live, he’d opened himself to such speculation. No doubt the entire town knew she cleaned his house. Rumors would swirl, some unkind.

  He clenched the icy cold steering wheel. He’d never meant to hurt Anna’s reputation and prospects. How would she find a husband with those rumors in the air? Now he’d offered her the bookstore job, which would only make things worse.

  “Small towns,” he muttered as he started the car and put it in gear.

  He’d hoped to escape the past here. Instead, the trouble had followed him here, and this time a beautiful young woman would suffer.

  For her sake, he must cut the ties between them.

  * * *

  “They demolished our home,” Anna cried as she burst through the carriage-house door.

  Ma looked around the room from her perch in the fireside chair. “Whatever do you mean? It looks fine to me.”

  “Not here.” Anna tugged off her gloves. “Our old house.”

  “You know that house wasn’t ours. We simply rented it.”

  Anna unbuttoned her coat and flung it over the back of the other chair. “But I grew up in it. It was home.” She fought through the lump clogging her throat. “They knocked it down. My bedroom.” A little sob escaped. “The kitchen.”

  “Hush, child. A home is where your family lives, not bricks and mortar.” She extended her arms, and Anna gratefully fell into her embrace.

  “Dearest, this is home now.” She cupped Anna’s face and gave her a smile.

  “It’s just an old, musty carriage house.”

  “It’s warm and dry, and I count my blessings every day. If not for Mr. Brandon, we would be living in the boardinghouse. You must admit that in comparison, we have much to be grateful for.”

  Anna bit her lip, not quite willing to let go of the hurt of seeing her childhood home demolished. “It’s just that...” She drew a breath. What was it that brought such ache? “It’s that we’ll never be able to go back.”

  Ma smiled softly. “Why ever would you want to go back? It’s the future you need to seek, dearest, not the past.”

  Anna knew she was right, but what future could she look forward to? Her dreams seemed out of reach, hopeless.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Who could that be at this hour?” Ma said. “It’s nearly suppertime.”

  Anna wiped her damp eyes. “Supper. I forgot.” She should have brought their meals down from the house.

  A second knock sounded.

  “I’ll get it.” She rose, composed herself and opened the door.

  Brandon stood on the other side, his coat and hat dusted with snow, which was now falling steadily. In his free hand he held the basket she used to bring their meals down from the house.

  “Your supper.” He held out the basket, covered with a thick towel.

  She was touched that he’d taken such care to keep their meals hot. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I was on my way to fetch them.”

  But instead of leaving, he nodded toward the interior of the apartment. “May I step inside a moment? I need to discuss something with you.”

  His grave expression worried her. After seeing the house tumble, she wasn’t sure she could handle more disappointment.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she took the basket from him.

  He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him.

  “Please have a seat,” Ma said, rising.

  “You’re walking well, I see.” But he didn’t take the offered chair.

  “Doc Stevens says I’ll be able to walk outdoors in a week or so, but I won’t be able to work for some time yet.”

  Anna couldn’t mistake the look of distress that furrowed his brow. Ma apparently didn’t notice, because she rambled on cheerfully.

  “I’m afraid that means Anna will have to continue cleaning the house. But she does such a good job. You couldn’t get a better worker. I understand she’s doing a fine job at the store too.” Ma grasped his hand. “I can’t thank you enough. You’re a godsend, an absolute godsend.”

  Instead of appreciating her gratitude, he looked even more distressed.

  “Yes, thank you.” Anna said no more when she saw the haunted look in his eyes. What wa
s wrong?

  “Yes, well, I can’t stay,” he said, looking everywhere but at her. “I hope...” He never finished the sentence. Instead he twitched, as if coming out of a nightmare. “I did want to give you the latest news on the excavation.”

  He withdrew a newspaper from his coat pocket. A small envelope peeked from between its folds.

  She reached to take it from him, but he pulled it back and removed the envelope before handing the paper to her. The envelope vanished inside his coat.

  Though curious about the envelope, she couldn’t help scanning the headline. It didn’t mention the burial chamber, but the photographs depicted amazing artifacts.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Looking up, she saw him already at the door. This time he did meet her gaze, but his eyes were filled with bottomless sorrow. Why? Because of the house? What had Hendrick said to him? If her brother did anything to hurt Brandon, she’d have words for him.

  “You’re welcome,” he said before leaving.

  But the words carried no warmth and no hope.

  Chapter Eleven

  The visit had proven a fiasco. The second Brandon saw Anna’s tear-swollen eyes, he’d been unable to sever the connection to her. Then her mother poured on the gratitude. He couldn’t dismiss Anna, even for her own good.

  What a fine mess he’d created.

  Then he’d almost given Anna the invitation. That little envelope from Mrs. Evelyn Neidecker had slipped between the pages of the newspaper, and he’d nearly handed it to the only woman he’d consider taking.

  Valentine’s Day Ball?

  He hated balls.

  Brandon did not dance. He avoided any possibility of dancing.

  After stewing about it that night and the next day, he decided to send his regrets.

  He pulled a sheet of paper from the desk in the bookstore’s workroom. The stationery was stamped with the business’s name, The Antiquarian, and address. He poised the fountain pen over the sheet and hesitated.

  Personal correspondence should not be written on business letterhead.

  When the doorbell tinkled, he shoved the stationery back into the drawer, grabbed his cane and walked to the front of the store.

  “I’m here,” said Anna, her cheeks delightfully rosy from the hike down the hill. She scanned the crates of books that Peter had carted to the store yesterday. “Where should I begin?”

  He pulled himself away from admiring her complexion. “I had Peter set the boxes near the shelves where the books belong. Put them in alphabetical order by author.”

  “And subject,” she added as she stripped off her gloves and hat. Strands of hair pulled out of the coil at the nape of her neck and floated around her face. “People will want all the biographies in one place and the adventure books in another.”

  “Naturally,” he said, though he could hardly keep his attention on business. What would she look like on a dance floor, all sparkling and lively? Years ago he would have whirled her around the ballroom.

  She opened a carton. “Are these in any order?”

  “Uh, yes.” He cleared his throat and his fickle imagination. “I sorted them by subject before packing them in the crates. You simply need to put them on the proper shelves.”

  She peered into another crate. “They’re old books.”

  “That’s why it’s an antiquarian bookstore.”

  She looked again. “You’re not selling your archaeology books, are you?”

  Her panic made him smile. “No. Not yet. At least not until you’ve read them. There are some fine books on Michigan history and the state’s progressive stand on abolition and the Underground Railroad.”

  Anna shrugged off her coat and looked around for a place to hang it. Brandon had never thought to install a coat hook, even in the back room.

  “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll find a place for your coat in back.”

  “Thank you.” Her gaze swept over him quickly and then returned, as if she’d summoned the courage to address him. “Do you think Mr. Carter is telling the newspaper everything?”

  It took him a moment to leapfrog to the new subject of conversation. “About the excavation in the Valley of the Kings? I’m sure he’s very careful what he reports. Antiquities authorities will review every piece removed from the tomb.”

  She nibbled on her lip, something she did unconsciously when thinking. “Will everything stay in Egypt?” Her uplifted eyes placed total trust in his knowledge. It had been years since anyone gave him such a look.

  “That remains to be seen.” He tried to focus on archaeology, which suddenly seemed quite dull. “Historically, Egyptian authorities allow a division of finds, with duplicates given to the excavators, but this is the first time an intact tomb has been found. The Egyptians might claim it all.”

  “Why would Lord Carnarvon and Mr. Carter spend so much on the excavation if they can’t take any of the treasure?”

  Brandon stifled a smile at her innocence. “Aside from fame and the thrill of discovery, they will earn a lot from lectures and publications.”

  The bridge of her nose wrinkled, endearing her to him even more. “Will people be able to see what they found? I wish I could be there when they open the sarcophagus.” She closed her eyes, the lashes brushing her cheeks. “There must be gold inside. He was a pharaoh, after all. Oh, how glorious to see such splendor.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her that only high-ranking officials and members of the excavation team would be present for that momentous event.

  “Perhaps you will one day go to Cairo and see the tomb’s contents. From there, it’s a short hop to Luxor and the tomb itself.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and her longing was so evident that he wanted more than anything else to give her that glimpse of the past. “Do you think so?”

  “Anything is possible.” He recalled her trip to Montana. “Especially for someone who traveled west by motorcar.”

  “My travels last summer.” Her lips curved upward. “That was an adventure.”

  “I’d love to hear about it.”

  The hours spent unpacking books passed quickly thanks to her tales of the trip west. From prairie dogs to storms, she made every event a highlight.

  “You should write those stories down,” he urged, wanting her to reach for every possibility.

  “Maybe someday.”

  “Do it. Write them like you just told me, so others can experience what you did. Very few are able to take a trip like that.”

  She pondered his statement a good while. “I suppose you’re right.”

  He nodded. “They’re fine stories.”

  “I love a good story.” She stood and looked around. “Speaking of which, where will the dime novels go?”

  Brandon cringed. “The popular-fiction section is to your right.”

  She stared at the shelves she’d loaded the day before yesterday. “I wouldn’t call those popular. You won’t sell many books if that’s all you’re going to have in your fiction section. Where are the mystery and adventure novels? Allan Pinkerton’s detective stories? Zane Grey and Mary Roberts Rinehart?”

  “Those are not appropriate for an antiquarian bookstore. Besides, the mercantile already carries a wide selection of bestselling novels.”

  “You’ll never make money if you don’t carry what people want to buy. You need popular novels and magazines, like The Argosy and Action Stories. Oh, and Detective Story Magazine. That has some good stories too.”

  Brandon had to swallow the instinct to vilify the pulp magazines. Clearly Anna loved them, but he wanted to promote literature and learning, not aimless fantasy.

  “The drugstore carries those,” he stated, returning to his work.

  Though he could feel her piercing gaze on
his back, he continued to work. If anything, he shelved faster and more noisily.

  “You could at least have a children’s section,” she finally said, the hurt obvious. “Girls like The Bobbsey Twins and boys love Tom Swift.”

  Brandon hadn’t meant to snub her. He was simply running short of cash. “I’ll consider it.”

  “They would sell nicely. I’m sure you’d like to make a profit.”

  More than she realized. He drew a deep breath. Perhaps he could loosen his standards a bit. “Make a list of popular novels you think we should carry, and I’ll order a selection of them.”

  “You will?” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, thank you, thank you.” She danced to the front of the store. “You should place them here, right in front where they’ll catch people’s attention.”

  He gritted his teeth. The front-and-center shelving was intended for the most beautiful books in his collection, those with colored plates and photographs. “All fiction will be shelved together.”

  “Not the children’s books.” She spun around, looking for a spot, and settled on the nook near the side window. “That would make a cozy corner for the children. We could put a rocker there for the mothers and little chairs or benches for the boys and girls.”

  Children in his bookstore? Brandon hadn’t quite planned on that. Not that he didn’t enjoy children, but they were naturally curious and clumsy. He could see them pulling his valuable books off the shelves and ripping pages. “No children’s section and no furniture. We don’t want people staying here all day. This isn’t a library.”

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “No children’s books? But they’re the most important ones of all. We have to encourage the children to read. It’s the key to everything.”

  He was surprised by the passion in her voice. This she truly believed, and, if he thought about it a moment, he did too. Literacy gave a man opportunity. Train him to read while still a boy, and the world opened to him.

  “We will have a small selection,” he conceded, “but no furniture.” Other than a locking bookcase where he could store his most valuable books.

  She looked so pleased that he could ignore the hint of worry that niggled at his mind. Surely nothing bad could happen if he took precautions.