An Unexpected Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Once outdoors, he dropped into one of the chairs that had already been scrubbed clean in readiness for the family’s arrival. She, on the other hand, perched on the veranda railing, prepared to take flight at the earliest possible moment.

  “I have good news for you, Fanny. Your investments are doing extremely well. I think it would be wise if you let them stand without any changes. If you like, we could go over the list, and I could show the margin of profit so that you could . . .”

  She shook her head. At the moment, the last thing she wanted to do was discuss her portion of Grandfather’s estate. “I’m not worried over the investments, Uncle Jonas. Whatever you decide will be fine. You have far more wisdom regarding financial matters than I do.”

  “Thank you for placing your confidence in me. I will, of course, look after your money as if it were my own.” He tapped the bowl of his pipe on the heel of his shoe. “I know all of this has been extremely difficult for you. I’m doing my best to ensure the estate assets are protected.”

  “I do appreciate that, Uncle. Until Michael returns, I’m certain you are the best man for the job.”

  The older man frowned. “Of course Michael has little training—”

  “Ah, here you are, Jonas. I was hoping we could go over your schedule so that I can organize two or three parties this summer.” Pencil and paper in hand, Aunt Victoria sat down in the chair beside her husband.

  While the older couple discussed dates, Fanny slipped away unnoticed and hurried toward the kitchen. She stood outside the doorway for a moment and watched Mrs. Atwell rolling out a piecrust. A wisp of gray hair had escaped the knot she’d arranged at the nape of her neck. She glanced up and, spying Fanny, dropped the rolling pin on the wooden table, wiped her hands on the dish towel tucked at her waist, and held open her arms.

  “I wondered if you were ever going to darken that doorway again,” she said with a wink. “How are you, dear Fanny?”

  Fanny rushed into the older woman’s arms and found comfort in the warmth of the woman’s embrace. She had always loved Mrs. Atwell. But now they shared a special kinship: two women who loved and worried over the same young man.

  “I would have been here sooner, but Uncle Jonas detained me. I’m fine, although I would be better if Michael would send some word.”

  “You’ve not heard from him at all?”

  “Only one letter, and that was before I sailed for England in October.”

  “Frank and I received your beautiful card. It was kind of you to think of us while you were touring the English countryside.” She balanced the piecrust over her rolling pin and carefully dropped it into the pie plate. “We’ve had only one letter, too. From the sound of it, our letter was probably written about the same time as yours.”

  “Had he written your letter while in Dyea?” Fanny asked.

  His mother nodded. “Yes. He said he’d met up with a man named Zeb Stanley and his brother Sherman and was going to be working with them.” She formed another ball of dough, patted it flat with the palm of her hand, and began to roll another crust. “He said they’re both fine Christian men.” She beamed at the final bit of news.

  Fanny nodded. “I wish at least one of us would have received a letter with more recent news. I’ve been doing my best not to worry, but I’ve heard lots of stories and . . .” A knot formed in her throat, and she permitted her words to trail off without completion. She didn’t want to cry in front of Mrs. Atwell. And she need not put troublesome thoughts in the older woman’s head. She likely worried about Michael even more than Fanny did.

  Mrs. Atwell shook her head while she continued to roll the piecrust. “Worry serves no useful purpose, dear. Use your time wisely and pray for Michael’s safe and speedy return. You must remember that he’s in God’s care.”

  “I try to remember that, and I do pray for him—all the time, but I’m not certain God hears my prayers.”

  “Oh, He hears you, Fanny. Never doubt that your prayers are a sweet aroma to God. He wants us to talk to Him.”

  Fanny tilted her head and grinned. “Talk to Him?”

  “Why not? He’s my friend, and I talk to Him all the time, just like I’m talking to you. I tell Him what’s bothering me. When the flowers begin to bloom, I thank Him for the beauty they provide. If there’s ice on the river and Frank has to go to Clayton, I discuss it with the Lord. Just about anything and everything. He’s my constant companion.”

  “I thought you considered Mr. Atwell your best friend and companion. Didn’t you tell me that?”

  “I did, indeed. But Frank can’t always be right here at my side. The Lord is always with me.” The older woman arched her brows. “You see?”

  “I think so.” Fanny knew the Lord was always available to hear her prayers. Mrs. Atwell had told her that before. But the idea of confiding in Him as she would with Amanda or Sophie seemed a bit foreign. If her cousins observed her voicing her innermost thoughts while alone, they would likely think she’d lost her good sense. Besides, she couldn’t imagine God having enough time to listen to the jabbering of all the world’s inhabitants.

  “You don’t sound entirely convinced.” Mrs. Atwell dumped a bowl of sweetened raspberries into the pie shell. “Why don’t you give it a try and see if it helps? Once my older children left home and Michael was the only one here, that’s how he overcame his loneliness. I imagine he may be doing the same thing now. It makes me feel closer to God when I have my little chats, but it also makes me feel closer to Michael now that he’s away.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” she said.

  Mrs. Atwell placed the top crust on the pie and sliced the excess dough from around the edges before she expertly crimped the edges. “I am glad that Michael is with men who know the area and can help keep him safe. That thought has given me comfort.”

  “I’m thinking we should be receiving word from Michael soon. He said the mail could be slowed down or stopped until summer.” Mrs. Atwell nodded toward the window. “Well, summer’s here. I’m hoping we’ll both receive a nice packet of letters. Wouldn’t that be a treat?”

  Fanny agreed. “Thank you for lifting my spirits. I knew seeing you would help.”

  Mrs. Atwell beamed at the compliment. “I was sorry to hear about Kate O’Malley’s illness. I always look forward to having her here for the summer.”

  “How did you know?” Mrs. O’Malley had worked for the Broadmoors for many years and had frequently come to the island with them. But the fact that Mrs. Atwell knew of the housekeeper’s illness surprised Fanny.

  “She wrote me a letter a few weeks back and said she’s hoping she’ll be well enough to come to the island by the end of the month. I’ve been praying for her.”

  “Did Mrs. O’Malley mention my uncle had sold Broadmoor Mansion?”

  Mrs. Atwell dropped the knife on her worktable. “Dear me. Mrs. O’Malley didn’t say a word. What’s to become of her—and the other servants?”

  Fanny explained all that had occurred regarding Daniel’s purchase of the house. “Needless to say, I was angry with Uncle Jonas. He has assured me the servants will all be taken care of. He’ll either find them new positions or keep them employed at his home. I’m not sure I believe him, but I must take him at his word. For now, the servants still remain at the mansion. Uncle Jonas wants it maintained until the new owner takes possession.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t tell me, but I’m glad to hear the servants won’t be left to fend for themselves.” Using the tip of her knife, Mrs. Atwell deftly slit a design in the top crust. “She did tell me Theresa had found herself a man and got married.” The older woman winked.

  Fanny could feel the heat slowly rise up her neck. Theresa O’Malley had proved to be Fanny’s arch nemesis last summer when the housekeeper’s daughter made an effort to gain Michael’s affection. When Theresa had failed in her attempt, she returned to Rochester, and it hadn’t taken long for her to gain a marriage proposal from a young man who worked at Sam Gottrey’s Carting
Company. Fanny had talked with Theresa only once since her marriage, but she had been quite pleased to announce she was expecting a baby before Christmas.

  After sliding three pies into the oven, Mrs. Atwell glanced at the clock. “Dear me, I had better keep moving or I’m not going to have supper ready on time. It always takes me several days to become accustomed to cooking for a large crowd after a winter of preparing for only two or three.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Not on your first day here! You go and enjoy yourself. If I need help, I’ll have Mrs. Broadmoor send one of the maids down to help me.”

  Fanny would have enjoyed a longer visit, but her presence would distract the older woman. After a promise to return later, she brushed a kiss on Mrs. Atwell’s cheek and bid her goodbye.

  She raced up the stairs and burst into the bedroom. “Mrs. Atwell received a letter from Michael, too. Her letter gave some details that weren’t contained in mine. Michael told her . . .” Fanny waved at Sophie, who was sitting near the window overlooking the front lawn. “You’re not listening.”

  “I’m watching for Wesley to arrive.” Sophie continued to gaze out the window. “Did Mrs. Atwell say if her husband had returned from Clayton?”

  “She didn’t mention having seen him. I doubt he’ll come up to the house until suppertime, even if he has returned,” Fanny said.

  During the next several days, Mr. Atwell would shuttle the DaisyBee back and forth to Clayton and pick up family members as they arrived on the train. Sophie had told them Wesley would be coming from New York City to join the family. She’d talked of nothing else for several weeks.

  Amanda leaned forward and squeezed Fanny’s hand. “I’m very pleased for the additional news from Michael.”

  “Mrs. Atwell believes we’ll each receive a packet of letters any time now. I do hope she’s correct.”

  Sophie jumped up from the window seat and brushed the folds from her skirt. “I don’t know what’s happened to Wesley. I’m going down to the dock to see if he’s arrived.”

  Sophie stopped at the foot of the stairs long enough to check her appearance in the gilt-edged mirror. After straightening the bow at her neck, she hastened outdoors. The DaisyBee wasn’t moored near the dock, but she couldn’t be certain if Mr. Atwell had returned the boat to the boathouse or if he was out on the water. Perhaps he was awaiting the train in Clayton. The trains were known to be late when the rush of summer guests began.

  She peeked inside the boathouse and heaved a sigh of relief. Mr. Atwell and the DaisyBee were somewhere between Clayton and Broadmoor Island. She returned to the dock and focused her attention upon the river. When she heard the familiar sound of a boat engine, she cupped her palm above her eyes. The DaisyBee. She’d know that boat anywhere. She could make out the figures of two men in the boat, and her heart soared. Finally her betrothal would be sealed with an engagement ring.

  She struck a pose that would show her summer dress to advantage as the boat came alongside the dock. Keeping her head tilted at a jaunty angle, she turned to greet Wesley.

  “Well, this is certainly an unexpected surprise. If I had known you would be on the dock to greet me, I would have arrived even earlier.”

  Paul! Her mind reeled at the sound of his voice. She dropped her pose and glared. “I wasn’t here to meet you. I’m awaiting Wesley’s arrival. And stay away from me lest you cause me to fall into the water again.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Falling into the river was entirely your fault, Sophie.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him, but she still blamed him for ruining her lovely gold gown last summer during the masquerade ball. If he hadn’t surprised her, she would never have taken a misstep and fallen in the water. “Why are you here? I heard no one mention your name as an expected guest.”

  “Your father asked me to come in his stead. He’s busy at the Home and said Wesley had promised to deliver the funds he pledged when he arrived today.”

  “Well, you can go up to the veranda or sit in the parlor and while away the time because when Wesley arrives, I intend to have him to myself. He’ll not have time for you until we’ve had a long chat and he’s had sufficient time to place a ring on my finger.” She gave a toss of her curls, hoping for added emphasis.

  Paul frowned. “I fear you’re acting foolish over this fellow, Sophie.”

  She tried to turn her back to him, but he moved in front of her and held her arms. “Listen to me. Please. Ever since Mr. Hedrick made that huge pledge at the charity ball, I’ve been attempting to learn more about him. I can find no one who knows anything about him. Even the charitable organizations I contacted know nothing of a Wesley Hedrick.”

  Sophie tightened her lips and scowled. How dare Paul besmirch Wesley’s good name. “I don’t believe you.”

  “If you don’t believe me, then believe my mother. She’s been involved with the Indigent Harbor Society for years. That’s one of the organizations Wesley mentioned as being dear to his heart. My mother has never heard of Mr. Hedrick, and his name isn’t listed as either a donor or a volunteer for the organization.”

  “You have no right to check on Wesley. I’m not interested in anything you or your mother has to say about him. You should mind your own business.”

  The muscles in his neck tightened. “That’s exactly what I was doing, Sophie.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the house.

  17

  Sunday, June 5, 1898

  It was nearing ten o’clock the following evening when Sophie saw the lights and heard the sound of the DaisyBee arriving at the dock. Except for going inside to eat meals, she’d remained on the veranda all day and throughout the evening. Sophie jumped up from her chair and carefully picked her way along the path to the dock, thankful there was at least a sliver of moonlight to guide her.

  She paced the length of the dock until the boat arrived. With a sigh of relief, she rushed to Wesley’s arms the moment he stepped out of the boat.

  “Careful, Sophie, or you’ll knock me into the water, and I’m in no mood to have my suit ruined.”

  Taking a backward step, she looked into his eyes. “You could at least offer an embrace after all these weeks. I’ve been terribly worried about your arrival.”

  He lifted his suitcases several inches higher. “My hands are full. Had I embraced you while holding them, I would have injured you.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “You could set them down.”

  He didn’t respond, and when she tugged on one of the suitcases, he yanked away. “Let’s go up to the house. I’m exhausted.”

  “But I’ve been waiting all these weeks to see you. When you didn’t appear yesterday, I thought something terrible had occurred. There was no telegram, and . . .”

  Wesley circled around her and trudged several steps up the path before glancing over his shoulder. “I’m sorry to have worried you, but there was no need for concern. I’m not a schoolboy. I travel all over the world and am capable of taking care of myself.”

  Sophie hastened from the dock and came alongside him. “Still, we haven’t seen each other in so long that I expected you’d want to spend time with me.” They stepped onto the veranda, and she clutched his arm. “If this situation were reversed, I’d want to spend time with you, no matter how tired I might be. I promise you need not rise early in the morning. I’ll tell the servants they’re not to awaken you. Won’t you stay out here for a while?”

  Lightning bugs winked in the distance, and a light breeze ruffled the bow at Sophie’s neck. How she longed to sit beside him and enjoy his company for a short time. She gently squeezed his arm. “Please? I have something important to tell you.”

  “You’re acting quite childish, my dear.” Wesley leaned forward and placed a fatherly kiss on her forehead. “We’ll talk in the morning. There’s nothing so important that it won’t keep until then.” Shoving one of the cases under his arm, he opened the door and strode into the house.

  One
of the servants appeared and retrieved Wesley’s bags. Sophie folded her arms across her waist. “You may show Mr. Hedrick to his room.”

  Without saying good-night, Sophie turned on her heel and marched across the foyer and into the parlor. She hoped Wesley realized the depth of her anger. Although she strained to listen if he would call good-night, she didn’t hear another word from him.

  “Strange that the man who supposedly loves you doesn’t want to remain in your company, especially when the two of you haven’t seen each other in weeks.”

  Sophie spun around in the darkened room. “What are you doing in here, Paul? I don’t find eavesdropping becoming.” Her eyes acclimated to the darkness of the room, and she saw him shrug.

  “I didn’t come in here with the intention of eavesdropping, but the windows were open, and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”

  “Fiddlesticks! Who sits in a dark room unless he has some underhanded motive?”

  “I do. I was on the porch when I saw the two of you coming up the path. My intention was to give you some privacy and then speak to Mr. Hedrick myself. Obviously, neither of us will be talking to him tonight.”

  “Wesley was extremely tired. He had a taxing day and needs his rest.”

  “If that’s what you believe, I’ll not contradict you, but it’s certainly not how I would act if I were in love.”

  His eyes reflected pity, and she bristled at the idea. She didn’t want his sympathy. “Well, what would you know about being in love!”

  His jaw twitched. “You’d be surprised.” Without another word, he strode from the room and out the front door.

  Sophie sighed and stared after him before slowly climbing the stairs. She didn’t understand Paul Medford—not in the least.

  “Amanda?” Paul squinted in the darkness as a figure rounded the corner. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

  “I’m going up to bed now. Fanny and I were visiting with Mrs. Atwell in the kitchen. Fanny went up the back stairs, but I wanted a breath of fresh air and decided to circle around and sit on the porch for a few minutes. Is something wrong?”