Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (10 page)

She tucked the pad and pencils under her arm and began to climb the fifty-four steps up the tower. Her lantern light glowed on the rock walls cracked by years of age and neglect, and she wondered if the lighthouse had been as lonely for her company over the winter months as she had been for it.

One of the glass panels had broken at the top and shattered around the floor. Fresh air stole through the crack, and she breathed deeply. Others might find God in a church building, but this was her sanctuary. Her tabernacle. No one was watching her as she prayed and worshipped here. No one was criticizing her gown or her hair or whispering what they thought she should wear to services. As she looked out at the branches dancing in the wind, no one told her to bow her head.

At one time, the lighthouse would have shone its light out to steamers and boats traveling through the strait, but now the view was obliterated by the trees. Or at least she thought it was. She’d never actually been here during the day.

The old lighthouse lantern was behind her, the same one that used to warn ships of these bluffs before the war with the British. Outside the windows was a narrow platform the lightkeeper probably used to clean the windows or watch the waters below.

She stepped onto the platform and blew out her lantern.

Stars twinkled by the thousands, glittering and shimmering like diamonds encrusted in the wall of a dark mine. The chalky glow of the Milky Way blazed across the expanse of the sky.

With her eyes wide open, Elena worshipped her Savior.

A sliver of the moon was cradled in the sky, and she squinted at it.

Were there lakes on its surface? Mountains and forests? She often wondered what was out there beyond their planet, beyond the world they had created for themselves, in the universe that God had created for them. She’d never know what was on those planets, at least not in this life, but she could imagine the world up there. A world, perhaps, where people were free to make their own choices.

Where they were free to marry for love instead of for money or position.

She envied a woman like Jillian, who could marry someone she loved. But even if Elena didn’t love her husband, she prayed she would marry a man who understood her desire to worship God in her own way, in a place like this. God knew her heart and the desires harbored within. In the starlight, on her lighthouse, she prayed the impossible prayer. She didn’t pray for love or security or even for the freedom that she longed for, but she prayed that somewhere out there was a man who dwelled alongside their Savior, a man whom her mother would approve for her to marry.

The minutes passed, perhaps an hour, as Elena prayed and listened. Then she relit her lantern and began sketching the back of a woman in a plain dress whose hair flowed loose in the breeze. Her feet were bare, and she stood tall on the sandy beach as if she were searching for something on the lake.

When the drawing was complete, she reluctantly climbed down the stairs and hid her sketchbook in the desk. She didn’t want to leave, but it would be dawn in the next three or so hours. If she didn’t get home before the household staff began to wake, someone might stumble upon her and her secret.

She closed the door to the lighthouse and hiked back to her bicycle to begin her ride home. She was humming to herself, pedaling against the breeze, when she heard the
clip-clop
of horses. She veered off the road and hid behind the trees, the hem of her dress tearing on a tree limb. The air smelled of fragrant wild roses, and as she ducked into the thicket, thorns scraped her cheek.

She watched quietly, assuming a couple had snuck away from the village, until the carriage crept slowly by her. By the carriage’s lantern light, she could see the driver and one lone rider in the back. A man.

She watched the carriage until it rounded the next bend.

Who else was out exploring the island so late in the night?

Something pounded against Elena’s head…or, at least, that’s what it felt like. She rolled over on her bed, pulling the pillow over her head, but the feathers did nothing to stop the hammering.

“Elena,” her mother called from the hallway, “unlock this door right away.”

Elena opened her eyes, peeking out from under the pillow, and then squeezed them shut again. The bright light hurt her head almost as much as the noise.

“Claude!” Mama yelled.

Elena groaned into her pillow. She’d locked her door a few hours ago for one reason—so that no one would disturb her until long after breakfast. Her legs ached from the bike ride and her mind was still fuzzy, but the midnight hours at the lighthouse would be worth every pain today. There was hope for her as long as she had a place to escape to, a place where she could dwell in solitude with God.

Something rustled in the hallway and her doorknob rattled. Claude had probably retrieved the key.

She sighed and rolled over. They were supposed to be on vacation, away from the hustle of their life in Chicago. Surely she could sleep for a few extra hours in the morning.

“I’m awake!” she shouted toward the door even as she clung to the remnants of peace that had flooded her soul. The peace dissipated the moment her door slammed against the wall.

Mama whooshed into her bedroom. “Why did you lock the door?”

Her eyes were still closed. “Because I was hoping to get some extra rest.”

“You and your father have gotten plenty of sleep this morning. It’s already half past nine.”

“It was a long trip, Mama.”

“And that’s why I’ve let you both sleep so late this morning.” She pushed open the curtains. “But you have to get up now.”

“Did something happen?”

“Martha Grunier just sent me a message.” Elena cracked open her eyes and saw the envelope in her mother’s hand. “She heard that Mr. Darrington and his sister might be making calls today.”

Elena rolled over again.

“Elena.” Mama nudged her. “He could arrive at any moment.”

“He wouldn’t be calling until this afternoon.”

“You don’t know for certain. They may do things differently in Detroit.”

Her mother bustled around the foot of the bed and sat beside Elena. A look of horror crossed her face.

“What happened to you?” she exclaimed.

Elena looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Your face—it’s all blotched.”

Elena put her fingers up to her cheeks. She remembered getting scraped when she hid from the carriage.

“And your eyes—” Mama continued. “It looks like you’ve been up all night.”

Elena smiled to herself. Not quite all night.

“Are you sick?” Mama asked, desperation lacing her voice.

“I feel perfectly fine. Perhaps the blotches are from the fruit last night.”

Mama wrung her hands. “I hope you’re not getting ill.”

“I’m not.”

“The dance is tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure I will be fine by then.”

“If Mr. Darrington and his sister stop by today—” Mama brushed her hands together. “We can tell him you’re ill.”

Elena inched up on her pillow. “But I’m not ill.”

“You’re right.” Mama stood up, pacing the floor. “We can’t tell him you’re sick. It might frighten him away.”

“You could tell him I’m sleeping—”

Mama shook her head. “We definitely can’t tell him that.”

Elena put the pillow over her face again, her voice muffled. “But I am sleeping.”

Mama snagged the pillow and tossed it onto the window seat. “If he calls today, you’ll need to smile and pretend there is nothing wrong with you.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with me.”

“Jillian!” her mother shouted. “Go fetch the almond oil.”

She heard Jillian’s voice on the other side of the door. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And powder.”

Jillian was already gone, so her mother rushed out of the room.

When Jillian returned, she handed Elena the tin of creamed almond oil, and Elena began rubbing it on her scrapes. She and Mama would sit around the house doing needlework or reading, just in case Mr. Darrington and his sister appeared. Or she could play the piano. She would like to draw, but Mama thought it quite unladylike to do so.

The day seemed daunting to her.

“What’s wrong?” Jillian whispered.

“It seems as if my summer is going to be dictated by the whims of a man I’ve never met.”

Jillian smiled sadly. “At least you’re able to marry.”

Elena saw the longing in her friend’s eyes. It had never occurred to her that even though Jillian had the freedom to marry whom she chose, she might not be able to do so, not if her husband couldn’t support them. She wouldn’t be able to retain her position as a maid if she married.

“This Mr. Darrington has made no attempts to court me.”

“But he will, once he sees you.”

Her father shuffled into the room with his cane, a cigar teetering between his lips. “Don’t you look pretty?”

“You need some more sleep, Papa.”

He yawned as he fumbled with his pockets. “I seem to have misplaced my new pocket matches. Have you seen them?”

Elena looked back at the mirror. “Someone might have borrowed them.”

“Ah.” Papa stepped back toward the door. “Then could you kindly ask this person to return them to my jacket pocket so I can enjoy my cigar?”

Elena giggled. “Yes, sir.”

Mama hurried back into the room with the powder in one hand and a light moss-colored gown hung over her arms. “This dress will be perfect for today.”

Elena shook her head. “He’s not going to come.”

“Oh yes he will,” she replied. “And we will be ready when he does.”

* * * * *

Intrigued.
Chase scribbled the word on a piece of paper inside the hotel lobby, but even though it was cryptic, it still made him uneasy to send. He didn’t want anyone to guess at what had interested him.
Decision soon.

The telegraph operator rapped his fingers on the note. “I’ll send it right away.”

Chase glanced up at the clock. Richard should have the telegram within the next two hours, and he would be thrilled. Ever since Nelson Reese approached Richard, Richard had insisted that Chase try it for himself. Chase wasn’t sure he could believe that such a powerful hand telescope existed until he’d tried it last night. Now he didn’t want to move too slowly, nor did he want to make a rash decision.

Hopefully, the telegram would keep both Richard and Nelson at bay until Chase made a final decision. It was a constant battle for him, balancing the enthusiasm for a new invention with the patience to make a wise investment.

The operator handed Chase two telegrams from the morning, and he sighed when he read the first one. His meeting in Chicago was postponed until the following Friday.

“There you are,” Sarah called, and he turned toward her. Her smile was strained, perhaps because of her late night socializing in the hotel. “It’s supposed to be terribly warm today.”

“Funny thing about summer—”

“We’re all going on a picnic, to Bois Blanc Island across the strait.”

Chase’s eyebrow slid up. “Who is included in the ‘we’?”

“Me, Edward, Parker Randolph, and a few other young people from the hotel.” She flicked something off her sleeve. “And Gracie Frederick, of course.”

“Of course.” He glanced down at the second telegram. It was from a business associate in Cleveland. “Have you heard from Father and Mother?”

She nodded. “They’re supposed to arrive on Saturday.”

His gaze wandered across the wide lobby to the sunshine streaming through the windows. Sarah liked to surround herself with influential people, but having many acquaintances didn’t mean she had many friends. She considered the women who flirted with her husband to be enemies, and she seemed to be suspicious of those who didn’t.

He could bow out of the picnic, but there was nothing else pressing for him to do this morning. It wouldn’t hurt, he supposed, to take a few hours of leisure to spend with Sarah and her little party. Perhaps it would be good for him.

Sarah looked on the floor around him. “Where’s your bag?”

“Resting in the room’s safe.”

She glanced around the lobby as if she were trying to see who else was nearby. “I hope you’ll join us for some rest as well.”

* * * * *

An hour later, three carriages rolled away from the hotel containing seven ladies in colorful straw hats, four men, Gracie’s personal maid, and enough supplies to outfit a weeklong excursion to the beach. The open carriages rang with laughter as they plodded toward the northeastern side of the island.

In the first carriage, Chase sat beside Gracie, and one of her friends sat on her other side. Edward, Sarah, and Parker Randolph sat on the bench behind them.

As the ladies traded news from cities along the Great Lakes, Chase watched the bluffs above them. Trees were lined like a formidable army up the steep hill, and he wondered if it was possible to climb. The old fort last night had been a good place to try the telescope, but perhaps he could try it out on a cliff as well, away from the trees.

Gracie laughed. “What do you think, Mr. Darrington?”

He started at the sound of his name and cleared his throat. “About what?”