by Mary Davis
Brent snapped several pictures in succession, hoping one had caught the boy’s face, then walked quickly, traversing the crowd in the direction he had gone. By the time he reached the corner, the boy was too far down the street to catch. Was it Justin?
Two
Haley left the barn and straddled her bicycle. The rumble from her stomach bounced around inside her rib cage. She peddled to the Victorian Tea Shoppe on Market Street and waved to Veronique.
Her friend waved back and exited the shop a few moments later. Veronique’s brown hair was blunt cut just below her jaw line, giving length to her round face. “I only have thirty minutes. Madame Oaks is not feeling well and wishes for me to—how do you say?—lock up zee doors.”
“Close up.” Haley loved listening to Veronique’s heavy French accent. She spoke very good English with few problems. “Shane and Jason are supposed to have a table already.” Once a week the four friends liked to treat themselves to dinner anywhere but the dining hall, trying different restaurants. Tonight it was the Yankee Rebel, one of their favorites. She could feel the bruise on her foot as she walked her bike, but the pain wasn’t bad. Likely her foot would ache the more she was on it.
Jason stood on the sidewalk, and when he saw them, he waved to get their attention. The lowering sun turned his blond hair golden. His smile broadened as they drew closer, and his gaze settled on Haley.
She tried to ignore his attention. “Is Shane here?”
“He has a table in the back.” He stepped to the doorway and motioned them inside. “After you, ladies.”
Haley followed Veronique through the dimly lit rustic restaurant.
Shane stood up from a table in the back corner to be seen. “I ordered root beers all around.” His blond hair looked brown in the low light.
Veronique smiled at Shane. “You know my weakness.” She sat and took a long drink.
Jason pointed to Haley’s chair and waited for her to sit. Then Jason and Shane sat. Jason had not been so polite at first but had learned quickly from Shane’s almost natural manners. She had to make sure she treated them both equally and didn’t encourage Jason’s attention toward her.
They ordered, and then Veronique said, “Fudgie stories.”
Veronique loved to hear and tell of the unique tourists. She wanted to take as many stories as possible back to her family in France. She was a glutton for any story.
“I will start.” Veronique took a quick drink of her root beer. “Zese five women come in all dressed in violet shirts and trousers and wearing different kinds of big red hats. Some have flowers. Some have feathers. One wore a hat with a violet little bear with a red hat on. And zay said zay are some kind of hat group.”
“The Red Hat Society.” Haley’s grandma was a member of a group in her hometown.
Veronique pointed at her. “Yes. Red Hat Society. Zat is what zay said. Zay were very sweet ladies and very funny. Zay buy anything with a red hat.”
Since neither Jason nor Shane dealt with tourists, it was her turn. The first fudgie who came to mind was the rugged, maskless Lone Ranger. Her French friend, not being a driver, wouldn’t likely understand the uniqueness of it. Or had it been his smile and that little salute-type wave after he had gotten off?
“So,” Veronique prompted.
“I had a sweet older couple who were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They were married on the island and spent their honeymoon here and came back fifty years later.”
Veronique sighed. “Zat is so romantic. Zat is what I want to do, too.”
Jason shot Shane a dubious look with a raised eyebrow, and Shane just shrugged. It didn’t matter if they understood. Veronique was the one who wanted the story, and she did understand.
After they ate, Haley and Veronique went to the restroom. When they came out, Shane was waiting.
“Veronique, I’ll walk you back to work.”
Haley reached into her pocket for her money. “Let me pay, and I’ll go, too.”
Shane stopped her. “You haven’t finished your chicken.”
Veronique put her hand on Haley’s arm. “Yes. Stay. I don’t want to spoil everyone.” Veronique headed through the restaurant for the door.
“Is Jason staying?”
Shane nodded. “He said he’d pay.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Shane cocked his mouth up on one side. “He really likes you.”
“That’s why it’s not a good idea. Come back after you walk Veronique to work.”
“Jason asked me not to.” Shane shrugged. “I have to catch up to Veronique.” He walked away.
She squinted her eyes after him. Mutineer.
She went back to the table and quickly finished her meal. It didn’t taste as good as it had before. The waiter brought the bill, and Haley put her hand over it.
Jason reached for it at the same time, and his hand covered hers. “I’ll get it.”
That would set a bad precedent between them. “My treat.” She slipped her hand and the bill out from under Jason’s hand, as he was starting to curl his fingers around hers.
She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out her cash. She hadn’t planned to pay for everyone’s meal and didn’t have enough. She could use the credit card she normally carried just in case, but credit cards could be tracked. And she had done so well not using it so far. “Do you have a ten? I’m a little short.”
Jason snatched the bill and paid it with his card.
Haley cringed inside.
“Do you want to walk around town?”
She gave him a weak smile as they left the Yankee Rebel. “One of the horses tromped on my foot this morning. I need to rest it.” It was aching even now. “Besides, I’m beat. I’m going to hit my pillow and hope I wake to my alarm at oh-dark-thirty in the morning.”
They headed up the street toward Haley’s dorm. She much preferred having Shane walk her home. He didn’t have any interest in her except friendship. Shane was like the brother she didn’t have. And Jason, well, Jason wasn’t content with only friendship. He was always trying to mold it into something more.
Jason broke the awkward silence. “So the summer’s almost over. How about if we catch dinner together tomorrow night? Just the two of us, maybe at the Grand Hotel dining room?”
Why couldn’t he take her first no as a permanent no? Why did he make her reject him over and over? “Jason, when did you graduate from high school?”
“In June. I’m a college man now.” He held his hands out to his sides as some sort of proof. “I know you’re a year or two older than me, but I don’t care. I don’t have any hang-ups about a girl being a little older.”
“Try seven.”
“Whoa.” His jaw came unhinged. “That would make you like—like twenty-five. No way.”
“Yes way. I graduated from college three years ago with a degree in futility.” Music had been far from her father’s choice of majors for her, and that was why she had chosen it—to show him she wasn’t his puppet. But Daddy ignored her major and somehow roped her into the family business anyway. She still wasn’t sure how it happened. Grandpa being ill had played a part, but there was more she couldn’t put her finger on. She had changed all that, however. Mackinac was far from Daddy and the rest of her manipulative family.
“Seven years. That’s not so much. I could live with it.”
She sighed silently. Jason, like Daddy, didn’t seem to understand the word no. “Jason, I just don’t think it would work between us.”
“You don’t know until you try.” He flashed his irresistible grin.
But she could resist. “As you said, summer’s almost over—no good starting something now.”
“It could be good. We could create some serious sparks.”
She locked her bike for the night and stopped at the door to her dorm. “Thank you for walking me home, Jason.” She hoped he would take it for the dismissal it was.
“I’m not giving
up yet.” He winked and headed across the street.
She took a deep breath and watched him go. Lord, please change his heart and make him finally give up or focus on heading to Western Michigan U or anything but me.
❧
Brent connected the USB cable from his camera to his laptop sitting on the table. He turned on the computer, and soon the pictures were downloading. He listened to Dalton beating the drums in the garage. He recognized the harshness to the strikes. He’d go out and jam with him with his electric guitar if his friend weren’t so set on abusing his drum set. Dalton still hadn’t healed from his wife’s death three years ago.
Brent’s longtime friend had welcomed his visit. Dalton’s two-bedroom house on the mainland in Mackinaw City faced the bridge but was a couple of blocks from the water.
He enlarged each photo to the size of the screen and studied every face in the crowd. Then suddenly Haley, the friendly carriage tour driver, filled his screen. He sat back in the chair and smiled at her. He studied the way the light shone on the apples of her cheeks and the squint of her smiling eyes. Her hair had to be fairly long for the size weapon holding it back. Then he noticed a small silver chain around her neck. The shot was too close to see what hung from it. He flipped through several dozen shots until he came to the ones he’d taken after he got off her carriage the second time. Her hand was holding whatever hung from the chain. But the edge barely peeked out. He highlighted the area and enlarged it but couldn’t see what it was. He was about to enlarge it again when Dalton came through the garage door. He quickly clicked to the next picture and turned to his friend.
Dalton stopped in midstride. “When did you get back?”
“A little while ago.”
“Want to go down the street and get something to drink?”
He shook his head. “I have a lot of pictures to go through before I hit the hay.”
Dalton inclined his head toward the screen. “Who’s that?”
He almost said Haley’s name without looking but turned and was glad he hadn’t. “Don’t know.” It was the kid who was talking to Haley he had tried to chase down.
“Is that the boy you’re looking for?”
“Could be, but it’s hard to tell. I couldn’t get a clear shot of him. His basic build and coloring fit.”
Dalton worked as a play actor, a captain in the American forces, at the original site of the fort on the Lower Peninsula before it was moved to Mackinac Island and the name shortened. “I asked around Fort Michilimackinac, but no one has heard of a Justin Mikkelson.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m going to make a sandwich. You want one?”
“I ate on the island.”
As Dalton headed for the kitchen, Brent turned back to his computer. Was it the boy? He pulled out the small photo he’d copied from Kristeen’s yearbook and held it up to the screen. Justin was smiling in the copy but not on the screen. In one, his hair looked lighter than the other, but lighting could do that. It could be. But then again, it could be anyone.
He stared longer and held the picture at different angles. Something about this boy made him want to pursue it. He couldn’t rule him out. And if it was Justin, the informative Haley knew him and could be a huge asset in locating him.
Three
The next day when Brent got off the ferry, he scanned the shops up one side of the street and down the other. He’d only stepped into a fraction of them yesterday before he thought he’d go crazy. He could not see how women shopped for fun. Just the thought was nauseating.
If that boy he’d seen yesterday by the carriage was Justin, then maybe if he hung out with that carriage driver for a while, he’d get a better glimpse of him and know one way or the other. And what were the chances that an eighteen-year-old boy would be working in one of the shops? That wouldn’t have been his choice fourteen years ago.
Shops or another carriage ride? A compromise was in order. He could loop through the few stores between here and the ticket booth, then hop another carriage ride. If he only scoped out a handful of tourist traps at a time, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After five places, he stared at how many still stood between him and the carriage-tour ticket booth. As he surveyed the next yawning edifice waiting to swallow him, he rubbed his mouth with his hand, his whiskers scratching his palm, then jogged across the street, dodging two cyclists.
As he approached the tour company, he noticed Haley sitting aboard the next departing carriage. She wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt with her hair pulled back in that claw thing, same as yesterday. He hustled to the ticket window and glanced back at Haley’s carriage. “Are there still seats available on that carriage?”
“Yes, sir.”
Thank You, Lord. “I’ll take one.” He snagged his ticket and went for the carriage. Would she remember him?
As he handed his ticket to Haley, her eyes widened slightly. “Welcome back.”
She did recognize him. That was a positive sign. “Thank you.” He gave her a slight nod and caught a glimpse of her silver necklace, a cross made out of nails. He had a larger version of it on a black leather cord that he’d bought after he’d rededicated his life to the Lord eleven years ago when he was twenty-one. A person wouldn’t wear that style of cross unless he personally knew the Man who bore those nails for him. So chances were excellent that this lovely young tour guide was a Christian. That thought stretched his mouth into a smile. Where was his cross? In his shaving bag? He’d have to look for it.
The first seat was full, so he boarded in the second row. As the tour went from town up to Surrey Hills, he took a few pictures and let Haley’s voice wash over him.
“Gid-up, Winston.” Haley tapped the hind end of a caramel-colored horse with the buggy whip.
So today it was Winston slacking off. Was there always one horse in a pair that tried to get away with it? What would happen if both horses decided to let the other do the pulling? Not much.
As the first row of tourists disembarked at Surrey Hills, he stepped over the seat to the front, leaning forward, and caught Haley’s scent of fresh hay and sunshine. Not that sunshine actually had a smell, but it was clean and warm. She had a piece of hay in her hair. Would she think it weird if he plucked it out? He sat and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I’m not interested in taking the other carriage around. May I just stay on?”
She turned to him with a smile. “People usually get off and look around. Then a line forms over there.”
He jumped down and headed for the invisible line.
Haley guided her team forward, and as the carriage halted, he spread his arms. “No one here but me. Who would have thought that on the first tour of the day everyone would want to see the museum and the other loop of the tour?”
“I rarely have passengers on the first return run.”
He stood straight and gave her a salute. “Permission to come aboard, ma’am?”
“I was going to tell you that you could stay on, but you jumped down too quickly.” She waved him on. “So why no sightseeing today?”
He settled in. “I’m seeing plenty from your carriage. It’s helping me decide where else to go.”
“A tour guidebook would be cheaper.”
“But not nearly as interesting.” He draped his arms on the back of the seat. “And it can’t answer questions.”
She put both reins in her left hand and turned in her seat. “What kind of questions?”
“Like how many people work on the island in the summer?”
“I don’t know.” She rested her free hand on her thigh. “People from all over the world work here. So, hundreds, probably thousands.”
“That many?”
“Between the shops, attractions, hotel staff, drivers, maintenance crews, stable hands, dockworkers, marina employees”—she sucked in a deep breath—“the actors at the fort. . .it goes on and on.”
He was definitely looking for a needle. “Where do all those workers live?”
“Some in dormitor
ies; a lot live above the many shops. Some local residents rent out rooms in their houses.”
The horses stepped forward, and she turned to the front, pulling on the reins. “Whoa, boys.” She turned back to him. “They think it’s time to leave.”
He nodded. “So who feeds all those people?”
“The tour company has a dining hall. Other large island employers feed their own. And for a fee, some of the dining halls will let you buy a meal ticket.”
“So do you know a lot of the people who work on the island?”
She readjusted the reins in her hands. “I guess I know quite a few. Why all the interest? Are you planning to apply for a job next summer?”
It couldn’t be any worse than any of the other things he’d tried. And certainly no worse than his current job. “No, I was just curious. What do you all do in your off time?”
“I sleep or read. But some have favorite hangouts.”
“Yesterday someone asked about churches. Are the workers able to go to church?” That might narrow down this haystack.
“A couple of the churches on the island offer a six a.m. service for those of us who have to work on Sundays. I also help lead a Bible study on Tuesday nights.”
Justin’s aunt, whom he lived with, said Justin was a strong Christian, so he would probably go to early church and a Bible study. Though he wasn’t supposed to ask, he didn’t see how it could hurt if he veiled it. “I met a woman who said her nephew was working on Mackinac Island. Maybe you know him. Justin Mikkelson?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know any Justins here.”