My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Maude ducked down the drive and toted her bag to the whitewashed laundry building, located behind the inn. Outside the building, the scents of starch and soap battled the rose- and lilac-infused air.

  A bath would be heavenly. Inside, Bea stood over a steaming tub of water, stirring the soaking clothes. Maude handed Bea her bag of unwashed clothes. The girl’s tiny features twisted in disgust.

  “What did you do in these—chase Greyson around the island with a baseball bat?” The younger girl dropped the uniform into hot soapy water.

  Maude’s mouth dropped open, but she couldn’t manage a retort.

  Jane emerged from the folding room in the back, her arms full of sheets—as Maude’s had been earlier at the Grand.

  She chewed her lower lip. This seemed wrong—knowing she was about to add to Jane’s workload again today. The older woman eyed the bag.

  The Irishwoman pushed Bea from the basin. “Here, let me do Miss Maude’s clothes. I can get to it in a wee bit—soon as I get these sheets inside.”

  “I’ll take the sheets.” Bea held out her hands.

  “Thank ye, lass.” Jane passed the heavy basket to her. Bea didn’t stumble under her heavy load as Maude had earlier at the Grand.

  “Thank you, Jane.” Maude smiled and caught a hint of a grin form on the servant’s rosy lips.

  Jane blinked at her. “Yer welcome, miss.”

  How many times had Maude taken for granted all the hard work done by Jane and Bea and the rest of the servants?

  The senior servant took a scrubbing board and laid a shirt atop it then ran a cake of brown soap up and down the garment before attacking the underarms and neck collar with a vengeance.

  “I’d try to help, but …” Maude displayed her red hands.

  “Oh dear, Miss Maude. Ye should put some Bag Balm on.” Jane wiped her hands dry on her apron and went to a nearby cabinet.

  “What is that?”

  “Healing ointment.” She grabbed and opened a small jar. “Here, miss, try about a teaspoonful on yer cracked hands.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Irishwoman looked up with a faint expression of surprise. Had Maude never expressed her gratitude to the servants? She swallowed back the conviction she felt in her spirit.

  “Ye go on up now and rest. Tomorrow will come quick enough.”

  Maude was tempted to hug Jane, but she didn’t wish to startle the maid any further with her unusual actions. “I really need to take a bath.”

  Bea returned, displaying a box of magnesium salts. “How’d it go today?”

  “Not too bad.” Except that every muscle in her body ached. And her heart did, too, after her brief encounter with Mr. König at the stables.

  “Guess you’ll be needing this, then.” The girl laughed as she set the box down on the counter. “Not so easy was it, Miss High and Mighty?”

  “Beatrice Duvall!” Prickles ran up her neck. If she didn’t need the help so badly and if the Duvalls weren’t in such desperate straits, she’d be tempted to fire her on the spot. She could only imagine the look Bea would receive from Mrs. Fox if she’d said something so insolent.

  “Sorry.” Her tone was unrepentant and her eyes danced. Still, Maude could never stay mad at the spunky girl.

  “We’ll get your bath ready.” Bea grinned her apology, her dimples flashing.

  “I know it’s extra work.” She was beginning to understand the toll such physical labor took. “And I’m going to see if I can find us more help.”

  How absurd her words sounded. So she was working at the Grand trying to prove herself. Yet she’d cost the inn more money by hiring someone to make it possible for her to do so. And she was, at this very minute, making more work for their already overstretched staff. Maude hung her head. All she was proving was her incompetence.

  “I’m awful glad for my job. Sadie’s going up to the Grand tomorrow for an interview. Said she’s sorry she’s been too busy to get together, but between watching my little sisters and working for that mean cheapskate she’s too tired to do anything.”

  Her friend hadn’t even taken time to send a note. Maybe they’d be together again, soon, at work.

  “I’ll pray for Sadie.” Maude patted Bea’s shoulder. “We’re glad to have you with us.”

  Bea’s eyes watered. “I hope you can keep me on here.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “With your father talking about selling, and then …”

  Dropping her hand to her side, Maude cleared her throat. “Then what?”

  “There’s rumors that some lady wants to buy the inn.”

  Her gut squeezed tighter, like clothes pushed through the fancy wringer washers at the Grand.

  Chapter Ten

  Jane shoved a cup of Lion brand coffee into Maude’s hands when she’d wandered into the kitchen a little before four in the morning. “Ya want the picture card from the tin, miss?”

  Normally, Maude liked to look at the adorable little print cards the Woolson Spice Company tucked into their product, but not at this hour. “No, thanks. You take it.”

  “Has the most precious picture of a little girl clutching a doll—reminds me of my sister when she was young.”

  “She’ll be coming to America soon, won’t she?”

  “Aye, she will.” Jane added cream to her own coffee.

  Maude drank the strong brew, grateful for its wakening effects.

  The servant patted Maude’s hand. “Do me and Bea a favor and give your earnings to the church—we’ve been telling your pa that you’re out raising money for Mission Church.”

  “Certainly! I’m sorry you two have gotten dragged into this.”

  “Your pa will come around.”

  “I hope so.” Maude headed out into the semidarkness. She rode her bike to Stan’s stables and then hiked the hill up to the Grand.

  Without the coffee, she’d not be able to keep her eyes open. After gathering her working materials, Maude pushed her cart into the long corridor. As she got to the midpoint, her immediate supervisor shuffled forward, fire in her eyes.

  Mrs. Stillman wagged an index finger in Maude’s face. “Mr. König aims to get my Amanda fired. You best watch yourself, missy.”

  Every pin poked Maude’s scalp beneath her tight cap. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That German is a wicked one.” The woman’s thin lips disappeared into a line.

  Maude nodded, unable to stop her head’s involuntary movement.

  The matron turned to her cart and grabbed a pair of men’s slippers. “Put these beneath that heathen’s bed. His manservant requested them, but he’ll not be in until later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Heading toward Mr. König’s room, Maude’s heart picked up to beat. Mr. König had gallantly rescued her brother. But he’d also been riding with that womanizer Edmunds. Were they two cut from the same fine wool cloth?

  Friedrich König hadn’t bothered Amanda. Surely not. Maude hesitated in front of Mr. König’s chamber. He probably slept soundly, imagining all the young women he’d squired around Detroit.

  Maude turned the key and entered the bedchamber. Men’s cologne—a mix of cedarwood and spice—scented the large room. This was one of the premium rooms rivaled only by those reserved for shareholders.

  Dense wool carpet sank beneath her heels. Thankfully the rug also masked the sounds of footfall.

  I’m in a man’s room. Heat built beneath her rough shirt. Silly—you’ve been in men’s rooms to clean, yesterday and at the inn. But not his room. Ridiculous—he might be handsome and have a strong presence, but Mr. König was a snob. Arrogant. And perhaps even a cad. But he’d rescued her brother.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a large mound on the other side of the bed came into focus.

  “Mutter? Ich bin jetzt fertig.”

  Maude froze. He said something was done. What was he dreaming about?

  Friedrich König rolled toward her, his sheets dragging in protest. Then the bro
cade coverlet lifted as he rose up and thumped himself back on the bed.

  Instinctively, she ducked. His broad hand flew over the side of the bed and dangled within inches of Maude’s face. Warmth radiated from his hand to her cheek. She’d never been so physically aware of Greyson as she was of this stranger.

  Fingers suddenly gripped her hat. Mr. König pulled. Maude quickly unfastened the pins from the white cap as he yanked it free.

  “Was”—his bed creaked loudly—“is this?”

  Maude ran to the door and out into the hall. Almost smack into Mrs. Fox.

  Mrs. Fox grabbed Maude’s shoulders. “What happened to your cap?”

  Other servants passed by, murmuring, their expressions quizzical.

  She spoke in a low tone, “He pulled my hat from my head. And he was talking—in German, in his sleep.”

  This was not the way Maude wanted to get the housekeeping manager’s attention. Not at all.

  Danke, Gott. Thanks be to God Mrs. Fox had believed Ben. Mrs. Fox had understood about sleep disturbances and had dismissed the episode as an accident. However, her assertion that perhaps the same had happened with Amanda was absurd. He hadn’t wanted to, but he gave her the details of Amanda’s “visit” to his bed, and she’d agreed that such a worker was a liability for the Grand.

  Ray met him as he emerged from the housekeeper’s office. “Sorry, sir, but no newspaper, yet.”

  Ben checked his watch. “I’ll pick one up in town.”

  “You and Mr. Edmunds going, sir?” The servant’s voice held subtle disapproval.

  “No.” Hanging around with Edmunds proved fruitful, but there was a physical and spiritual price to pay. While he now knew which women at the Grand Edmunds and Casey were pursuing, the pain from riding bordered on excruciating. He’d need to get back to the doctor again before their scheduled appointment.

  “The taxi should be here in a few minutes, sir.”

  “Thanks. I should be back for dinner.” And all the dreadful bore that entailed. If only Miss Welling were there, too.

  The driver let Ben and several other men off downtown. Ben stopped in several shops. All three merchants asserted that Greyson Luce had deceived Maude Welling. But was Miss Welling not brokenhearted because she’d already found herself a ship’s captain? Was there no real understanding between her and Greyson? Or simply no love? He preferred the latter to be the answer to his question.

  He trod toward the makeshift newspaper stand—so shoddy it might blow away in a good heavy storm.

  The newsboy shoved his cap back. “Can I help you?”

  The kid reminded Ben of himself at that age. He allowed his eyes to drift down to the paper on the counter. His own newspaper.

  “A copy of the Detroit Post.” Ben tossed him the coinage.

  The newsie handed him the latest edition. Ben froze. The front page featured article was written by that boot-licking toady Red O’Halloran, who’d been trying to elbow in on Ben’s plum assignments for a while. Ben needed to get his story done and to his editor as soon as possible.

  Ben stiffened and his back wracked with pain. He winced.

  “You all right, mister?”

  “It’ll pass.” He turned and strode to a bench near the docks.

  Watching the boats and looking out at the gorgeous water were his two newest guilty pleasures. He’d miss the views here on Mackinac when he was stuck behind a desk in downtown Detroit. Only a few more weeks before the gig was up.

  “Pssst!”

  Ben looked around.

  A shaggy head popped out from an alleyway. Jack Welling stood, two bicycles clutched to his sides.

  “Say, can you help me ride Maude’s bike back home?”

  “Ja, I could.” Ben rolled up the newspaper and stuffed it in under his arm.

  “It’s that one.” The boy pointed to a black bicycle with a seat raised high enough that long-legged Ben could sit astride it. But surely not Miss Welling. “You’re sure this is your sister’s?”

  The boy scowled. “Come on. Are you gonna help me or not?”

  “Ja. I’ll help.”

  Ben mounted and rode after Jack, peddling as fast as he could to keep up. After only one block, the boy turned right and Ben followed. At the post office, surrounded by deep purple lilacs and white roses, the boy stopped and dismounted his bike.

  Jack fished a letter out from inside his shirt. “Want to come in?”

  “Sure.” Ben laid the bicycle gently on the grass, and the two of them entered the whitewashed wood-framed structure.

  The postal clerk smiled warmly at Jack and then looked up at Ben. “Got a new friend, Jack, eh?”

  “That’s the guy who saved my cookies last week!”

  The trim man glanced at Ben up and down. “Well, he looks none the worse for wear.”

  Ben’s sore ribs contradicted the man’s statement.

  “What brings you to our island, sir?”

  Subterfuge. Deceit. Getting a story that wasn’t the story he was sent to get.

  Jack waved his letter toward Ben. “He’s a rich guy stayin’ at the Grand.”

  The clerk rolled his eyes heavenward. “Jack Welling!”

  The missive floated from Jack’s hand to the post office’s scuffed wood floor, and Ben bent to retrieve it. It was addressed to Steven Hollingshead, Esq., Attorney at Law, St. Ignace, Michigan. In the bottom left corner was written “Urgent.”

  Were the Wellings in trouble? What could he do to help?

  Chapter Eleven

  Having cleaned rooms up and down the long corridor all day long, Maude shoved her cart inside the supply room then slumped onto a straight-backed oak chair.

  The door opened and Sadie scooted inside the supply room. “Are you doing all right? I saw you duck in here.”

  Maude’s cheeks heated. “I’m fine. Aren’t you going now, too?”

  Sadie rested her hand on a nearby shelf, covered with linens. “Why would I?”

  “Because the position is only part-time. That’s all Mrs. Fox had.”

  “It better not be.” She placed her hands on her curvy hips. “I needed a full week’s wages. She told me I’d have the normal six days a week.”

  Maude’s jaw slacked. “She has me on a reduced schedule.” Had Mrs. Fox lied to her?

  “She said she needed a full-time worker because of Amanda.”

  “Oh.” Maude exhaled in relief. She shook her shoulders, trying to ease the tension in them. Why hadn’t the housekeeping manager offered her the extra hours? Not that she wanted them. After four days, she was realizing the toll this work took.

  “I’ll keep my eye on your Mr. König for you, when you’re not here.”

  “He’s not my Mr. König.”

  “I see how you sneak looks at him.” Sadie laughed. “He’s so handsome.”

  “He is.” So was Greyson. Look where all those years had gotten her.

  “Well, you better go before the onslaught of the draymen heads up the hill. You don’t need any of them seeing you if you want to keep this from your father.”

  “Right.” Maude sighed. “At least they’re turning out to be my only nemesis when it comes to keeping things quiet.”

  “True. No one else comes up here from town. Not the islanders anyways.”

  “Why would they?”

  “I don’t know anyone who has come up here other than for the dog races. And that was just the men wanting to make bets.”

  A slow grin softened Sadie’s tired features. “If I were to place any bets, it would be that Amanda is the one who caused the problem in Mr. König’s room, and not him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’ve been chatting with the other servants. And they say she shouldn’t have been brought up here for the season.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently she’s done this kind of thing before.”

  The overwhelming odor of cleansers in the small space was making Maude light-headed. Or was it the relief she felt?<
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  From the hotel’s front porch, the straits of Mackinac’s brilliant blue water and the rosy streaked sunset enticed Ben to stray down the hill to the shore. Today he’d spent time with Edmunds and the sycophantic women who surrounded him. Edmunds’s obvious scheme sickened him, and now all he wanted was to get free from the hotel. He’d never been so lonely in his entire life. Cut off from the support and camaraderie of his fellow journalists, Ben felt adrift.

  When he got to the boardwalk, he removed his shoes and socks and edged toward the water, cool night air tickling his hairline. He sucked in a breath of fresh northern air.

  A woman’s soft exclamation accompanied the sound of water splashing off the jetty. Near the jagged rocks, a lone figure pushed off in a canoe and continued out into the water.

  Paddles dipped into the water and flashed silver droplets into the air as a canoe pulled free from the rocky alcove. A single person clad in a white dress that clung to her left no doubt as to her gender. Ben watched confident arms move back and forth, guiding the canoe across the water as the sun sank lower in the sky, pink streaks of light disappearing on the horizon.

  Alone. But whoever she was, however foolish her venture, Ben would wait to make sure she returned safely.

  Drowsy, Ben propped himself against the rocks and waited, the night air chilling him. If he was a betting man, which he wasn’t, he’d wager the young woman would return soon. He’d wait. The sound of the waves lapping against the shore soothed him. Fatigue claimed him, and he drifted asleep.

  Alone. Maude sighed in relief.

  Paddling solo in the canoe and headed to Lookout Pointe toward Aunt Virgie’s place—all was right with the world. But it wasn’t. Sadie needed the job, and she didn’t. If rumors among the staff were true, one of them would need to go. The thought made her heart feel as if a wet rag had settled on it and been squeezed, just as she had wrung rags so many times that day. Her raw hands stung from the abuse she’d given them toiling at the Grand.

  She’d not been surprised to learn from Sadie that Greyson may have been after her family’s money—after all, he did need money to keep his family afloat and to care for his mother. Maude needed to forgive him—God required she give mercy as He extended it to her. If only there was some easy way that order could be restored to her world. It felt as if someone had smashed a framed portrait and all the glass shards had been picked up and returned to the frame, obscuring the photographic image. She sighed then picked up her paddle and dipped into the water.