My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Moonlight glittered on the lake like so many diamonds tossed across blue velvet as Maude aimed for the jetty near the inn.

  Ben tried to rouse himself. With the moon illuminating the woman’s form, she could have been an angel. He wiped sleep from his eyes.

  “Is that you, Mr. König?” Maude’s melodious voice carried like a perfectly tuned piano.

  “Ja.” He rubbed his head. “Why are you canoeing at night?”

  She placed her fists on her hips. “What are you doing sleeping on the beach?”

  He shrugged then located his socks and shoes.

  “Isn’t your room at the Grand comfortable?”

  “Not always.” Such as when he was thinking of her. “Why are you paddling about in the dark?”

  She sighed. “My family has been canoeing in these waters for over a hundred years.”

  “I worried earlier, when I saw a young woman alone on the water. Didn’t realize it was you.” He wiped sand from his left foot and pulled on a sock and shoe then repeated the process with the other foot.

  Standing, he turned toward the street. A carriage, with its lamps lit, rounded the corner.

  Maude giggled. “Looks like Stan is giving some love-struck couple a moonlit tour—up to Arch Rock no doubt.”

  “I’ve never seen it.” He placed her arm in the crook of his elbow.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to see it with me sometime?” He coughed, clearing his foggy mind. “With your beau accompanying us as well.”

  “My beau? What do you mean?” Her voice held accusation.

  “Ach, forgive me, but I saw you in an embrace with a man.”

  “Saturday?”

  “Ja. By the docks.”

  Her laugh peeled out like silver bells. “You mean Robert.” Then she snorted in a most unladylike manner.

  “He isn’t your beau?” Sweet relief flooded him. He once more had a chance with her. What was he thinking? He had no chance. He hadn’t enough income to support a wife, much less a family. Still … with her so close, hope rose in him, and he’d not squelch it.

  The moon lit her beautiful face and he could have sworn moonbeams had twinkled in her eyes. “I’ve known Robert all my life and I can assure you, I’ve never ever considered him as a possible beau.”

  The captain appeared to be at least a decade older than Maude, but that wouldn’t stop some from pursuing a romance. But apparently it did her, given her derisive snort. A sound that warmed his bones.

  He took her hand.

  “That’s really not necessary, you know.” But neither did she pull her hand free.

  They moved carefully across the cool sand.

  “I don’t want you twisting your delicate ankles in the dark.” While the streetlamps provided good illumination along the walk, here near the beach the gas lamps shed little light.

  She laughed. “These delicate ankles have never been injured going to and from my canoe, I’ll have you know.”

  With her damp skin pressed against his arm, Ben felt her shiver.

  “You’re cold.” He paused and removed his jacket. “Here.” He draped it around her shoulders then drew her back beside him, linking her arm through his.

  “Mr. König, if anyone sees us together at this hour and this location, they may make some very wrong assumptions.”

  “What can I do to spare you aspersions on your character?” He reached across with his other hand to enclose the small hand resting atop his arm.

  “The only people who would think anything ill of me would be the summer people. And I care little for their prattling tongues.” She yawned.

  “The summer people?” He led her across the street toward her home.

  “I’m sorry—I spoke out of turn.”

  “Ah, I see, for I am one of those summer people, am I not?”

  “Afraid so.” They stopped at her gate. She slipped inside and then closed it, locking him out.

  Chapter Twelve

  You can’t do that, Maude! You could tip the cart.” Sadie’s stern voice roused Maude as she slumped over her cart, leaning onto the heavy wood handles for support.

  She must have been dozing off. “I only slept four hours.”

  “Is that why you had that towel disaster earlier?” Her friend scowled at her. “Were you falling asleep?”

  Maude cringed. Luckily no one had seen her when she’d toppled an entire stack of pristine white towels onto the floor in the finicky Burroughs’s room. Sadie had helped her brush them off and get the towels all back in order again. “No, I was awake for that. Pure clumsiness.”

  A covey of ladies swished silently toward them.

  “Aren’t you pushing this a little too far, Maude? You have no idea what you are in for working as a maid. I’ve been your friend a long time.”

  Sadie dipped her chin as the matrons neared and kept her eyes downcast. Maude couldn’t help staring at their outlandish exercise costumes. Didn’t the hotel have a rule against bloomers? Apparently with enough money, it didn’t matter.

  When one of the women narrowed her eyes at Maude, she averted her gaze downward. Her face blazed at her failure to display appropriate subservient behavior.

  “Such impudence from the household staff,” the blond with the massive bow affixed at her narrow hip bones huffed.

  How long would she keep this position?

  Maude sighed as the women rounded the far corner to another corridor. “I told you, I’m trying to prove that I can do this.”

  Rather than allowing the conversation to escalate, Maude slid the key into Mr. König’s lock and turned it.

  “I’ll help you. I’ve got time.” Sadie pushed the cart into the room.

  Maude inhaled the unmistakable scent of men’s hair pomade and a woodsy cologne. Her lips twitched upward. Just breathing in the man’s fragrance warmed her as had his presence last night after her canoe trip. He’d cared enough to wait to ensure that she’d gotten back safely. And his behavior had been completely gentlemanly.

  Sadie removed a stack of papers from atop the typewriter. “What’s he got on the desk? Looks like every newspaper edition we have on the island.”

  “Probably has to keep up with the latest in industry.”

  Sadie said nothing in reply—instead pored over the papers.

  “Hey, I thought you were going to help me, Sadie, not read the news.” Maude fluffed the pillows.

  “Does he usually have these thrown out each day?”

  “Yes.” She straightened the silken bedcovers. “But I pass them on to Mrs. Fox—you know how she loves to economize.”

  “As long as she doesn’t save money by eliminating my position.” Sadie bundled the newspapers and stuck them on the bottom of the cart. “Stillman is spreading rumors that Mrs. Fox intends to cut one of our positions.”

  Maude ceased straightening the bed. Was she that incompetent? Was the manager going to fire her? “Do you believe that?”

  “I don’t know.” Her friend dusted off the desk, using a feather whisk on the keyboard.

  “I wonder why he needs a typewriter if he’s on holiday.”

  “Maybe he’s sending in reports?” This was her only diplomat room. “Don’t the other suites have one?”

  “I only have one I clean, and it doesn’t.” Sadie ran the Bissell sweeper over the carpet, moving back and forth in fluid motions.

  Maude dusted the side tables, knocking Mr. König’s mechanical clock to the floor in the process.

  “Oh, Maude, you’re not cut out for this kind of work.”

  “At least it’s not as bad as me knocking over all Zeb’s shoes on the delivery rack.” She bent and retrieved the clock, recollecting her previous day’s mishap.

  After dipping a rag in diluted ammonia, Maude wiped the looking glass. As she leaned forward, her vision seemed to blur as her ashen face and severely pomaded hair, covered by a cap that wasn’t quite straight, filled the side of the mirror. What am I doing here?


  Sooner or later she’d be found out for the fraud she was.

  After finishing the room, Maude pushed the cart out into the hallway. She delivered the newspapers to Mrs. Fox’s office.

  “Maude, can you please get me a dozen maps from the concierge’s desk?” The diminutive woman sighed. “Some of our guests think I have his job as well as my own.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Maude hurried to the main floor and entered the elegantly decorated hallway. As she neared the registrar’s desk, the clerk’s voice carried around the corner. “Welcome, Mr. Cadotte.”

  Perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Maude ducked behind a huge potted palm—as if that would hide her. Which relative was at the Grand?

  “Robert Swaine, actually. I own Cadotte Shipping, but my surname is Swaine.” Uncle Robert’s baritone voice startled her, and she froze to her spot.

  “Excuse my error, sir. I only had Cadotte Shipping for the reservation.”

  A deep laugh accompanied Uncle Robert’s voice. “We shareholders for the shipping line require a rest now and again. But I don’t plan to stay long at the Grand.”

  Maude cringed. What was he doing here? And shareholder—what did he mean? She pressed against the plastered wall. She needed to get past him to the concierge. Peeking around the corner, she saw her uncle’s head bent over the register as he signed in. She hurried past the desk, tempted to break into a run.

  Her uncle wasn’t staying at the Winds of Mackinac inn. Nor at Grandmother Swaine’s beautiful home up on the cliffside by the Grand, nicknamed “the Canary” for its bright yellow hue. What was he up to?

  Deep in thought, she strode toward the concierge’s desk. A man rounded the corner and with a long stride stepped onto her foot.

  “Ow!” Maude bit back a howl of pain. She peered up into Mr. König’s blue-gray eyes.

  Recognition flickered.

  “Miss Welling?”

  Maude turned and dodged several couples as she ran all the way down to the servant’s closet.

  ❤

  Needing to work off some steam and quiet his mind, Ben changed into his sporting clothes and headed for the men’s gymnasium. His ribs felt better, and he didn’t want to lose his stamina. After seeing Maude Welling dressed in a maid’s costume, he needed to work out how he would approach this problem. And exercise often helped him focus.

  He opened the walnut-stained six-paneled door and entered the small room. The man in the corner, attired in a sleeveless shirt and mid-calf pants and lifting weights, appeared to be about Ben’s physique, but he stood a few inches shorter. “Captain Swaine?”

  “We meet again, Mr. König.”

  Ben gave a slight nod and took his place on the mat near the weights. Dr. Cadotte had recommended that Ben begin slowly and work his way back up to the amount he used to lift before the injury.

  The dark-haired man eyed Ben. “You look like you’re moving slowly.”

  “You could say that, ja.” With just the two of them in the stark white-painted room, it was hard to ignore the other man, but he tried. Which was foolish. This was exactly the type of man ladies would flock to—especially if he was wealthy. “Just got the tape off my ribs.”

  “Might want to start out at half lift unless you are some kind of strongman.” The captain hoisted a hundred-pound globe weight-lifting barbell over his head. “The barbell in the corner is just over fifty pounds.”

  “Danke.” So now not only had the good captain bested Ben by providing a horse for Miss Welling, but he’d displayed his prowess, too. He’d not felt this puny since he was a newsboy on the streets of Chicago. He lifted the barbell with only a twinge in his ribs.

  “I hear you’re a businessman.”

  “Ja—I’m in business….” Newspapers were business, weren’t they? “What about yourself?”

  “I travel the Great Lakes, and although I’m not a businessman per se, I own …” The man frowned then lowered his barbell to the floor. “I possess a number of businesses, but I only run the shipping company.” He ran his thumb over his lower lip.

  The man was holding back something. “Ja, so you have others who do the oversight for you?”

  “You could say that.” Swaine walked across the heavily varnished wood floor and removed the jump rope from the wall.

  He began to jump. After finishing twenty lifts, Ben decided to join in. He went to the rough plastered wall and grabbed the other rope that hung from a peg.

  When he stopped, so did the captain. “You all right? Your face is pale.”

  Ben bent over, his hands pressed against his thighs. Sweat dripped from his face. “I’ll be fine.” He had to be.

  The door to the gym opened, and two maids pushed a cart in.

  “What are you doing here?” The curvaceous blond chambermaid shook a finger at the captain. Fire sparked from her eyes.

  A smile twitched at the captain’s lips. “I believe I could ask you the same question.” The captain’s slow easy gaze traveled the woman from head to toe.

  The blond swiveled on her heel and left the room.

  Arms akimbo, Maude glared at the two of them then focused on Ben. “You aren’t supposed to be overexerting yourself.”

  “Still the bossiest gal on the island.” Swaine laughed.

  She glared at him. “This man saved Jack’s neck, literally, just this past week, and he fell by the rocks across from the inn.”

  Swaine winced in sympathy. “Took a few falls there myself, but I was climbing on them at the time.”

  “Well, now you both know I’m working here, Robert. And Mr. König.”

  “Not for long, you won’t be, dear girl.” Swaine frowned. “Nor Sadie, either, if I have anything to do with it.”

  By the man’s smug expression, he was clearly smitten with Sadie. And thought he had some control over her. So he wasn’t enamored of Maude. Ben couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face like honey on a hot piece of toast.

  “Why, you … you …” Sputtering, she followed her friend’s example, spun on her heel, and departed.

  Jerking his thumb toward the slamming door, Swaine sighed. “They’ll both get themselves dismissed if they keep up that kind of behavior.”

  Ben could have sworn he heard genuine satisfaction in the man’s voice.

  One more hour. That was all Maude had to last. Sixty blessed minutes, and her first week would be finished.

  She stepped on someone’s foot, and then she slammed into a solid wall of muscle. Maude startled, rocking back from the tall man but not before inhaling his scent of sandalwood and light hair pomade. He grasped her shoulders, the warmth of his hands seeping down to her own. She daren’t look up but somehow knew Friedrich König was holding her.

  Her heartbeat skittered. “I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “Don’t be. It’s not every day I have a young lady literally run into my arms.”

  She craned her head back to look up at him. Although his handsome face reflected genuine pleasure, he didn’t have a cocky look like some men might have.

  He grinned down at her and raised a finger to his too-perfect lips. “Won’t utter a thing if you wish to keep up your work as an actress.”

  “Not doing too good at my charade, am I?” Maude waited for him to release his other hand, but he didn’t. And somehow, she didn’t want him to do so.

  “Or are you spying on the Grand to pick up their secrets?”

  With that comment, she pulled free. Maude opened her mouth, but no words formed. She clamped her lips back together.

  “You wouldn’t be the first hotelier to do so, you know.” He slacked his hip. “The elusive and reclusive Mrs. Adelaide Bishop has been known to take a menial position at hotels she’s considering acquiring or investing in.”

  Maude had read scathing articles about the woman, who was America’s wealthiest but most eccentric lady. Every picture of her seemed a little uglier, as though the journalists wished to have an image that made her appear to be the crone th
ey described her to be. Or maybe that was what money did to someone. It obviously didn’t have the same effect on this man.

  She found her tongue. “What I do with my time is no business of yours, sir.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her and chuckled. “I’d like to make it mine.”

  Cheeks heating, she turned and scurried down the hall to finish out her shift. And then to get home. Where she belonged. But in the position of running the inn.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As he biked toward Maude’s home Saturday morning, Ben couldn’t stop wondering what on earth Maude Welling was doing working at the Grand Hotel. Was she scoping out a wealthy husband? Or had her family fallen on such hard times that she had to work? Or did they send her there to spy on their competition?

  Ben tugged at his tie with one hand as lake breezes blew through the gap between the shirt and its detached collar. He had sent ahead a note requesting permission to meet with Peter Welling, and the inn owner had agreed, even though Ben hadn’t offered an explanation.

  What would his editor, Banyon, say if he knew? “Why, Bennie, what are ye thinkin’ my lad—ye don’t need an island hotelier tellin’ ye what goes on in town.”

  Ben swept away the unwelcome nagging sensation and continued on, pumping his legs hard and dodging slow-moving drays. What he really wanted to know was more about Welling’s daughter. Why hadn’t she married? How could half the merchants in town claim to be her kin? Why did she paddle around by canoe at nighttime? This last question he dare not inquire about for he was certain her father had no idea that she did so. And now—why on earth was she working as a maid at the hotel? And why had her father sent word to an attorney—were they having legal difficulties?

  All along the left, beautiful homes with carefully tended gardens bespoke the wealth of the owners, many of whom were nonresidents. Yet, many were Mackinac Islanders’ homes.