My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  The smile slipped from her supervisor’s face. “Unfortunately, no—which is why I need your help. I only just discovered she’d gone missing today. Mrs. Stillman brought it to my attention.”

  Mrs. Stillman. Why did she take notice of everything? It wasn’t even her area to supervise. Sadie needed her job.

  “Is there something you wish to ask, Miss Welling?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My friend Sadie is most diligent.”

  Mrs. Fox’s brown eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Are you making a request?”

  The woman’s knowing eyes always undid her—reminded her of her mother’s ability to see through any pretense. How she missed Mother. “Sadie is supporting herself and her younger sisters.” She left off that Sadie’s sister Bea was employed by her inn.

  “I’ll see what I can do for your friend.” Ada Fox leaned forward. “Be discreet in the parlor.”

  “Yes, I won’t be underfoot.”

  “Good girl. You surely understand from”—Mrs. Fox’s eyes held Maude’s a moment too long—“working at the Winds of Mackinac, how important social rooms are. Critical even. Slip in and tidy up as quickly as possible.”

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  The woman chuckled. “I’d bet a silver dollar that you would.”

  Maude looked up. Ada Fox knew. And was enjoying Maude’s discomfort.

  “Be on your way, now—before I dock the pay that you so desperately need.” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but her supervisor’s words accused Maude to her very core. Her cheeks flamed.

  “I …”

  Mrs. Fox raised a hand. “It’s my intention to meet with the proprietor of the inn soon.”

  A hot ball of boiling maple syrup seemed to have dropped into Maude’s gut. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  “Please tell Mr. Welling that I have been remiss in not paying my respects earlier.”

  Maude couldn’t even swallow her own spit.

  “When I heard Peter, that is, Mr. Welling, assisted in the rescue yesterday, I knew I should wait no longer.” Were those tears glistening in the manager’s eyes? Mrs. Fox turned away.

  Peter? Mrs. Fox must be acquainted with Father. “Yes, ma’am.” Maude bobbed a curtsy. How did the housekeeping manager know her father?

  Maude scurried down the corridor to the main rooms. In a large alcove near the registration desk, she paused to watch the shoeshine man work and to catch her breath. A ruddy-faced man, a coal-mine tycoon, was seated in the chair. His daughter was an absolute tyrant and had sent home her personal maidservants. Thankfully, Mrs. Fox had put her foot down and sent no more staff up to assist the girl after she’d slapped a senior staff member. Most of the young women vacationing at the Grand had been kind enough to Maude. She’d rather be ignored, though, than attacked by someone.

  Maude continued on to the parlor. Teacups and saucers littered the mahogany side tables, and crumbs covered the carpet in front of the three velvet chaise longues. “Oh my.”

  Soon, Maude had everything shipshape. She beamed with pleasure at the scent of beeswax and lemon oil. Nary a dust mote in sight. Maude set her pail down and propped the mop against the dark walnut-paneled walls.

  Sadie slipped into the hotel parlor wringing her reddened hands. “They’re making cuts!”

  Maude pulled Sadie behind the tall potted palm, so no one passing in the corridor would see them. “I spoke with Mrs. Fox earlier, Sadie. I believe she’ll keep you on.”

  Sadie gave her a quick hug.

  Gretchen, one of the lower housemaids walked by, her eyes and nose red.

  “What’s wrong?” Sadie called out and pulled the young woman toward her and Maude.

  “They fired me! No severance even. How am I to get home to my family?”

  Maude gasped. “Miss Ada did that?”

  “No—that supercilious Mrs. Stillman had the night manager fire me. But I didn’t do anything wrong. Someone came behind me and messed up all I had done.”

  “Stillman probably made the mess herself,” Sadie mumbled.

  Gretchen nodded, her white cap flopping loose. “My thoughts, too.”

  Sadie offered the other servant her handkerchief, but she refused it. “Well, I have to get back to work. But I’ll be praying for you.” Sadie swiftly moved toward the main floor.

  Gretchen sobbed. “What’ll I do?”

  Maude wrapped her arm around the younger woman. “Don’t worry. I know a place that needs a hard worker like you.” Jane and Bea could use extra help.

  “Where?”

  “I’ll hire you to work at my father’s inn.”

  “Your father’s hotel!” The girl’s loud voice carried, and two matrons raised their eyebrows as they marched by toward the exit to the porch, their walking suits perfectly pressed and their gold jewelry glistening.

  “Shhh! You have to promise to say nothing to anyone.”

  “I won’t. You have my word.” The girl made an X over her lips.

  Maude pulled a piece of scrap paper from her pocket and wrote the address for Winds of Mackinac on it. “Meet me there when I get off.”

  “But that’s hours from now.”

  She pulled a coin from her apron pocket. “Go to Al’s Soda Shop in the center of town and get a phosphate. Tell him Maude sent you. He might not charge you anything. If he does, give him the money. Then go to the wharf or the park. Like the tourists do. Go watch the boats come in.”

  Color drained from the young woman’s face and her brow puckered. “Why are you doing this?”

  “It’s the right thing. And what I said is true—I know you work harder than anyone else.”

  Lips pressed together, she nodded, and two tears trickled down her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  Noise carried through the inn’s thin walls, waking Ben early. After taking a dose of laudanum, he drifted back to sleep. When he awoke, he dressed himself without assistance. Examining his whiskery face, he considered shaving. How long had he hidden behind his beard in Detroit? When the barber had shaved him in Detroit, he’d revealed the strong König aristocratic features he’d inherited. Although his hair had been cut shorter, he still had recalcitrant waves in his brown locks.

  A woman could dye her tresses. Ada Fox reminded Ben of Adele Schwartz, who managed Detroit University’s most notorious fraternity house. In one year, the woman had brought the men all under control—save perhaps Greyson Luce. Mrs. Schwartz sported a reddish loose chignon, which may have been henna-tinted, and wore no spectacles. She’d quit shortly after an article was published about her success with the college students in Detroit. And in the one glimpse he’d had of Mrs. Schwartz at a fraternity social event he covered, she may be the woman now calling herself Ada Fox.

  Another possibility had come to him. Was Mrs. Fox actually Adelaide Bishop, the wealthiest woman in America but also a notorious tightwad and a hermit? Rumors surfaced that she’d begun taking menial jobs in establishments in which she hoped to acquire a financial interest. Would the housekeeping manager, with her hair fluffed closely around her face, resemble the one picture he’d seen of Adelaide Bishop? He’d search the island library’s archives to see if they possessed the copy of Collier’s magazine that printed a picture of the recluse after the death of her second husband. He needed to refresh his memory.

  He rubbed his chin—Mrs. Bishop’s first marriage was to an executive from Battle Creek. Her second marriage was to another skinflint like herself. The third husband made a fortune in iron ore. She was connected everywhere there was big money, despite living like a pauper herself. Reportedly she’d shown up at several of the Forhams’ society events, when Ben was there for an article—and keeping an eye on Anna. The miser sat on a number of boards and was rumored to have a keen mind for business. Ironically, Mrs. Bishop had been refused admission at several meetings across the country, when staff believed her to be a servant or, worse yet, a vagrant.

  Could Ada Fox be Adele Schwartz and Adelaide Bishop? Perhaps she hoped to invest in
the Grand Hotel. Maybe Banyon could send him up some information, or the island newspaper editor might have heard something. But that might raise the island journalist’s suspicions about who Ben was. Unless he couched his concerns as exactly what they were—whether the woman wasn’t quite as she seemed. But really, what business would that be of his if he was simply a guest at the Grand Hotel?

  Ben rubbed his temple. This masquerade was doing strange things to him. Maybe this was all just wild imaginings. But he trusted his gut. And his journalist’s instincts told him there was a connection.

  Footfalls sounded loudly on the nearby stairs, followed by a rap on the door.

  Ben shook out his shoulders and turned. “Come in.”

  Jack opened the door. He glanced at the bed, which Ben had made despite the struggle it had presented. He’d been so drowsy he’d reverted to his old habits.

  “Whatcha do that for?” Jack pointed to the bed. “You’re just gonna get back in it after breakfast. That’s what the doc said.”

  “I feel better—except for the medicine he gave me.”

  “You want to eat with us, then? Dad and I are ready for breakfast.”

  “Ja, and I can smell bacon on your breath. Did you sample?”

  He frowned. “Of course! And I told him Maude slept in, but she ain’t in her room.”

  “She isn’t?”

  “Nah, she’s pretending to be a maid at the Grand.” He crossed his arms.

  Ben forced his features into an expression of surprise. “Why do you think she’s doing that?”

  Jack’s features scrunched together. “Don’t know—I wondered if she was spying on you for some reason.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  The boy shrugged. “I think she likes you. Besides—who can understand women?”

  Ben laughed but brought the action to a quick halt when his ribs complained.

  “Come on, there’s some girl downstairs waiting to talk to Maude. She asked Bea what it was like to work here.”

  “Isn’t Bea rather young to be working here?”

  “Kinda, but her pa is gone and her ma is dead—like mine.”

  The boy’s matter-of-fact words seared Ben’s heart. Despite Jack’s display of bravado, the child had to be hurting.

  Ben stretched. “Ja. I forgot—I’ve been wanting to ask you to accompany me off the island sometime. Perhaps to St. Ignace?” Where the Rechtsanwalt, Mr. Hollingshead, her attorney, had his office.

  “You’d take me?” The boy’s chin began to quiver.

  “Ja.”

  Two wiry arms wrapped around his torso before he could stop them. Ben stifled his groan of pain and allowed the boy to rest his head on his chest.

  He pulled away and wiped his nose with his hand. “Thanks, Mr. König. When we going? What about this afternoon?”

  “Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day, depending on how I feel.”

  “Okay. Come on—let’s go tell Dad.”

  Bone weary, Maude arrived home as Winds of Mackinac guests, the women attired in tailored walking dresses and the men in day coats, exited the inn in pairs. At the end of the queue, a young mother and father pushed a pram down the sidewalk and toward the street.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Maude approached the Taylor family. “Good day.”

  Dark circles ringed the young woman’s eyes.

  The husband offered a sheepish grin. “I hope our baby isn’t disturbing the other guests.”

  Mrs. Taylor’s curls bobbed as she bent over her son. “I think he has a tooth coming in.”

  “We’re taking him on a private carriage ride around the island tonight before bedtime.” Mr. Taylor’s face reflected the satisfaction of being a good father.

  “We’re hoping the fresh air tires him out.” The young mother leaned in toward Maude.

  “I know that worked with Jack.” She’d treated him like he was her own baby, she and Robert taking him for rides.

  Mr. Taylor laughed. “If only we had Jack’s energy!”

  If only Maude did, too.

  The family walked off, parents smiling at each other, obviously very much in love. What would it be to have someone look at her that way? Greyson hadn’t.

  A sudden shiver coursed through her, and Maude rubbed her muslin-covered arms. The lace at the bottom of the wide cuffs rippled in the breeze.

  The porch was empty save for one very handsome man. Friedrich must have slipped outside while she was talking to the Taylors.

  “You’re looking lovely.”

  “Thank you.” She felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. The doctor will check me again in a little while, and then I believe I’ll be free to return to the Grand.”

  “Oh.” She frowned.

  “You’re sad that I am well?”

  “No.” Maude nibbled on her lower lip.

  He rose as she approached him and took her hands. “Might I hope that you prefer to have me nearby?”

  His firm hands held hers, and he ran his thumb across her knuckles, stirring delight. She looked up into his eyes, seeing the same longing she felt. Birdsong rose from the garden as the scents of peonies, lilacs, and roses mingled aloft on the breeze.

  His head tipped closer to hers.

  The door opened.

  Friedrich drew back, and Maude sucked in a breath.

  “You’ve hired another maid?” Father peered at her.

  Behind him, Gretchen cowered.

  “Sorry, I forgot to tell you she was here,” Friedrich murmured.

  “Gretchen is a hard worker.” Maude tried to keep the edge out of her voice.

  Her father frowned. “And you know this how? She says she worked at the Grand.”

  Maude opened her mouth, but when Friedrich nudged her she closed it.

  “Mr. Welling, this chambermaid is one of the best. The Grand Hotel’s loss is your gain.”

  Father rubbed his jaw. “Come inside.” Soon the three were seated in the office, with Gretchen waiting outside.

  “Father, we’ve more visitors—hence more work. And if we want to keep our guests happy—”

  “I’m not criticizing—I simply wonder where you’ve found them. The Grand has scooped up our best workers. Despite paying them less and terminating them before the season is over.”

  No islanders, save for Sadie and Maude were in the Grand’s employ, but she dare not disclose this to Father lest he ask how she knew. Furthermore, the pay exceeded what Jane was earning at the inn, something Maude wished to rectify.

  “Well,” Maude wrung her hands, “I did hire this young woman away from the Grand.”

  The door swung in and Jack stomped into the room, lightly kicking the door closed behind him. “Al says to stop sending him your sob-story friends, Maude.”

  “I sent Gretchen to Uncle Al with money for her refreshments.” She made a face at Jack, and he made one back at her.

  “Yeah, well, he says stop sending people in off the streets.” Jack blew a large bubble from his gum and popped it.

  “She’s not off the streets.”

  Father shook his head. “Your sister has a soft heart—like her mother.”

  The boy came around and wrapped his arms around Maude’s neck.

  “I love you, Muddie.”

  “Love you, too, silly boy.”

  Father opened his drawer and pulled out a medication packet and poured it in his water glass. “Maude, you do as you see fit with this young woman. Gretchen, is it?”

  “Yes. We have a room for her upstairs.” Maude rose and went to his side. “Thank you, Father.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s a busy season, after that economic downturn last year. We can use the help.”

  What help had she been? Instead of pitching in, she’d run off to prove herself.

  Jack threw the door open. “Come on, Gretch, and I’ll show you where you’re gonna be stayin’.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Will I pass muster?” Ben
began buttoning up his linen shirt.

  “No mustering out on Mackinac Island, anymore,” Dr. Cadotte joked. “Not since the military left. But you do pass my physical examination.”

  “I need to get back up to the Grand.” He’d already been gone three days, and he had to monitor Edmunds and the progress he was making in his pursuit. Casey Randolph had already shown Ben the diamond he planned to offer his intended target—a lovely old-fashioned diamond in rose gold that had been his grandmother’s during the family’s better times, which Casey hoped to enjoy again once he’d married into wealth.

  The door opened, and Peter Welling and his son peeked in. “I insist that you not take a bike nor walk back, Mr. König.”

  “Aw, Dad, I wanted to race him back to the hotel.” Jack groaned. “You’re gonna be all right, ain’t ya?”

  Scowling at his son, the man shook his finger. “Diction, young man, diction.”

  Dr. Cadotte secured his medical case. “Best if you take the carriage.”

  “Aw.” The boy scrunched his nose up.

  “Son, go ask the driver to bring it around.”

  Ben had never conversed with the aged driver, who usually sat in the Wellings’ carriage house behind their inn. He was kept busy with providing transportation to the guests. Jack ran off, his footsteps clattering down the stairs.

  Ben gathered his belongings, bid his adieus, and was soon inside the spacious coach. Light rain misted the island as the driver of the Wellings’ personal carriage brought Ben back to the Grand. Dark clouds piled up, portending a downpour.

  The driver directed the pair of bays to pull up by the central stairs to the hotel’s main entrance. Ben got out as the rain increased in intensity. Quickstepping, he ducked his head and mounted the entrance stairs two at a time.

  The early summer deluge hammered the canvas overhang and dripped down to splash off each side, some onto Ben. The door swung outward.

  “Welcome back.” The doorman held the entrance door wide for him. “We heard of your heroics, Mr. König.”

  Just what he needed—calling attention to himself—a fraud. Hopefully word of his participation in the rescue hadn’t spread through the hotel. He didn’t need anyone looking too closely at him. Ben cringed as the door closed behind him.