My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “Yes, I knew Mother had paid your wages. And Father took over after …” She blinked back the moisture in her eyes.

  “And about the other?” Sadie chewed her lower lip.

  “Which was?”

  “Greyson’s college.”

  “About what?”

  “The payments, silly goose.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Maude clamped her teeth tightly together. If Father hadn’t given that money to Greyson’s college for tuition, room, and board, he’d still be here on the island. And they’d be married. Rather than regret, relief flowed through her. She drew in a deep breath.

  “Well, that’s not right that he’d accept all that money and then not marry you. He should pay it back.” Sadie lifted her chin.

  “That’s between him and God.” Or had Father asked him to do so and Greyson refused? Maude frowned.

  Sadie rubbed her red hands together. “I’ve never had such raw hands, not even the time Pa insisted I scrub the entire house for his drinking buddies to come and play cards.”

  Maude pointed to her vanity. “Use some of the Malvina cream—that always helped you.”

  Bowing her head slightly, Sadie laughed. “You always know what to do.”

  “If only I knew how to help myself.” Maude hopped from the bed and moved to the vanity table. She loosened the jeweled top of the cream jar and offered it to Sadie.

  She scooped out a dollop and applied it to her chapped hands. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Sadie cocked her head at her. “See how you’re trying to take care of me and you’re not thinking about what needs to be addressed?”

  Sadie clasped Maude’s hands. “We both love Mrs. Luce—she’s one of the sweetest ladies on the island, and she was no chore to work for. I was grateful your father continued to pay my wages, making it possible for me to take care of her this winter—after you refused Greyson.”

  “I didn’t refuse him.” Maude pulled her hands free. “We had a disagreement.”

  Turning, Sadie grasped the rococo wicker chair and pulled it beside the bed. “Listen to me—you were never in love with Greyson.”

  “What?” Maude’s face flushed. “I loved Greyson.”

  “As a friend.” Sadie tipped her head to the side, her smile knowing.

  “As a dear friend.” Which wasn’t enough.

  “Not enough for a marriage. And maybe he knew that, too, for him to turn to Anna. But would you want either of them hurt now?”

  Regardless of what Greyson had done, he had been Maude’s and Sadie’s friend. “Of course not. Why?”

  Sadie untied the strings on her cloth purse and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper. “I tucked this in my apron and ran from Mr. König when he demanded I give it back.”

  “You jest.”

  “It’s the honest truth.” Sadie made a crossing motion over her chest. “I imagine there could be a scandal.”

  “What would be a scandal?”

  Her friend stood and took a step toward Maude, passing her the wrinkled typewritten page. “Anna’s expecting a baby in a few months, for one reason.”

  Maude set the page in her lap. “She’s not!” But she recollected seeing the Luces looking at baby items at the mercantile.

  “But that’s not the worst of it.” Sadie squeezed her lips together. “Take a look at what he typed.”

  Maude raised the sheet and scanned it. Greyson and Anna weren’t described in derogatory terms, but the writer unflinchingly laid out the facts about each. She cringed.

  “That’s not all.” Sadie wrung her hands. “I saw all kinds of notes that he wrote up about your family, Maude. And I think he wants to paint you as some tragic islander whose hopes were ruined by Greyson and Anna.”

  Maude sighed loudly. “Do I look tragic?”

  “No, of course not.” Sadie blinked. “In fact, you’ve taken this whole thing with Greyson better than I could have imagined.”

  Because she’d never really been in love with Greyson. But Anna Forham—did she not love him, either? Anna thought Greyson was a Cadotte heir. Had he really tricked her into marrying him?

  “And Maude, I hate to think this, but is it also possible that Mr. König is Mr. Steffan and is after your inheritance? I saw a business card for Benjamin Steffan, with the Detroit Post and telegrams from the editor there—a Mr. Banyan. I remember that man’s name because my father was incensed by Mr. Banyan’s columns. He wrote nasty editorials about workingmen taking advantage during the economic downturn last year.”

  Maude held up a hand, cutting off her friend. “What inheritance?” Her bedside mechanical clock seemed to slow its ticking.

  Sadie moistened her lips. “Robert mentioned something—since your father cannot inherit.”

  Maude was too dumbfounded to speak. Roses floating in the bowl on the side table gently stirred as Maude shifted positions.

  “Make sure you understand who this man is and why he is here,” Sadie added.

  A journalist from the Detroit newspapers. Maude had been fooled again. But she’d rise to the occasion. “He’s accompanying me to the theater tonight.”

  “Send word to cancel.” Sadie ran her fingers through her long blond tresses.

  “Oh, no. I’m going.” Maude gave a curt laugh. “But thank you for your warning.”

  A good thing Father was doing better. Tomorrow she’d finally heed Uncle Al’s advice and head to the attorney in St. Ignace.

  By herself.

  For now, though, she’d need to get ready.

  Throughout the two hours of primping, beautifying, hair curling, and singeing, Maude berated herself for even bothering to continue this charade with Friedrich. Or Ben. What was his true name, anyway? Although she was furious—devastated even—she’d felt the strangest calm settle over her. Shock might be what she was experiencing, for this detached sensation reminded her greatly of her emotions after Mother had died.

  Sucking in a breath, she waited as Bea tightened her corset strings.

  “Enough!” she called out when she thought her breath might fail.

  Bea giggled as she finished off. Then she removed the Worth gown from the armoire. “How could a dress be more beautiful?”

  “Uncle Robert has an eye for beauty.”

  Hoisting it high, the girl held it up to the light that filtered through the lace curtains. She gasped. “If I had a gown like this, I’d get married in it.”

  Maude wouldn’t be marrying. She’d not be fooled again. Greyson. Now Friedrich. Or Ben. Or whoever he was. She stretched her shoulders, trying to relieve the cramp between them.

  “You goose, it’s aqua and bright blue—like a peacock. I believe Reverend McWithey would frown upon such attire for a wedding.” Still, it was so gorgeous, Maude couldn’t stop picturing herself floating toward the front of the church, Father holding her arm, and handsome Friedrich—no, Ben—waiting with the preacher.

  “Wouldn’t care. If this were mine, I’d wear it anyway, no matter what anyone said.”

  If it weren’t for Father’s agreement to bring the girl on and house and feed her, where would Bea find herself now? On the streets of the mainland? How could her fellow islanders have snubbed her so? Hurt throbbed in Maude’s heart.

  “Come on, slowpoke. I’ve got other work to do.” Bea’s impudent words dispersed Maude’s kind thoughts.

  With the girl’s help, she stepped into the chiffon silk that practically glimmered as the fabric moved around her. The contours skimmed her hips, cinched in at the waist, and then gently swathed around her bodice in a series of tucks and flounces. This must be what a princess felt like. Except this princess had learned her prince was a pauper—as she may be soon, depending upon Uncle Robert’s whims. She had to find out what her inheritance was.

  “Bea, will you make sure my day suit gets pressed—I’ll need it for tomorrow.”

  “The ugly gray one?”

  “It’s not ugly, it’s practical and the new style.”


  “Call it what you want. It’s still hideous. But I’ll take it down to the laundry.”

  Bea fastened the back of the gown, each increment up the dress pulling it tighter, constricting her movement more, until Maude feared she might need to wriggle and tear free from the garment and run.

  Maude ran her finger around the low décolleté. “I don’t want this.”

  “The neckline’s not indecent, if that is what you mean.” Bea cocked her head to the side and examined Maude. “Sadie has worn something similar and gotten all kinds of notice.”

  Feeling her cheeks heat, Maude shook her head. She wasn’t about to criticize her friend’s choices. “I mean—this gown is too fancy for us island folk. I feel absurd.”

  “Pooh! What do you mean us island folk? You’re beautiful and rich and might as well look like you are. I would if I were you.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Islanders were modest. And they weren’t rich—not like the Vanderbilts or Rockefellers.

  “I would.” Bea grinned. “Mr. König will keel over when he gets a glimpse of you.”

  Mr. Steffan. “He won’t—he’ll think I’m putting on airs.” Just as he’d been doing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Stone-cold fury accompanied Maude as she mounted the steps to the theater, “Friedrich” at her side. Would he reveal the truth about himself tonight or would he continue to deceive her? Pulling the gown’s thin material a little too vigorously, her ankles and calves were on view to all those around them. She tried lowering the hem of the gown but feared she’d trip, and she didn’t wish to take the hand offered to her by that deceiver.

  “I think you’re having trouble. Should I carry you up?” The masquerader’s wicked grin taunted that he might.

  “No, you shall not.” Perhaps he was determined to cause his own scandal.

  Maude wadded the material in her hand and by keeping it close to her knees she was able to complete the rise. At the top of the stairs, she released the silk and cringed when a ring of wrinkles remained.

  “Here.” He grasped the peacock feather in her left hand and transferred it to her right. “Hold it in front …”

  Cocking his hip, he demonstrated for her—placing the feather at the edge of his tuxedo coat. This jocular stance drew a laugh from a blond woman standing nearby in a rose satin gown. Simple and elegant, the woman looked like a swan. And Maude like a robin overdressed in a peacock’s feathers.

  What did it matter, though? This man, this liar, intended to make a mockery of her friend. Greyson may have made bad choices, but he was still an islander and he’d been her pal all of her life.

  “This is a mistake. I should go.”

  Laughing, Friedrich handed her the feather and Maude used it to cover the mess she’d made of her gown. With the twin doors to the theater open, sound from within burbled out. A great many summer vacationers attended. All those people from the Grand. Some whose rooms she had cleaned. She’d pretended to be something she wasn’t, too. The anger she felt toward her escort dissipated some. But who was this man, then, if he wasn’t a wealthy industrialist from Detroit? Was he truly Ben Steffan, the reporter?

  The voices from within lacked the uniformity of the Mackinac accent. While they had a Scotsman, Frenchwoman, or Finlander here and there, most of the inhabitants possessed a similar pattern of speech. How in such a short time had a German-accented voice so charmed her? And why, even as she knew she’d break things off and never see him again, did she want to cling to him? Heaven help her, for her heart still yearned for his.

  Maude’s responses to Ben were, so far this night, curt, and she wouldn’t keep his gaze. He led her forward, toward the entrance to the theater where mocking laughter echoed from the box office.

  “See here, you’ll not keep me out.” The deep voice continued berating the ticket manager.

  Maude squeezed Ben’s arm. “Mr. Thompson works so hard to bring lovely entertainment to the island. He doesn’t need to put up with this.”

  A large man in a too-tight coat wagged his finger in the proprietor’s face. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Come on.” Ben clasped her elbow.

  He guided her through the clusters of couples who awaited the performance. The men in attendance, however, surveyed Maude from beneath half-closed eyes. He wanted to tell them to put their eyes back in their sockets.

  With a gentle turn, placing Maude behind him at an angle, Ben tapped the red-faced man on the arm.

  “What do you want?” The screaming man was Mr. Searles, an iron-ore magnate.

  One night in the men’s social room, Searles had divulged that he’d brought in a half-dozen bottles of bourbon in his trunks because the previous year the Grand had limited replenishment of the stock in his room.

  “Oh, it’s you, König.” The inebriated man threw his hands up. “Can you believe they’ve not held my tickets for me?”

  Ben tapped his fingers to the brim of his hat. “You were supposed to pick them up from the concierge, sir, not here.”

  “I’ll be d——.” Searles sputtered out a slew of cuss words.

  “No profanity!” Mr. Thompson pointed to the sign on the wall, beneath which was another indicating there was to be no spitting on the premises.

  Searles swayed slightly as he turned toward Maude. “Say, don’t I know this little filly?”

  “No. Miss Welling is an island resident.”

  “An island girl?”

  The crowd began to press forward into the playhouse, the attendant taking their tickets.

  “Why don’t you take a cab back to the Grand, get your tickets, and then return for intermission?”

  Hopefully the sot wouldn’t return.

  “Maude Welling?” Mr. Thompson called from the ticket booth. “Is that you?”

  She moved forward to speak with the proprietor, her words inaudible.

  “Well, I was gonna ask if you knew that drunkard, eh? It seems your gentleman friend does.” Thompson puffed out a breath. “Can you verify who he is so I can admit him?”

  Maude nodded gently. Curls that trailed her bare shoulders and back undulated like a waterfall. “I’m afraid I do.”

  Thompson’s eyes widened. “Well, call him over then, eh? But stay away from him.”

  “Yes, sir.” She returned to Ben’s side and whispered, “The beauty of island life—being told by every adult older than one’s self what one should do. And islanders protect their own.”

  Accusation lit her eyes. Did she know about the article? Had Sadie read his notes and told her?

  Mr. Thompson called out, “Mr. Searles, please return to the window.” He waved the big man forward.

  The ticket salesman tucked a piece of tobacco into his lean cheek. “Listen up, you’ll get in—because Miss Welling says so. But if I hear of one more cuss word coming out of your big mouth, you’ll be gone.”

  “Why, I—you …” Mr. Searles’s jowls shook in outrage. “How dare you?”

  Ben stepped alongside him. “I suggest you accept this man’s generosity and go inside to your seat. And stop making a scene.” His low voice, audible only to Thompson, Searles, and Maude had the desired effect. The bully reached out his hand and grabbed the ticket offered to him before he harrumphed off inside, jerking on his cravat.

  As the crowd surged forward into the theater, the women’s scents of jasmine, geranium, and gardenia swirled into an overpowering aroma. Trying to avoid the admiring gazes of the men, Maude glanced at the women—shocked by the open hostility in their eyes. A shudder began at the base of her neck and traveled down to her strapped pumps. She didn’t belong here. Not with these people. And they knew it, too. Those women must recognize Maude as one of the maids from the hotel. That had to be the reason for their behavior.

  Friedrich bent down to whisper in her ear, the scent of bayberry and pine enticing her, despite her determination to hold herself distant from him. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

  Turning her head toward him, his
lips brushed against her cheek. Then he pressed a deliberate kiss where the accidental touch had occurred, sending a thrill of victory through her. But for what? That he thought her the most desirable woman in this place? That he’d been willing to announce his affection in public in front of all these people? Greyson had done the same. He’d wrapped his arms around her at the top of these very steps last summer and had kissed her full on the mouth in front of everyone, some laughing aloud, while she’d frozen there like a ninny. He’d laughed afterward. He had another fish on the line while he dangled her in the Straits. Greyson’s cool lips hadn’t provoked the response Ben’s had. Yet another man deceived her. What was wrong with her?

  Tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow, Friedrich guided her toward the door. Nearby, the beautiful young woman Evelyn Stanton, whispered something into her friend Gladys’s ear.

  Evelyn sidled closer, her pink muslin dress accentuating her curves. “Mr. König, so good to see you. Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

  “This is Maude Welling.” Her escort held his arm farther away from his body and stepped back, as though displaying her.

  Maude blinked at him. What was he doing? Relax, he is simply being polite.

  Gladys’s pretty face showed no recognition. “Are you staying at the Grand, Miss Welling?”

  “No, I live on the island.”

  “You live here?” Miss Stanton laughed, as though the idea were absurd. “I didn’t know anyone actually lived year-round on the island.”

  Tiny lines formed around Friedrich’s eyes as he narrowed his gaze. “You think people only come for the summer and then the entire place is empty?”

  Reaching into her reticule, Maude retrieved her handkerchief and dabbed at her face, feigning perspiration but inhaling the delicate rosewater it had been soaked in before she’d hung it on the line. Hopefully the scent would calm her nerves.

  “Miss Welling is the daughter of the most prominent businessman on Mackinac Island.”

  Maude had to protest. “I wouldn’t say that….” Especially since Father wouldn’t inherit. She couldn’t believe Friedrich would make such a claim.