Legacy of Love

by Christine Johnson

  She led Minnie into the kitchen and sat her at the table.

  Peter, who was helping Luke make something unrecognizable out of his erector set, looked up. “What happened? I heard a crash.”

  “Just a little accident,” Anna said, handing Minnie a towel so she could dab some of the coffee off her clothing.

  “Sounded like a big accident,” Peter said.

  Anna shot him a warning glare. Her foster brother could be such an idiot. He’d never win over Minnie if he didn’t show a little more compassion.

  “What?” the fool asked.

  Anna just rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Minnie, who’d buried her face in the towel. “Where does Mrs. Meeks keep the broom and mop?”

  The girl lifted her face just enough to wail, “I-in the closet. It was an accident, but now Mrs. Meeks will give me a bad recommendation, and I’ll never get the job.”

  Peter snorted. “It’s just some spilled coffee.”

  Anna glared at him again.

  “Yeah, just some spilled coffee,” Luke echoed.

  “Peter, show some manners,” Anna reprimanded with a nod toward Luke. “You’re old enough to demonstrate good behavior.”

  He made a face and crossed his arms before his chest, ready to debate, but she didn’t have time for Peter’s thickheadedness. She walked to the closet for the mop and broom and shot over her shoulder, “You can start by getting a pail of water.”

  He cocked his head. “How much will you pay me?”

  She spun around and braced her hands on her hips. “A kick in the behind if you don’t do it. Not to mention telling Hendrick.”

  That got him moving. Hendrick and Mariah had taken Peter in at the orphanage, and Hendrick was his boss at the garage. Anna’s brother would make Peter’s life miserable if he knew Peter was sassing Anna. He filled a pail with hot water and carried it across the kitchen. She handed him the mop.

  “You can mop up the coffee,” she commanded, “and I’ll sweep up the broken china.”

  “I don’t see why I have to do it. I’m not the one who dropped the tray.”

  Honestly, she could swat that boy. “Act like a man.” She pushed on the kitchen door but stopped when a thought crossed her mind. “Why would you think I’d pay you?”

  He shrugged, suddenly wary. “Everyone else is.”

  She knew Hendrick paid him at the garage, but the orphanage didn’t have much extra funding. “Mariah is paying you?”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Landers is giving me fifty cents an hour to build shelves in his new store.”

  Anna’s mouth went dry. Brandon had hired Peter? And he was paying less for skilled labor than clerical. After the shock died down, a low rumble of anger started building in her gut and grew larger as she swept up the pieces of broken china. Brandon and Reggie, along with the family, watched the cleanup, but she couldn’t get her mind off one fact. Brandon hadn’t hired her because he needed help. He was giving her charity.

  Anna Simmons did not take charity.

  Chapter Eight

  Anna stewed about Brandon’s job offer the rest of the afternoon. Why would he pay her more than Peter? Her initial anger subsided as she watched his tender care for her mother. Rather than leave at once with his brother, he waited until Ma was ready. He assisted every step to and from his car, helped her into the apartment and settled her in her chair by the fireplace. No son could have done more.

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Brandon,” Ma said as he buttoned his coat.

  “To you also,” he barked. Before leaving, his gaze landed on Anna and, for a moment, softened.

  She felt her cheeks heat. Why did a simple gaze do this to her?

  With a final nod, he darted out the door. The room felt cold and lifeless without him. Anna rubbed her arms to warm them.

  “Wasn’t that a lovely dinner—” Ma sighed “—and so nice of Mr. Brandon to bring me home when he wanted to spend time with his brother. I told him Hendrick could do it, but he insisted. Such a gentleman.”

  That wasn’t the way Anna remembered it. Hendrick had insisted, even demanded, he bring Ma home until Mariah intervened. She’d pointed out that since Anna and Ma lived on Brandon’s property, he wouldn’t have to go out of his way.

  Yet it was an inconvenience, for Brandon clearly wanted to speak privately with his brother. The delay seemed to gnaw on him and only got worse when Reggie dashed off to the house on their arrival. Ma had suggested Brandon run along after him, but he would not leave until she was settled into her chair. His unceasing generosity tugged at Anna’s heart but also troubled her.

  “Brandon offered me a job at the bookstore.” She sat in the other chair by the fireplace. “I don’t know if I should take it.”

  “Why not?” Ma looked up, concerned. “Isn’t he paying a good wage?”

  “More than good.” She held her cold fingers toward the fire. “That’s the problem. He’s offering far too much. I couldn’t get that wage at the cannery.”

  Ma blinked. “I thought you said the cannery paid a dollar an hour.”

  “I was wrong. The cannery only pays men that much.” Anna stared at her mother as realization dawned. “How do you know Brandon offered a dollar an hour?”

  “Didn’t you just say that?” Ma shook out the blanket she kept by her chair and draped it over her legs. “Hmm, I must have heard it somewhere.”

  “You talked with him about the job, didn’t you?”

  Ma shrugged. “I might have mentioned the wages at the cannery.”

  Anna groaned. “That explains it. But it’s too much. He is only paying Peter half the rate. I can’t accept it.” How could she explain that the exorbitant wage made her feel beholden to him?

  Ma smiled softly. “Perhaps he values your abilities.” She leaned forward to chuck Anna’s chin. “You are gifted with intelligence and a love of literature, after all.”

  Anna looked away, embarrassed. “I prefer dime novels.”

  “I imagine even Mr. Brandon likes a good adventure tale from time to time. Take the job. Enjoy it. Give your all. If you still feel the wage is unfair, ask for less or donate the balance to someone in need. If you don’t take the job, someone else will.”

  Anna gnawed on her fingernails. She and Ma could use the money, but Ma’s words reminded her of something.

  “Minnie Fox said she was looking for more work, but she’s still in school. She wouldn’t quit, would she?”

  Ma heaved a sigh. “Mrs. Fox’s dress shop isn’t doing as well now that the mercantile carries so many ready-made dresses and people are ordering from the Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogs.”

  “So Minnie has to leave school to work?”

  Ma hesitated a moment. “Promise not to say a word to anyone, but Minnie’s father needs treatment for his weak heart. He had rheumatic fever as a child. The poor man has never been very strong, but it’s gotten worse this year.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “He’s going to the Battle Creek Sanitarium in the hope that their health regimen will improve his weakened heart, but it costs a great deal of money. The Aid Society is hosting a benefit supper after the New Year, but the Foxes will need much more than we can raise.”

  Anna wrinkled her brow. “But Beatrice Fox married into the Kensington family. Surely they’d help with the expense.” But as soon as she said the words, she knew they wouldn’t. The rich didn’t part with their money easily.

  “I understand that they offered to pay the entire cost, but Mr. Fox refused.”

  “Why would he do that? They still have four girls at home.”

  Ma patted her hand. “I’m sure you understand how difficult it is for most people to accept charity.”

  Her words stung. Anna had decried Brandon’s lodging and job offers as
charity.

  “I’m afraid today’s festivities tired me,” Ma said as she dug around in the basket of knitting and mending that sat beside her chair. “Oh, dear, I forgot to give Mr. Brandon his gift.” She came up with a small, book-shaped parcel wrapped in butcher paper and tied with one of Anna’s red hair ribbons. “Would you run to the house and give this to him for me?”

  The thin package felt light in Anna’s hands. It couldn’t be one of those first-edition leather-bound books that Brandon valued so highly. Judging by the weight, the book was paperbound and no more than a hundred pages in length. Though it probably didn’t cost a great deal, the fact remained that Ma had spent precious money on a gift for Brandon. Anna could guess why. Ma had high hopes for a match, but Anna wasn’t that confident. Any time she got close, he pulled away.

  “Perhaps you should give it to him tomorrow. I’m sure he’d rather get it from you. Besides, he’s probably busy talking to his brother.”

  Ma refused to take the gift from her. “We’ll be busy tomorrow, remember? We’re spending the day with your brother and Mariah and the children. Just drop it off. It’ll only take a minute, and he’ll have something to put under his tree.”

  Brandon didn’t have a Christmas tree or decorations of any kind. She wasn’t even sure he’d appreciate the gift. Once Ma set her mind on something, though, she couldn’t be dissuaded. “All right, but if he doesn’t answer, I’m leaving it inside the kitchen door.”

  “That’s a good girl.”

  As Anna donned her coat, Ma hummed “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” The irony wasn’t lost on her. She doubted she’d receive as welcome a reception as the magi. Nor was she offering frankincense, myrrh and gold.

  Gold! Anna halted. “What did Mr. Kensington mean when he said there was a treasure buried in Pearlman?”

  “It’s an old, old rumor. If you ask me, Mr. Brandon is right. Any fortune here would have been unearthed years ago.”

  Then why hadn’t she ever heard about it? And how did Brandon know so much about it, unless... “Here? Do you mean it was buried on this property?”

  “So they say. Almost a century ago.” Ma clucked her tongue. “Foolishness, if you ask me.”

  Anna looked out the window, but darkness had fallen and she saw only black. A treasure buried here. What did it matter if everyone thought it had already been discovered? She’d read Mr. Davis’s book. He thought he’d found King Tutankhamun’s tomb and that it had been pilfered by grave robbers. But Mr. Carter proved him wrong.

  “Maybe the treasure is still out there,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be exciting to find?”

  “Exciting, yes, but what would you do with it?”

  “Give it to Brandon, of course. Think how happy he’d be.” Maybe he’d smile more often. Maybe those lines of worry would leave his brow.

  “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” Ma said softly.

  “Well, it couldn’t hurt.” Anna buttoned her coat, pulled on her gloves and stepped out into the falling snow. Maybe if she found the buried treasure, Brandon would see her differently. Maybe he’d respect her. Maybe he’d see her as an equal.

  Fluffy snowflakes floated lazily downward, the perfect picture of Christmas Eve. Anna counted her blessings, from a family who loved her to a warm place to live. Mary and Joseph hadn’t been so fortunate that first Christmas. She’d had to give birth in a cold, dirty stable. Ma had sacrificed so much for her.

  “I love you, Ma,” she whispered back at the carriage house. Through the window, she could see Ma sewing, her head bent down in concentration.

  Ma was happy here. To her the carriage house meant a new start, filled with promise. For the first time, Anna felt that too. Maybe God had brought them here for a reason.

  She tucked the gift in her coat pocket and walked into the starless night. Atop the gentle rise, Brandon’s windows glowed with welcoming warmth, guiding her across the snow-covered lawn.

  On that first Christmas, angels and a bright star led shepherds to the poor stable where God gave the world the unexpected and unwarranted gift of His Son. The enormity of that gift sank in as the church bells pealed the six o’clock hour. With each stroke of the bell, the answer to her dilemma became clearer.

  Help someone in need. Ma had pointed the way.

  With a lightness of step, Anna danced forward, certain of her course.

  * * *

  Brandon scowled at his brother from behind the desk in his library. The grandfather clock ticked off each excruciating second.

  “Merry Christmas to you too,” Reggie said as he uncorked a bottle of brandy that he’d found somewhere in the cellar. Judging by the mold and dust on the bottle, it had been half-buried for years. He poured himself a glassful and held up the bottle. “Care for some finely aged spirits?”

  “I do not drink liquor.”

  “Nor do you celebrate holidays, apparently.” Reggie draped himself across the sofa, his boots resting on the rich brocade and his arm cast over the back while he sipped the brandy. “This place is depressing. Not one pine bough or wreath or sprig of mistletoe. How is a bachelor to claim a kiss?”

  “From what I’ve heard, that’s the least of your problems.” The biting comment was meant to wake Reggie from his dissolute ways, but his brother ignored him.

  “We should have a party. That’ll get you in the spirit. First thing in the morning I’ll have your manservant cut a tree for us. There are dozens in those little woods there that will do nicely. We can string some cranberries or popcorn or whatever your cook can spare. What do you think?”

  “I don’t have a manservant.” He stopped there, not willing to call Anna a cook.

  “No valet or butler? How do you get by?”

  “Quite nicely, thank you.”

  “That’s my brother. Tightfisted to the last.” Reggie lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Relax a little.”

  Brandon gritted his teeth. Reggie could play the gentleman in good society, but, left to his own devices, he slipped into the vulgarities of the smart set. “Please remove your muddy boots from my sofa. Anna has enough to do without cleaning up after you.”

  “Anna?” Reggie jerked to a sitting position. “That plain girl I met at the parsonage that’s all elbows and knees? The one with the hand-me-down clothes and outdated hairstyle? She’s your housekeeper?”

  Brandon fought the urge to strangle his brother. Anna was far from plain, and he liked her long, flowing hair. Much better than the latest craze for bobbed hair. She also was much more than a housekeeper. “She cleans the house two or three times a week.”

  Reggie rolled his eyes and flung out his arm with great exaggeration. “My brother, the man of fashion, has only one part-time servant. I suppose you pay her pennies.”

  Servant? Anna was no servant. Brandon fought the flaring anger. “My finances are not your concern, but your expenses are mine.” He slid open the top desk drawer and removed the pile of bills that had been forwarded by the trustee. “Twenty-nine dollars owed at Forsby’s.” He flipped to the next one. “A hundred and thirty overdue to Brook and Sons, Clothier. Do I need to say more?”

  Reggie shrugged. “Necessities for college.”

  “A dance hall is necessary?” Brandon narrowed his gaze, trying to bore some sense into his brother. “One that undoubtedly has a speakeasy and gaming tables in the back.”

  Reggie rose and strolled to the fireplace, which was glowing softly with late-day embers. “Why did MacKenzie send the bills to you? They’re supposed to come out of the trust.”

  “Because you’ve overspent your monthly allotment.”

  “Then take it out of next month’s.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, and you know it.” Brandon tapped his pen on the blotter. “You need to accept responsibility for your actions. Father might have paid for your shenanigans,
but I won’t.”

  That drew his brother’s attention. “Dear brother, generous to the end. The war changed you.”

  Brandon tightened his fist but managed to keep his seat and his wits. Anger would not resolve the situation or teach his brother to mind his ways. “It’s time you learned responsibility,” he said through clenched teeth. He pushed the bills to the other side of the desk. “You incurred the expense. You find a way to pay it.”

  Reggie half choked and half laughed. “How? All I have is the trust money.”

  “Get a job.”

  Reggie’s eyes bulged. “But I’m in college. That takes all my time.”

  “Apparently not, considering you had time to run up a bill at a dance hall.”

  Reggie cast him the boyish grin that had doubtless worked hundreds of times with Father. “You do want me to marry well, don’t you?”

  Brandon folded his arms. “Frankly, I don’t care if you ever marry, and given your current habits, I pity the woman who would depend on you for her welfare.”

  “She’d be better off than any woman who depended on you for affection.”

  “That is uncalled for.” Shaking, Brandon pulled himself to his feet, using the desk for balance. “I will not fund your vices. It’s time you grew up.”

  Reggie slammed his empty glass onto the end table. “It’s time I left. Merry Christmas, brother.”

  “Where are you going at this hour of the night?”

  “To stay with friends, who will no doubt welcome me more than my own brother.”

  Reggie yanked open the library door and stalked down the hallway. Brandon followed, but he couldn’t match his brother’s pace.

  “This is your home,” he called out.

  “It’s your home.” Reggie had already donned his coat and hat. He pulled open the front door, but rather than rush out, he froze.

  Brandon hobbled toward him. Maybe the boy had come to his senses and was ready to accept responsibility for his actions.

  Within five steps he saw that wasn’t the case. In the doorway stood Anna, one hand poised to knock and the other holding a gift tied with red ribbon.