Legacy of Love

by Christine Johnson

  * * *

  Brandon’s brother stared at Anna as if she was a ghost.

  “Miss,” Reggie finally said. “I’m afraid you arrived just as I was leaving.” He stepped aside to allow her to enter and then, with a quick glare at Brandon, stalked out into the night.

  Anna had heard the shouting. Brandon had sounded so angry that she’d almost scurried back to the carriage house with the gift. But Ma wouldn’t understand. She would say Brandon needed a gift even more. So Anna had knocked. Then Reggie had opened the door.

  All the blood had drained from her limbs. Brandon’s resolve and Reggie’s fury had frozen her in place. Both of them stared at her. She couldn’t make out what they thought of her presence, but it wasn’t good.

  She’d dropped her hand and clutched the gift to her breast.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d mouthed, barely audibly.

  Instead of accepting the apology, Reggie had stepped aside to let her enter. Somehow she managed to get her limbs moving, but she felt as though she was walking into an interrogation chamber. Brandon, leaning heavily on his cane, glared past her into the night.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, this time louder. “Where is your brother going?”

  Brandon must not have heard because his gaze was locked on the empty doorway, his jaw taut and his expression hard as flint.

  She shut the door to keep the snow out. At the click of the latch, Brandon finally noticed she was there.

  “Miss Simmons.”

  Her heart sank. Somehow she’d been demoted from Anna, their time together in the kitchen forgotten, and it was all Reggie’s fault. He must have said or done something to infuriate Brandon, but to squabble on Christmas Eve? Surely they could get along for one day of the year. Instead, Reggie had bolted for a friend’s house.

  “May I help you with something?” he asked, emotions carefully guarded.

  How she wished she could hold him and tell him it would be all right, that she believed in him and with a little effort things could be patched between the brothers. But of course she couldn’t do that.

  “Your business, Miss Simmons?” Brandon asked for the second time.

  “Join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow.” The invitation burst out from nowhere. “It’s at my brother’s house, the orphanage. Mariah always makes plenty of food.”

  His lips curved into a bitter smile. “I doubt I would be welcome.”

  “Of course you would,” she said, though she knew he was right. Hendrick wouldn’t let Brandon in the door.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I will be busy.”

  She hoped that didn’t mean he was working at the store. Christmas was on a Monday, but surely he wouldn’t work on Christmas Day. “Did you expect me to work? At the store, I mean. I will make breakfast and supper for you.”

  “No.” His gaze focused on her. “No need. Take the day off. Here too. I’ll get along fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His lips twitched. “Thank you for your concern. Is the invitation the only reason you came here tonight?”

  His gaze landed a bit lower than respectable, and she realized she was still clutching Ma’s gift to her chest. “Uh, no. This is for you.”

  She held it out to him. Between being shoved into her pocket and crushed against her body, the bow had got kinked and lopsided.

  He stared at the package but made no move to take it. “You’re giving me a gift?”

  She shook her head. “It’s from Ma. She wanted you to have it tonight.” Her hand wavered. “She’ll be upset if I go back without delivering it.”

  “Your mother,” he stated dully. “Why would she give me a gift?”

  “Because it’s Christmas. Because Ma likes you. I don’t know.” She pushed the gift into his hands.

  The paper crinkled at his touch. “I’m... I don’t know what to say.” His expression softened, and he even blinked, as if choked up. “I didn’t get anything for her. Or you.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I didn’t think...”

  “True giving never expects anything in return.” Ma’s saying rolled easily off her tongue, though, to Anna’s shame, it wasn’t one that she often practiced.

  “Should I open it now or wait until tomorrow?”

  Anna was curious what her mother had got him. “I think she’d like you to open it now.” Ma wouldn’t care.

  He motioned toward the parlor, where a sofa and two stuffed chairs were placed in an arc. “Perhaps we should sit.”

  He slowly hobbled toward the farthest chair, leaning more heavily than normal on his cane. Tonight’s argument must have taken a lot out of him.

  She followed. The firelight sparkled off the dots of melted snow on her coat like diamonds.

  She sat on the sofa, hoping he would join her, but he chose the chair farthest away. In the flickering light, the room looked gloomy, the floor-to-ceiling dark-paneled walls even blacker.

  “I should have put up some Christmas decorations,” she said nervously, clutching her knees. “Some pine boughs and pomanders would get that musty smell out of the air.”

  “Please don’t.”

  He looked so uncomfortable. The way he held the gift, like it was a poison letter, coupled with his stiff posture, made her feel like giggling.

  He swallowed hard. “I suppose I’d better get it over with.”

  She couldn’t help herself. A laugh sneaked out, and she couldn’t get her hand up quickly enough to do more than turn it into a snort.

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “It’s not going to hurt you.”

  He stiffened even further, though she’d doubted that was possible. “Of course it won’t.”

  In one motion, he untied the ribbon. The paper slipped off, and he stared at the thin book’s title, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Anna could barely contain herself. What was it? A book of psalms? Meditations? A sermon? Knowing Ma, she would have given Brandon something to draw him back to Christ.

  All she could see was a dull blue paperboard cover with black lettering. He began flipping through the pages.

  “Well?” She leaned forward, wishing she could see the title.

  He reexamined the title page and read aloud, “A History of Pearlman, Michigan, from Its Founding until 1900 by Mrs. E. S. Neidecker.”

  “Mrs. Neidecker wrote a book?” Anna had no idea. The woman had always seemed grasping and pretentious, her vaunted education a smoke screen for ignorance. Write a book? “Impossible. Maybe Mr. Neidecker’s mother wrote it. When was it published?”

  “1903.”

  “Oh, dear, maybe she did write it, but no wonder I never knew. I was only one at the time.”

  He looked up, an eyebrow arched, and she realized she probably shouldn’t have said that. Now he knew she was a mere child.

  “Well, I might be young, but I’m well-read,” she said, trying to impress him with something other than her age.

  “Apparently not in local history.” Though his mouth had twisted into a grin.

  She knotted her fingers in her lap, wishing she could gnaw on a fingernail but knowing she shouldn’t. A lady did not chew her nails.

  “I, uh, I didn’t know the book existed.” That much was true.

  He set the book aside. “Please thank your mother. It was a thoughtful gift. She must have learned how much I enjoy history.”

  Anna wished she’d read more history instead of all those dime novels. “I like literature. Hawthorne and Kipling and Poe.” She named every important author she could remember reading.

  His lips twitched, almost into a smile. “Quite admirable. That reminds me.” He rose and walked over to a table near the window.

  She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him or wait, so she compro
mised and stood. He picked up a newspaper, leafed through it and then folded it back to expose one page.

  “I promised to give you the latest newspaper story on Mr. Carter.” He limped back and handed her the precious paper.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t help glancing at the photographs. “That’s the burial chamber?”

  “The antechamber. They haven’t opened the burial chamber yet.”

  She wanted to read it right that minute.

  He must have noticed. “Take it with you. I’ve already read it.”

  She pressed the newspaper to her chest, feeling the excitement build. She’d be up late tonight reading and rereading. “Thank you,” she said again. Oh, she could just kiss the man. He’d given her dreams hope. Between his knowledge of archaeology and hiring her at the bookstore...

  Oh, dear. She’d intended to talk to him about the job after hearing Minnie’s predicament. But if she asked him to give the job to Minnie, she might not get another job. She certainly wouldn’t find one that paid so well. Her throat constricted.

  “It’s late. Perhaps you should be going,” he finally said. “Your mother will worry.”

  She swallowed hard, knowing what she ought to do but not wanting to do it. “Maybe I should.” She tucked the paper into her coat pocket and walked slowly toward the front door, debating in her head whether or not speaking up for Minnie was the right thing to do.

  As he opened the door, she looked down at the carriage house. The window was still lit, but Ma must have gone to bed. Ma always knew best.

  Ignoring the snow falling on her hair, she turned back to Brandon. “The bookstore job. What if there’s someone more deserving? Someone who needs the income more?”

  He smiled, admiration softening his gaze. “There may be others more in need, but no one is more qualified.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Perhaps Ma was right. Perhaps God had brought Brandon into her life for a reason. Perhaps He meant her to take that job.

  She returned his smile. “Merry Christmas.”

  He nodded. “Merry Christmas to you, Anna.”

  He’d called her by her first name. She was Anna to him again. Laughing, she skipped to the carriage house like a little girl, twirling and holding her mittens out to catch the snowflakes.

  Chapter Nine

  Anna needn’t have worried about avoiding Brandon. After he unlocked the bookstore each morning, he returned home. When she cleaned the house, he went to the store.

  Peter worked after school and on Saturday. In two weeks, he’d constructed all the shelving for the store. Anna’s ears rang from all the sawing and hammering. Next they varnished, and Anna battled headaches from the fumes. The woodstove barely put out enough heat for the varnish to dry, so they didn’t dare open the door or windows to ventilate. She was always eager to go home.

  “I’ll be glad when the shelves are done.” She plopped into one of the chairs at the table and rubbed her aching temples.

  Ma handed her two aspirin and a glass of water before sitting opposite her. Her leg had improved to the point that she could get around in the apartment using a cane, but Doc Stevens didn’t want her going outdoors alone just yet.

  “What comes next?” Ma asked as Anna downed the tablets.

  “The books.” She stretched her aching limbs. “We get to put them on the shelves once the varnish dries.”

  “You’ll have fun opening the boxes to see what Mr. Brandon ordered.”

  “That’s the odd thing. Only two cartons have arrived. That won’t fill one set of shelves, least of all the whole store.”

  “Maybe he’s storing them at the house until the store is ready.”

  Anna shook her head. “I haven’t seen any there either.”

  “Then they’ll arrive soon. Mr. Brandon is the kind of man who has everything in order.”

  Ma’s optimism was ordinarily contagious, but Anna’s headache put a damper on her spirits. “I wish he’d stop by more. I’d like to ask him if he’s heard more about the excavations in Egypt. I wonder if they’ve gotten into the burial chamber yet. According to the last article I read, that’s where they expect the most spectacular finds.”

  Ma patted her hand. “I’m sure Mr. Brandon will spend a lot more time at the store once you start shelving the books. You can have a good chat then.”

  “Maybe.” Considering Brandon was avoiding her, she doubted he’d suddenly spend all his time at the store. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

  “Of course he does. He simply has a lot on his mind right now. Why, every day his frown grows deeper, and he won’t tell me what’s troubling him.”

  “You talk to Brandon every day?”

  Ma traced the pattern on the gingham tablecloth. “He brings me lunch.”

  “But I leave you a sandwich every morning.”

  “He claims hot soup will make me feel better, and I think he’s right. I’ve gained so much strength in the last couple weeks.”

  Anna stared at her mother. “He makes you soup?” The man didn’t know the first thing about a kitchen.

  Ma looked sheepish. “I think he gets it from Lily’s Restaurant.”

  Anna processed the fact that Brandon was going to all this trouble without her knowledge. “What else are you hiding from me?”

  “Hiding? I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me that Brandon visited?”

  Ma’s eyes twinkled. “Because it’s not important.”

  Brandon, who avoided people whenever possible, chatted with Ma every day, and she thought it was nothing? “What do you talk about?”

  “Oh, the weather, people in town, nothing much.”

  It sounded innocuous enough, but Anna suspected one more topic came up. “I don’t suppose you mention me?”

  Ma smiled. “Of course, dearest. How could I not boast about my wonderful daughter?”

  Anna wondered what Brandon said in return, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Why was he avoiding her? He’d changed since Christmas, and the only reason she could come up with was his brother, who had returned to college without seeing Brandon again.

  “Does he ever talk about Reggie?”

  “That’s a sore subject.” Ma shook her head and sighed. “Sometimes that’s the way it is between siblings. I’m so glad you and Hendrick are close.”

  Close was not the word Anna would have used to describe their relationship. Hendrick treated her like a kid, always telling her what to do. On their trip west this past summer, he’d tried to lord over her, and at Christmastime...

  She still got angry when she recalled his warning. Why, he’d practically forbidden her from seeing Brandon. Well, she was a grown woman now, and he couldn’t tell her what to do.

  Frustrated and with her head splitting, she rose from the table and walked over to the window. Frost fringed the glass, but she could still make out the house. The verdigris copper roof was covered in snow now, making the gray house blend into the bleak winter landscape. Gray and white. Not one speck of color, not even a cardinal. Winter had barely begun, but she already longed for spring.

  “You two should do something together,” Ma suggested. “Go ice skating.”

  “Me and Hendrick?” Her brother hadn’t skated since childhood.

  Ma chuckled. “No, you and Mr. Brandon.”

  “Brandon?” Anna shook her head. “He wouldn’t want to skate. His leg.”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right. Perhaps you could go to the Valentine’s Ball.”

  “That’s not possible.” Anna had forgotten about the social event of the season. Brandon might be invited but not her. The Neideckers hosted the ball, which only doubled the certainty she would not be welcome.

  “We’re never invited,” she pointed out, ju
st like she did every year. “It’s only for people who live on the hill.” In other words, the wealthy, for they owned the houses dotting what everyone referred to as “the hill.”

  “We live on the hill now.”

  Anna rolled her eyes. “That hardly makes us one of them.” She tossed her head. “Besides, I wouldn’t set foot in the Neideckers’ house if you paid me. They’re too high-and-mighty for me.”

  “Miss Sally might be a touch spoiled—”

  “A touch? You’re not around her enough to know what she’s really like. And her mother’s just the same.”

  Ma clucked her tongue. “You should only say nice things about people.”

  Anna huffed but kept her thoughts to herself. Sometimes Ma sounded like that Mrs. Post’s etiquette book.

  “I pray you’ll be able to attend this year,” Ma said, resuming her optimism. “Invitations should arrive soon. Maybe Mr. Brandon will ask you to join him.”

  This time the heat started at the tip of Anna’s toes and raced upward. She pressed her hot forehead to the frosty glass.

  “No, Ma. He won’t.” She could think of nothing Brandon would like less than a dance, but her imagination had a mind of its own, generating images of him sweeping her across the dance floor. Her silk dress flowed. Her necklace glittered. The tiara, the jeweled shoes. Sally would gawk as Anna claimed the most handsome man in the room. He would look down at her, his gray eyes soft as spring rain, and his lips would touch her forehead as his hand cradled her waist.

  “Ack!” She started when melted frost ran down her forehead and into her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Anna wiped off the moisture with her dress sleeve. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  If Brandon Landers could be considered nothing.

  * * *

  The new bookshelves gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the front windows. Brandon had to admit Peter and Anna had done a good job. Not one trace of the old harness shop could be detected, not even the smell. He reveled in the scent of fresh varnish and sawdust. As soon as his books graced the shelves, he’d be ready to open. That would be a welcome reward after the difficulty with Reggie. At least his brother had returned to college.