Legacy of Love

  “You will be in charge of any children that come in,” he said. “There will be no running and no pulling the antique books off the shelves. Understand?”

  She laughed and straightened as if to salute. “Yes, sir.”

  The words sounded obedient, but the truth was far different. That woman had wrapped him around her finger without much effort at all.

  * * *

  Anna reveled in the added responsibility. By the end of the week, she compiled a list of books Brandon should purchase. When he glanced through the titles without protest, she knew she’d done a good job. Brandon wasn’t one to shower unwarranted accolades.

  “The grand opening will take place on Saturday,” he said, setting aside the list.

  “Before my books arrive?”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. “We do have other books to sell.”

  She supposed some people would be interested in the Fitzgerald and Ferber, but few would leap to purchase the antique books that Brandon spent all his time reading. In fact, he was immersed in one now. It looked like an old ledger, with ruled lines and illegible numbers.

  “What’s that book?” She wiggled behind the sales counter to get a better look.

  He slammed the book shut. “Nothing important.”

  What an odd reaction. “You mean you’re not going to sell it?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then why bring it here?”

  His brow puckered in a frown. “I mistakenly put it in one of the crates.” He drummed his fingers on top of the leather-bound volume, which was stained and starting to peel at the edges. “I’ll have to go through every book on the shelves to make sure there aren’t any others.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to open Saturday?”

  “The store opens as planned. Just don’t sell any of the antique books without my permission. Only sell the popular fiction.”

  With a grimace, he rose to his feet and grabbed his cane. Until now, she’d never realized that his injury might still cause him pain.

  “Let me help you.” She held out a hand.

  “I’m not an invalid,” he bristled. “Nor do I need mothering.”

  “There’s no reason to fuss at me. I just wanted to help.”

  After a long pause, he relented. “I’m sorry. Please understand how important it is that I manage on my own.”

  She heard again that deep sorrow hidden beneath the words, but if he didn’t reach out to someone, he’d never find relief. “We all need help sometimes.”

  “Not me.” Ledger tucked under his arm, he limped past her on his way to the back room.

  She didn’t want their conversation to end this way. Even the Bible said not to go to sleep while still angry...or something to that effect. Maybe what Brandon needed was to get this out in the open.

  “How did it happen?”

  He halted and slowly swiveled toward her. “How did what happen?”

  She remembered then how badly he’d reacted the last time she’d brought up this subject, but she’d incur his wrath if he’d only let her help him. “Your injury. You said it happened in the war.”

  His mood darkened, and Anna knew she’d erred even more. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  He could have berated her, could have made her feel lower than dirt, but instead he answered. “Artillery shattered my foot. I lost the big toe...and my balance.”

  Anna felt worse than horrible. His injury could not be fixed. Maybe that’s why he was so mad at God, why he wouldn’t set foot in church.

  Seeing as she’d already angered him, she figured she might as well try to draw him to the Lord. “We can celebrate the store’s opening at Sunday worship.”

  He stared at her as if she’d said the most ridiculous thing ever. “At church?”

  “I know it’s not the usual place to celebrate, but we’re having a potluck dinner afterward. I’d love to have you join us. Ma would love to have you there too.” She must have been blathering away because his eyes had glazed over.

  “No, thank you,” he said curtly. “I will be busy.”

  Alone in his big old house? Or counting the receipts from the day before? At least this time she had the good sense not to say what she was thinking out loud.

  * * *

  If sheer numbers of people equated to success, the bookstore’s opening could be considered successful, but Brandon knew better. The steady stream of the curious didn’t account for many sales. Two books sold would not keep the store afloat for long. He needed money from another source. At this point he was willing to believe the rumors of a long-lost family fortune.

  The quiet of his library offered little relief for his aching head. He stared down at the old family ledger. Surely his ancestors had written something that would confirm or deny the existence of the fortune, but he hadn’t come across one word.

  He slammed the book shut. Worthless thing. But it was the last place left to look.

  His eyes burned, his head ached and his conscience tormented him from the moment the church bells rang this morning. The hopeful look in Anna’s eyes when she’d asked him to attend had haunted him every moment since. He should have gone. God might not want him there, but she did.

  What was it the Bible said about the Pharisees? That they’d hardened their hearts? Brandon had put all his trust in God from an early age, following his mother’s lead. Mother practically glowed with patience, kindness and love—all the fruits the Bible talked about. Her every touch was gentle, caring, a lot like Mrs. Simmons. What had she ever seen in Father? The crass entrepreneur saw little need for religion except as a tool to form business connections. He attended church services to broker deals, not worship God.

  As a youth, Brandon had vowed to cling to God. But God hadn’t stuck by him, not when it really counted.

  He closed his eyes against the firestorm of memories and yanked on his hair to blot out the pain of what had happened.

  It wasn’t his fault. It couldn’t have been his fault. He obeyed his commanding officer. He’d been a good soldier. Then why had his men died? If only God had heard his pleas, but He’d abandoned him.

  The telephone rang, jolting Brandon from the miserable memories. He swiped a hand over his jaw to force himself back to reality and picked up the receiver. The operator informed him that he had a call from Ann Arbor.

  His brother. What now?

  Reggie’s voice came on the line momentarily. “Halloo, brother,” he said cheerfully, a bit too cheerfully.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Even with the static, Brandon could hear Reggie’s laugh. “That’s my big brother, always leaping to the bottom line. No pleasantries. No ‘how do you do.’ No catching up on what’s happened.”

  “Long distance is expensive. Do you have a point?” Brandon knew his words sounded harsh, but with a pounding head and a guilty conscience, he couldn’t muster civility.

  “Can’t I talk to my only brother?”

  “I know you. You only call when there’s a problem or you need money.”

  Reggie laughed again. “Such a jokester. Maybe this time I’m calling to inquire after my beloved brother. How is Anna?”

  Brandon tensed. “You didn’t call to ask about Anna.”

  “Aha! I knew you felt something for her.”

  Brandon had to put a stop to this line of conversation at once. “She is a nice girl. Nothing more.”

  “So you say. Have you told her what happened in the war?”

  Brandon could have crushed the receiver if it hadn’t been made of such sturdy materials.

  “How much do you need?”

  The ensuing pause was so long that Brandon feared the connection had broken. “Hello? Are you there?”

  “Yes.” Again Reggie
paused.

  This could not be good.

  “Two thousand.”

  Brandon coughed. “Two...what?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

  “A year’s tuition and board don’t come to that, and the trust already paid for those.” As Brandon said the words, he knew the expenses had nothing to do with education. Reggie had started gambling again. “I told you no before,” he yelled into the receiver. The bookstore’s bills were piling up. He couldn’t afford the debts he already had. “It’s still no.”

  “But Brandon—”

  “No excuses. No exceptions. I’m sorry, Reggie, but it’s time you grew up.” Without waiting for a response, he broke the connection.

  His stomach had knotted, and sweat dripped off his brow despite the chill in the room. Father had begged him to look after Reggie, but he’d just turned away his only brother. It was for Reggie’s good. Father and Mother had coddled him. That couldn’t continue if he was ever to become a man. Reggie needed to take responsibility for his actions.

  Brandon hoped he’d done the right thing. He stared out the window, deep in anguish, and almost didn’t see Anna walking toward the kitchen door carrying the basket she used to transport meals.

  She glanced at the library window, as if she knew he was in the room. He quickly looked down at the desktop, where the useless ledger lay. He pushed it aside, uncovering the little ivory envelope with Mrs. Neidecker’s invitation. An exclusive ball just for handpicked guests—Pearlman’s elite. No event could possibly disgust him more. He’d learned from Pastor Gabe that only the rich were invited. Though Gabe had received an invitation, he and his wife sent their regrets in the hope the Neideckers would open the event to all.

  “It’s like the man in Luke’s gospel who gave a banquet,” Pastor Gabe had said. “If none of the invited attends, then the hosts will have to ask the less fortunate.”

  Brandon doubted it, but he knew another way to rattle the Neideckers, a way that also, he had to admit, would make the event enjoyable for him too.

  He rose and walked to the window.

  Anna had paused before reaching the house. Snow dusted her handmade knit red hat. She bent to pull an acorn from the snow and held it out to a waiting squirrel. Anna Simmons gave from her heart. He might not be able to attend her church, but he could give her a gift she would never forget.

  Chapter Twelve

  Anna must not have heard Brandon correctly. Snow melted off her hat and coat and dripped onto the kitchen floor while she considered his invitation.

  When she finally spoke, her voice came out in a squeak. “Me? You want to take me? To the Valentine’s Ball?”

  Thoughts whirled through her head. Mrs. Neidecker would be embarrassed, furious even, to see her there. Sally’s eyes would bulge from her head. She’d probably say something nasty, but Anna would arrive on the arm of the handsomest man in town.

  “I would be honored if you would join me,” Brandon repeated.

  The electric light sparkled in his dark eyes, not stormy dark but warmly dark and inviting. Her heart skipped a beat. He would escort her onto the dance floor, take her in his arms and waltz past all those girls who’d been whispering about him since he arrived. Many girls dreamed of catching his attention, but she, Anna Simmons, would be the one dancing with him at the Valentine’s Ball.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to dance,” he said, crushing her fantasy, “but I promise lively conversation.”

  Anna tried to mask her disappointment, but judging by the shadow of distress that crossed Brandon’s expression, she’d done a pretty poor job of it.

  She swallowed hard, trying to stay calm. “I—I—I’d be honored to join you.” The stammer brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Why couldn’t she speak eloquently and maintain her composure like the other girls?

  He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. A rare smile flickered into place. “Thank you.”

  She nearly swooned. The Valentine’s Ball. She was going to the Valentine’s Ball.

  How many times she’d wished someone would invite her but never as much as she wanted Brandon to. When Ma had suggested the possibility, she pretended not to care, but she did. Brandon somehow meant more to her than anyone she’d ever known, yet he’d always seemed so distant.

  Until now. His smile at her acceptance brought a flood of warmth, followed by excitement. She was attending the Valentine’s Ball with the most handsome man in Pearlman. She would walk into the house on his arm. Everyone would notice. Everyone would comment. Some would be disappointed. Others would be furious.

  A giggle escaped when she imagined the look on Sally’s face.

  His brow puckered. “Did I do something wrong?”

  She shook her head and pressed a hand to her mouth to keep in the laughter. “I’m just happy.”

  “You are?”

  She could only nod, because the way he was looking at her sent the most amazing feelings through her. She could have danced around the kitchen and laughed until dawn. Most of all, she wanted to do every bit of it with him. Brandon Landers. The man she’d once hated.

  Why had she ever felt that way? He’d been more than kind to her and Ma. He’d righted every wrong, soothed every hurt. And now he’d chosen her—poor Anna Simmons—as his companion for the biggest social event of the season. He must know what people would say, that they’d pair the two of them and speculate when the engagement would be announced.

  Her knees weakened at the thought, and she leaned on the kitchen worktable for support. Her hands were trembling. Her head grew light; the stove began to blur.

  “Are you all right?” He reached an arm around her waist and gently led her to a chair.

  She didn’t want to sit. She didn’t want to leave his arms. Such strength. The spicy scent of a man filled her senses and cleared her head. She looked up into those gray eyes, still dark and filled with concern.

  “Please sit,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”

  “I’m better now,” she whispered, making no move to leave his embrace.

  His right hand braced her upper back while the left cradled her elbow. How easy it would be to slip her arms around his neck, to close her eyes and feel his lips on hers. Would he? Her heart nearly stopped beating. His eyes had grown darker, reflecting only her. His expression softened, and his lips, oh, his lips. If only he would kiss her.

  She let her eyelids drift almost shut, leaving just enough of a slit so she could see if he was leaning toward her. At first he did nothing, and then slowly he drew closer. She stopped breathing and shut her eyes, waiting for the moment she’d dreamed about all her life.

  Instead, he cleared his throat. “The chair is right behind you.”

  Her lids flew open, and she saw a look of bemusement on his face. He didn’t laugh at her or call her silly, but she felt the sting anyway.

  What a fool she was.

  * * *

  “It doesn’t matter what I wear when I look like a maid,” Anna cried as she helped Mariah wash the dishes after putting the orphans to bed. Between cooking and cleaning at Brandon’s house, working at the bookstore and helping out occasionally at the orphanage, her hands were raw and chapped. Certainly not the hands of a lady.

  The Valentine’s Ball was just a week away, and she looked a fright.

  “My hair isn’t stylish,” she moaned at she wiped the last plate dry. “No one wears long hair anymore.”

  “Mrs. Shea and Mrs. Evans do.”

  “They’re old.” Anna looked hopefully to her sister-in-law. “Will you cut my hair? I want mine bobbed like yours.”

  “Are you sure? Bobs might be practical for some of us, but most men prefer long hair.”

  “Hendrick likes your hair short.”

  Mariah laughed. “Oh, he�
�d prefer long hair if he had his way. Keep yours long. It’s so beautiful.”

  “It’s dull and drab. Plain old brown, not brunette or blonde.” She looked at her reflection in the polished steel of a soup ladle. “Sally Neidecker has a bob.”

  “I wouldn’t put any stock in what Sally thinks or does. I’ve seen Brandon admiring your hair.”

  “You have?” The thought sent a flush of heat to her cheeks. “Do you think he likes it?”

  “I know he does.” Mariah handed her a soapy pot. “He’s a traditional kind of man. He’d prefer an elegant chignon over a bob.”

  Anna dunked the pot in the rinse water. “I don’t think I can look elegant.”

  “Don’t fret. I’ll help you get ready. Hendrick can watch the children for one night.”

  Hendrick. The thought of her brother sent a chill down Anna’s spine. “Does he know that Brandon invited me to the ball?”

  “Of course.”

  “He doesn’t like Brandon.”

  “Nonsense.” But Mariah didn’t look at her when she said it. “He’s just cautious. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Brandon would never hurt me,” Anna said, though doubts immediately followed her words. He did have a habit of pulling away whenever they got close. “Can you convince Hendrick of that?”

  Mariah lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m a miracle worker?”

  Anna couldn’t help but laugh.

  Mariah touched her hand. “Seriously, don’t worry about your brother. He’ll come around. It’ll just take time.”

  Anna hoped she was right.

  “While we finish up here, let’s plan our preparations.” Mariah handed her another pot. “If you come here to dress, I’ll style your hair.”

  “Dress?” Anna lost hold of the pot, and it clattered to the floor. “I don’t have a dress. What will I wear? My Sunday best isn’t good enough for a ball, and I can’t afford to buy a gown.” She picked up the pot and handed it to Mariah, who wiped it clean again.

  “You can borrow one of mine.”