Legacy of Love

  She cast her eyes down, hoping he didn’t see the guilt. “I’ll bring your coffee at once. In the library?”

  “Naturally.” But he eyed her warily as she hurried to the kitchen.

  * * *

  Brandon could have stayed with Anna all day, but he had a nine o’clock appointment at the bank, where he hoped to learn if he would receive the loan that would keep the bookstore open.

  Her concerns about Reggie amounted to nothing. The greater problem was Reggie’s expulsion from college. In comparison, a little treasure hunting was child’s play. Brandon had seen his brother poking around the house, but Reggie wouldn’t find a thing. He’d told his brother that the so-called lost fortune was either hopelessly lost or had been discovered and spent years ago, but Reggie still insisted the fortune existed.

  He sighed as he mounted the steps of the bank. Here was where the necessary money could be found, but it would come at a price. That’s what treasure hunters always forgot—that any find had its cost. Mr. Carter was learning that in Egypt as the press denounced his exclusive agreement with The Times, dignitaries streamed in for a look and the antiquities service tightened its oversight. Any peace the man had enjoyed before the find was gone. Few men counted the cost. He liked to think he was one.

  Mr. Shea showed him into the pristine office with the massive walnut desk. No loose papers littered the top. The polished wood reflected the bank manager’s deep-set frown.

  Shea opened the file before him. “The balance will be due in six months.” He laid out the terms of the loan with precise detail.

  Brandon tried not to show his dismay. The interest rate was exorbitant, the term of the note far too short. He could never turn a profit in that short a time, not if he employed Anna. When she’d asked if she could return to the bookstore this morning, he so wanted to tell her yes, but she needed stable employment, not the pittance he could offer.

  “Six months?” Brandon needed some give on the bank’s part, and he knew enough about business to realize he wouldn’t get it unless he assured them his plan would benefit the bank in the long run. “Employment is key to Pearlman’s growth, is it not?”

  Shea nodded warily.

  “I hope to rehire Miss Simmons.” He searched his memory for some personal tie that would spark Shea’s interest. The man was old enough for grandchildren. “And perhaps a stock boy.”

  Shea’s somber expression flickered just enough to tell Brandon he’d hit on something, and just in time. He needed this loan.

  “A stock boy, eh?” Shea stroked his chin. “My grandson might fill the bill. He’s sixteen and the brightest lad in his class.”

  Thank God. Brandon could have kissed Shea for having a grandson. “Then you’ll understand why I need a longer term. I’d rather put the profits back into the community through employment until the store has a solid toehold. I’m thinking five years would be adequate.”

  Shea countered, “One year.”

  “Four.”

  In the end, they settled on two years, which at least gave him a chance. He could order the popular novels and children’s books and rehire Anna. She’d have brilliant ideas for promoting the new section. She would draw in customers.

  “You do understand that a longer term will require greater commitment,” Shea said.

  His spirits fell. “What sort of commitment?”

  Shea looked him in the eye. “More collateral. Your house, for instance, unless you have other property of equal value.”

  Brandon choked. If he defaulted, he’d lose everything. The bookstore would close. The house would go on the market, and he’d head for Detroit, where he’d lease a room and look for employment as a clerk. Not the sort of life he would ask any woman to endure, least of all Anna. At twenty, she had her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t need to be tied to a man with no prospects.

  On the other hand, he could only win her heart by making a go of the store. That meant taking the risk.

  He nodded his assent. “The house it is.”

  “I’ll have to take it to the board again.” This time when he rose, Shea didn’t smile. He knew what Brandon was laying on the table. “I won’t lie to you, Mr. Landers. Some on the board feel there’s no need for a bookstore, since the mercantile already carries a good selection of books.”

  Kensington Mercantile, owned by the same man who owned this bank. Oh, Mr. Kensington might be all smiles and handshakes at family dinners, but beneath that he must be a ruthless businessman. That’s the only way one man could own half this town. No doubt Kensington chaired the bank board.

  “To your benefit, one of the board members has always been fascinated by your house,” Shea continued.

  Brandon could guess which one.

  Shea continued, “Putting it up as collateral should make the difference.” He held out his hand. “I’d say you have a good chance.”

  Chance was not what Brandon wanted to rely upon, but at this point he had little choice. More and more he knew that he wanted a life with Anna. To get the reward, he must take the risk.

  So, he shook Shea’s hand. “Thank you for your help. I’ll look forward to a positive response. When do you expect an answer?”

  “Early next week.”

  Brandon breathed out. Soon he would know if he’d have a chance to claim that life. Soon he could tell Anna how he really felt.

  * * *

  Reggie left the house early that day, before noon. After he’d disappeared down the driveway, Anna rushed to the library to clear the coffee service and figure out what he’d done that morning. On every other day, she’d found nothing, but today she discovered the little book Ma had given Brandon sitting on the desk. Reggie had left it open and upside down as if interrupted while reading.

  That was odd. The telephone hadn’t rung. Nothing could have prompted him to rush away unless he suddenly recalled he had an appointment. That must be it. Or he telephoned someone who had demanded he come at once. She could imagine who. Sally Neidecker. Whatever the cause, he’d rushed off without replacing the book.

  Naturally she picked it up to see what he was reading. The text was dense and footnoted, something she wouldn’t have expected from Mrs. Neidecker. Her former employer, who now strove to outdo the Kensingtons, must have received a college education.

  Anna sank into Brandon’s chair. The soft leather warmed to her body, and she could smell him there. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of leather and lemon-oil mixed with something exotic that she couldn’t quite place. It reminded her of antiquities and adventure and places she longed to explore.

  The house creaked, and her eyelids flew open. She held her breath and listened, but nothing followed.

  The house was forever creaking and groaning. She supposed that’s what old houses did, especially old houses that hadn’t been heated in many years. After two months working here, she should be used to it, but every time one of the sharper reports sounded, she wondered if the house would tumble down. Just to be safe, she opened the door wide.

  No one was in the hallway, so she shook off her unease and returned to the book. Reggie had left off in the early part of the history, after Mrs. Neidecker’s speculation on Indian settlements and her more definitive narrative of the first white settlers.

  The town had apparently been founded in 1838 by a Mr. Norris. The town’s original name had, naturally, been Norristown, but after drawing friends and neighbors to the settlement and building a mill, he’d absconded with the money they’d paid him to grind their grain. Those cheated neighbors had discovered the millworks incomplete and had nearly abandoned the town until the preacher, a Mr. Lyman, had declared the area a “pearl without price” and convinced the settlers to stay. They pooled what resources they had left and got the mill running. Their flour brought an unexpectedly high price, and in thanksgiving for God’s
providence, they renamed the town Pearlman.

  The story was fascinating, but it certainly didn’t have anything to do with a buried treasure. She scanned the opposite page, and her eye caught a tiny pencil mark in the margin. Why hadn’t she seen that before? That line of text referred to a specific book on the Underground Railroad.

  She scrunched her brow and thought. She’d seen that title before, but where? At the bookstore or here? Brandon had a huge collection, enough to populate the store while still leaving his library’s shelves half-full. The book in question had a green cover. That she could remember. She could recall the gold embossing of the title and the wear along the edge of the cover from being handled. It was a thick book, two inches wide at the spine, but short in height, like a novel.

  She rose and walked around the library, scanning each shelf for the right color binding and thickness. My, he had a lot of books with green covers. When she reached each one, she checked the title. For the highest shelves, that required climbing the stool.

  While examining a book on the highest shelf, the house creaked again.

  That sounded like a floorboard.

  She looked around nervously. What if Brandon returned and found her going through his books? He’d let her read them if she asked, but he did not want her to look for the lost fortune. That was the one thing they did not agree on, but he’d change his mind once she handed him the money. The bookstore could stay open. That worried frown would vanish from his brow. He’d take her in his arms and whirl her about. Maybe he’d even kiss her again.

  She touched a finger to her lips, remembering the thrill of his touch and the incredible joy that had followed. Nothing could ever mean more than helping him keep his dream alive. That bookstore was his dream as much as searching for antiquities had been hers. So much had changed since he arrived. She no longer cared about antiquities except as an interest that she and Brandon shared. The most important thing was keeping Brandon in Pearlman. To do that, she must find the money before Reggie did.

  Another creak came from outside the room.

  She waited for what seemed like ages, breath bated, but didn’t hear another sound. To make sure, she replaced the volume, which wasn’t the book she sought, and checked the hallway.

  Nothing.

  It must be the house groaning. But she couldn’t shake the jitters. The sooner she found this book, the better.

  The clock now read eleven forty-five. By the time she got halfway through the shelves, it had chimed noon.

  Then, like a pearl in the midst of sand, there it was, slightly pulled out, as if someone had hastily put it back without bothering to align the spine. That someone could not have been Brandon. He always made sure each book was exactly in line with the edge of the shelf. Anna appreciated that when she dusted. This book stuck out a half inch. Reggie must have shoved it back in a hurry. Maybe that’s why he’d left so early today. He’d found a clue to the treasure’s hiding place and needed to tell Sally.

  Breathless, Anna pulled the volume from the middle shelf. The answer must be here, yet it was cryptic enough that Reggie couldn’t figure it out without Sally’s help. Anna’s gut clenched. If Sally got her hands on the money, she’d never let it go.

  Hands shaking, she carried the book to the sofa. Where to begin? She supposed in the early 1840s, since the Pearlman history had been left open at that date. She checked the table of contents and leafed to the proper chapter, which talked about the founding of stations on the Underground Railroad and how they used code names rather than actual place names to preserve their secrecy. One of the popular routes led north from various points and culminated in Detroit, which bore the code name midnight.

  Anna grew more and more frustrated as she read. What did this have to do with treasure? It didn’t even mention Pearlman. Most of the places listed were in states south of Michigan. No maps. No mention of hidden money. There were horrifying tales of slave hunters, a sort of bounty hunter who was paid to retrieve runaway slaves. When caught, the runaway faced brutal punishment.

  She turned page after page, hoping for some clue to what Reggie had found, but it was all about the struggle between slave owners and abolitionists. In frustration, she slammed the book shut, dispirited. This didn’t make sense. Why would Reggie care about the Underground Railroad and what did it have to do with hidden treasure?

  Nothing, as far as she could see.

  A tear trickled down her cheek and fell on top of the closed book. Oh, dear. It wouldn’t do for Brandon to find tearstains on the edges of his book. He’d be furious. She brushed the dampness off the book and as she did, felt something rough. Upon closer examination, she saw a bit of paper a tiny bit higher than the edge of the pages.

  That must be it!

  Trembling with excitement, she opened the book and leafed through the pages until she got to the spot. Tucked inside, its edge barely above the top of the page, she found a yellowed newspaper article. It had been folded once.

  Carefully she opened it. The headline, dated October of 1918, read, “Entire Platoon Lost.” A photograph of the group of doughboys, young and eager, nestled amid the text. Her heart sank. This didn’t have anything to do with treasure. It was a war story. She refolded the article and began to put it back in the book when she realized that one face in that photograph looked a little familiar.

  She unfolded the newsprint again and held it under the lamp. Yes, that was Edward Naughton, but neither Brandon nor Reggie would know him. So why put a copy of this article in the book? Why keep it at all?

  Curious, she read, and soon all thought of treasure vanished. She dropped the article to her lap, shocked. Now she knew what had happened to Brandon in the war and why it tormented his soul. His whole platoon lost.

  Her heart ached for him. Now Reggie was spending time with Sally and working against his brother. Everyone was against him. Well, not her. She would stand with Brandon.

  How, Lord? She lifted her concerns up in prayer and waited for God to answer.

  When nothing came to mind, she read the article again, and this time a ray of hope darted into her mind. She could help him, but to do so, she must face Mrs. Neidecker and persuade her to help. It seemed impossible, but with God, all things were possible.

  Again, a floorboard creaked, this time very close. It sounded like it came from directly behind her.

  Her pulse raced as she whipped around to look.

  Nothing.

  She slowly scanned the room.

  No one.

  The library offered few places to hide. Even the heavy curtains didn’t reach to the floor. The desk hid no one. She eyed the open door. Someone could be in the hallway.

  She tucked the newspaper article in her apron pocket and put the book back on the shelf. Slowly, alert to every sound, she inched toward the open door. All she could hear was the sound of her heart pounding against her ribs. Every footfall echoed.

  At last she reached the doorway. Her mouth was dry. Her knees shook. She clung to the doorframe and leaned her head out just far enough to look.

  Nothing to the left. Nothing to the right.

  Naturally. She raced back to the window. Maybe the intruder had left.

  Snow was coming down heavier now, creating a blanket of unbroken white. No car. No footprints. No one had come into the house since Reggie left. Even his footprints had filled with snow.

  She laughed at her foolish imagination. Clearly she’d been spending too much time dreaming up mysteries where there weren’t any and treasures that didn’t exist.

  The house was simply creaking and groaning in the coldness and dry air. After settling her nerves, she picked up the coffee service. She’d take this to the kitchen and rinse it out before putting the top-loin roast in the oven for supper. While it cooked, she’d consult Ma about the article. The housecleaning could wait until tomorrow. Somet
hing much more important needed to be resolved this afternoon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brandon whistled as he drove home. Despite the oppressive terms of the loan agreement, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He’d rehire Anna the moment he got back. He could imagine her smile of joy, that spark of excitement in her eyes.

  Snow was falling heavily, coating the limbs with that sticky snow that looked like a Currier and Ives lithograph. Pearlman. Home. If events transpired as he hoped they would, he’d never leave here.

  As he drove up the hill past all the regal homes of Pearlman’s elite, it struck him how much he enjoyed having Anna and her mother so near. Those long discussions with Mrs. Simmons had stretched him intellectually and maybe even spiritually. She was a wily one, coming at him from every angle with her argument that he should rejoin the church. She never pressured and always spoke her piece with a warm smile. He’d known from the first day that he’d never win. Faith trumped persuasion every time. As soon as he signed the loan and had Anna back, he’d go to church. Anna and her mother would like that.

  The tires skidded as he turned into the driveway. He’d have to choose his steps carefully between the car and the house. To be safe, he parked as close to the front steps as he dared. Lights blazed in the windows, welcoming him home. Home. None of his family had ever called this house home, but then none of them had a woman like Anna in their lives.

  She could drive away the numbing chill of a winter’s day. He had to admit he looked forward to seeing her, even on his worst days. Since he was arriving home early, she would be in the kitchen preparing supper. Usually he tried to stay clear and provide the proper distance so there wouldn’t be any impropriety, but today was different.

  Today he’d give her back her job. And when the loan approval came in, he’d celebrate properly by inviting her to dine with him at Lily’s, the only restaurant in town. It might even be a sort of date. His heart warmed as he shut off the motor and prepared to exit the motorcar.