Sure as the sun would set over the waters of Little Traverse Bay on Lake Michigan, the two young ladies sitting in the Hills’ parlor were proof of Sam’s determination. Aunt Maud quite enjoyed the parade of young ladies since she had no children of her own. Wesley’s aunt had longed for a daughter, but instead had been a marvelous mother to Wesley after the death of his parents. Watching her now, engaged in small talk, made it all the harder to stop Sam’s escapades when he saw how much she loved the company of each young lady. Aunt Maud was the sort of lovely woman that lavished her heart on everyone, and he loved her for it.
It was Uncle Bernard’s more hard-nosed demeanor that gripped Wesley with dread. The man was driven to make Bay View the most popular Chautauqua in the nation, one which published a widely read magazine and drew diverse, famous speakers and well-known performers, while building the first onsite accredited academy. He was obsessed with the idea of transforming Bay View from a cluster of Methodist tent meetings along the bay to an up-and-coming academic powerhouse, poised to enter the twentieth century. Some said he’d sacrifice heart and spirit for the prestige, power, and ideals of his quest. Why, he could even boast that his efforts brought the likes of the nation’s vice presidents to summer in the grandest hotel overlooking the bay.
Tonight, instead of his usual distraction with the latest political column of the newspaper, Uncle Bernard’s voice rose to a tone he used when clinching difficult deals with the Association board of directors or working a stump speech in a fund-raising campaign.
“Well, Wesley, I’m glad to see you value punctuality at least a little.” The barbed chiding belied his uncle’s smile as he turned to introduce the lady assigned Wesley’s courtship for the evening. “I’ve been anxious for you to meet this lovely young lady, Miss Mary Reed. The two of you have many passions in common, and I should think you’d want to be on your way. I’m afraid I’ve quite talked you up, and you’re sure to take a liking to each other.”
One sideways glance at Sam confirmed friend and family alike were out to settle a match with the girl as if she were the daughter of William Jennings Bryan or the heir of General Custer. As if her social standing had anything at all to do with her substance.
Because wits or not, her appearance had nothing on the vision still fogging his mind or the spirit that was already infecting his soul—the vision and essence of the library princess Magdalena Abbott.
Chapter Two
A parcel came in the mail this morning.” Miss Eloise, the library matron, peered over the wire rims of her spectacles at Maggie.
“Oh? Shall I fetch it?” Maggie stood from the chair of her library desk, ready for a walk to the post office and a bit of fresh northern air.
“No need. You may sit.” Miss Eloise paused, letting the air fill with anticipation before she laid the brown-wrapped package on the desk with a quizzical look on her softly wrinkled face. “It’s addressed to you, and the return address is a Mister W. G. Hill, the Third. Do you know this man?” Her left eyebrow rose with the motherly tone of inquisition in her voice.
Maggie slid her fingers under the sealed edge of the large envelope, her heart fluttering at the remembrance of their exchange. “I’ve only met him once. He’s from the Literary Reading Circle.” The contents of the letter spread on the desk before her, the reading assignment he’d spoken about. “I’m to pull the items he requests, read them, and be ready to discuss them.” She scanned the list, aware that Miss Eloise was still peering over the rim of her glasses at the papers.
“And when might this young chap be seeing you again for this arrangement of—of academic study?”
Maggie finally looked up from the list to face the gaze of the woman who had been her surrogate mother for the last decade since her mother’s passing. “I haven’t a clue. He didn’t say.”
Miss Eloise’s countenance shifted. “Got you on the string, has he?”
“Oh, Miss Eloise, it’s not like that at all.” Maggie stood and gathered the papers to her chest, fully aware she sounded as if she were about to beg. “It’s as if I’d finally be like all the other academy girls.” She sighed, shoulders sagging as she looked at the list before her then back to Miss Eloise’s face again. What she hoped to find in the older woman’s gaze Maggie wasn’t sure, for it wasn’t as if she required the woman’s permission.
“But what I love most about you, dear girl, is precisely that you are not like all the other young ladies in Bay View.”
“I can do the assignments and still fulfill my obligations. I promise.” Maggie’s heart slipped a little at the reminder of her place in society, for she had vowed not to let it define her. No matter how well rounded Bay View’s popular Chautauqua ideals, Maggie was ever aware of the reality that hard work and an education were her only avenues to secure a future.
“You’ll still be expected to keep your post at the checkout desk.”
“Of course.” Maggie held her breath, as if Miss Eloise’s approval was enough to justify the indulgence of such a dream. It was what she loved most about her mentor—that she had always encouraged learning and dreaming.
“How will you find enough time to read it all? And your father—you’ll be finished in time to make him dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Have you explained this arrangement to him?”
“Not yet.” She would tell Father, of course. “It may be just this once unless Mr. Hill deems the results good enough to publish. I won’t let it interfere with my responsibilities at work or at home.” But she couldn’t keep a begging tone from lacing her words. Learning like the academy girls was the one dream she’d harbored forever, but it was too costly and Miss Eloise knew it. If the woman didn’t give her approval, any act of defiance would be a poison between them Maggie could never abide.
“How did you meet this man, what’s his name?”
“Wesley. Mister Wesley Hill.” She braced inwardly for the coming reaction.
“Mr. Hill’s nephew?” Miss Eloise’s eyes twinkled with a gleam of pride before she cleared her voice. “Well I suppose we should accommodate his request. How did this personal arrangement come about?”
“After hours.” Thinking twice about her words, Maggie stumbled onward. “I mean, I’d forgotten to lock the front door promptly, and he just appeared. I suppose I’d gotten a wee bit absorbed in a novel.” Rushing on before the head librarian changed her mind, Maggie swept around the desk and continued. “Oh, but have you read The Time Machine? It’s simply delicious. Anyone with an imagination worth having would agree.”
“Yes, yes, of course, but I should think the assignment will be much more academic than such fanciful fiction. I suppose he’ll return at much the same time so the two of you will have a moment to discuss your readings?”
Maggie bit her lip, feeling ridiculous that the fact that she would be alone with him hadn’t occurred to her, knowing she should have a proper chaperone. She held her breath, not wanting to ask a favor from the old library matron whose once-steady feet had begun to shuffle with the limp of hip pain. Her beloved Miss Eloise had begun to look older than her seventy years but insisted upon remaining at her post. Would it be too much for her to extend her hours for the arrangement? Maggie dared not ask, but she couldn’t keep the pleading from her eyes as she awaited Miss Eloise’s response. She’d never wanted anything more.
“I suppose I can stay late.”
“Oh, thank you!” Maggie’s voice squeaked loud, echoing across the library hall as she engulfed Miss Eloise’s squishy shoulders in an embrace and kissed her on the cheek.
“Hush now, it’s not as if I’ve moved the stars and moon.” Her voice was somewhat stern, but the twinkle in her old eyes melted Maggie.
For it seemed the stars and moon had shifted in her universe.
Maggie gathered the list of assigned reading and turned toward the bookshelves, then hesitated. “Oh, and Miss Eloise?”
Miss Eloise held her with gray eyes. When had the dear woman’s hair turned
such pure silver?
“Thank you.”
Wesley couldn’t shake the mood that had stayed with him since he’d overslept and rushed off to the office for the day. The cloudy images of his late mother’s face had been so real in his dreams. She had spoken to him this time, but he couldn’t make out her words. The urgency of her appearance stayed with him, reminding him that Aunt Maud’s faith—much like his mother’s—had taught him to listen for the still small voice of God’s Spirit everywhere. Even in dreams.
What if he’d misread Miss Magdalena Abbott’s character?
Breathing an unspoken prayer, Wesley pushed through the front doors of the library and into the silence of the long room. A flame of anticipation of another encounter with the mysterious library princess surged through him, dashing into a pile of ashes when he found the central desk empty and tidy, as if it had been arranged for the end of the day.
Had she forgotten? Or worse, did she lavish her vivacious spirit upon everyone who encountered her, leaving him no more unique than any other? Had he misread the immediate connection? He glanced right and left through the rows of bookshelves, but she was not to be seen.
“You’ll never find the girl you’re waiting for if your requirements are impossible to meet!” Sam’s teasing had been good natured, but Wes refused to believe it. He rang the bell on her desk and waited. His leather satchel suddenly seemed full of bricks. His necktie choked his breath. The yearning to utter his uncertainties aloud and to hear the soft reassurances of his mother’s voice recalled the dream to his mind once more.
“May I be of service?” A gray-haired woman appeared from a side door and stood before him, tipping her head back to look up at him through her spectacles.
“Mister Wesley Hill. I’m looking for a Miss Magdalena Abbott.”
“She’s been expecting you.” The woman studied his response for a moment. “Along the south window there is a study desk. She’s waiting there with the materials you requested.”
Relief and exhilaration warred within—such an inner battle of breath and heart rate had never occurred with any of the ladies Sam had brought for an outing. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Yes sir. I’ll be in my office nearby.” She fastened eyes on him. “My door shall remain open. I trust your intentions are honorable. Academic study, I believe?”
Wesley tried to read the woman’s features, but they were locked up tight. “Absolutely, ma’am. I give you my word.”
Her lips pinched as she nodded. Wesley was certain a smile and slight wink flashed over her face as she turned back to her office. He made a mental note that the woman was an ally not to be crossed.
Wesley turned the corner toward the south wall where the late afternoon sunshine glowed over the alcove tucked behind a tall bookshelf of reference materials. A large oaken library table sat against the wall near the corner, books littered over it, papers and notes scattered. In the center of the studious mess, Miss Abbott sat, bent over, head on her arms. Sleeping?
He hesitated. Committing the scene to memory first, he cleared his voice.
Her soft breath fluttered a sheet of paper.
Stepping closer, he shuffled his feet a bit louder and set his leather satchel on the table across from her.
The library princess jolted upright and shot out of her chair. “Oh, Mr. Hill. I’ve read every last word of the assigned works you’ve requested. I’ve made notes and compiled questions for discussion points.” She flitted around the table, shuffling papers into piles. “It’s taken me all week, but I finished just today.” Arranging notes with each book, stacking them neatly, she gathered all of them into her arms and faced him. She glanced at his satchel as if only just realizing the materials would never fit, then looked up once again.
Sleep lines crossed her cheek. Her hair was neatly arranged in a smart style that framed her heart-shaped face.
“I intended to review the work with you, did you forget?” Wesley waited. The usual silence of the library seemed full of music to him, as if she were the reason for it. Her nervous rushing words, followed by a pause when her eyes matched his, affected him like a rich mellow orchestra. He couldn’t have been wrong about her. He reached to rescue the books slipping from her arms.
“Of course, you did say that.” She let out a nervous breath.
“Please, show me your work.” He pulled a chair out across from her and spread out the outlines she’d made. The pages were filled with her neat handwriting, arranged in perfect order. “Please, sit with me.”
“Certainly. I suppose I’m a bit anxious, Mr. Hill.
“Wesley.”
Her cheeks brightened. “Maggie.” She smiled without pretense.
Motioning her to sit, he assisted her closer to the table before taking his seat across from her.
“What do you want to know?” She ran her fingers over the gilded design of the novel in front of her.
Everything. I want to know everything about you. Wesley swallowed. “Tell me what you loved.”
“The English course study.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I loved everything about it, especially the story of England, the one by Mary Parmele—the histories that traced back to Scotland and Ireland were incredible.” Instead of gestures of practiced etiquette, her hands fingered through the pages of notes. Referring to her outlines, she easily poured out her thoughts and questions with hardly a pause. Her delight in the process was more than obvious—it was infectious and absorbed him effortlessly into the world of words, essays, and works of poetry. Her retelling of the review was unlike any dry lecture he’d ever given and more like she’d taken him with her on a train ride through the English countryside.
So vibrantly real was Maggie’s imagination, Wesley was convinced that no matter the topic, she could never bore him. Time slid into oblivion, taking him deeper in discussion with her until the wall clock rang six o’clock. The chime broke their exchange all too soon.
“I must go.” Her voice clipped as she tucked her handbag beneath her arm and all too abruptly bid him good evening. Her skirt swished as she twirled and started down the hall without another word, not even pausing for his response.
“Wait, Maggie.” Wesley rushed to follow her. “I’ll walk you home.”
“No.” The answer flipped out, erasing her earlier casual ease with a nervous exit. “I’m meeting someone.”
“You have an escort then.”
“Yes.” She stopped and turned, anxious as a mouse caught by a tomcat. Heavens, he wasn’t going to pounce at her. Yet the more he backed away from her, the more relieved she appeared until she disappeared through the front doors of the library and was gone.
Maggie Abbott. He closed his eyes as if memorizing everything about her could make her reappear.
One thing was clear.
He hadn’t been wrong about her.
Chapter Three
Maggie grabbed the pole of the streetcar and jumped on board just as it eased into the street and made the all-too-familiar turn away from Bay View and up the hill toward Petoskey. Ducking between other passengers, she tossed a quick glance behind her. Nowhere did she see Wesley’s tall frame and broad shoulders. Relief vied with disappointment, leaving her in a twist of emotions she couldn’t sort.
Stopping at the Lewis Street Suburban station, the streetcar emptied of Petoskey travelers, mostly a mix of Bay View workers and tourists who stayed at the Cushman Hotel when attending lectures in Bay View. Maggie wound through the crowd toward the long stairway from the back end of the alley to her apartment. At the top of the steps she fumbled for the key to the rooms above Easton’s Hardware Store where she and her father boarded. She quickly let herself in, the quietness telling her she’d made it home before her father but had precious little time before he would appear.
Slicing some corned beef and a piece of bread, she lit the stove and took down the cast iron skillet from its place on the shelf. No cupboard graced their kitchen. Only an old dry sink, an icebox, and a miniature four-burner st
ove. Turning the flame to low, she placed the beef in the pan and turned to her room to change out of her one and only good shirtwaist. She dared not get grease on it. Running her hand over the linen and lace front, she hung it on a hanger from the back of the door and slipped out of the navy skirt.
“This roast beef will be black as tar if you don’t flip it soon, rosebud.”
“Corned beef, Papa. It’s the cheapest meat the butcher has.” Meeting her father in the kitchen, she threw her arms around him.
He buried his whiskers in her neck until she giggled.
“You smell like grass.”
“I clipped the lawn in front of the hotel today.”
“But I thought Stafford’s Place Hotel had their own lawn man and you would be left to tend the gardens. How are your knees? Did they take all that bending okay, or was it like a beating?”
“Aw, don’t worry about me, rosebud. The boss promised to have me back on the gardens tomorrow. The regular lawn man didn’t show up today. So I did his job and my job.”
“More pay, I hope—to cover the cost of the extra laundry it’ll cost us. Look at your knees, all grass stained.”
“Don’t you worry about money. I’ve been saving a little back when I can. Besides, I saw Mrs. Campbell on my way to get the streetcar and she says her roses need pruning. She’ll pay me a little.”
“You mean with huckleberry pie?” Maggie winked at her father, who never gave up evidence if he’d eaten wild blueberry pie from Mrs. Campbell right before the dinner hour. He still ate as heartily as if he were starving, and she loved him in spite of the naughtiness of breaking Mama’s rule of no dessert before dinner. She could still see the look of love on her mama’s face long ago when she had chided him with a smile.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 50