Legacy of Love

“I doubt either one would take money away from their sister. Hendrick Simmons is busy starting up his new aeroplane-engine plant, and Peter is managing the garage, but I’m sure one or the other could make time for a little construction.”

Simmons? Brandon stiffened. That was the last name he wanted to hear. Once he delivered the envelope, none of them would have a thing to do with him. They certainly wouldn’t work for him, not at any price.

Chapter Two

“You quit?” Ma froze, her soup spoon poised in midair.

Anna pushed her chair away from the rickety kitchen table. The potato, rutabaga and salt pork stew that had smelled so good minutes before now turned her stomach.

“You can’t just walk out,” Ma insisted.

“I’ll get another job.

“That’s not the point, dearest. Mrs. Neidecker was counting on you.”

Anna couldn’t look her mother in the eye. “I finished the day’s work. Everything’s ready for her Christmas party. All she has to do is hire someone to clean up.”

Ma shook her head. “A Simmons always finishes the job. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Though Anna’s mother was short on stature, she was long on resolve. “I’m perfectly capable. Mrs. Vanderloo doesn’t expect me until Thursday.”

Anna hated that Ma was always right. “Well, you can’t wear that skimpy uniform, for one thing.”

“Evelyn would never ask me to wear something that wasn’t modest.”

Anna wasn’t so sure. Mrs. Neidecker had got it into her head that her house should look like the Rockefellers lived there. That meant maids in fancy uniforms and Graves, the butler, in a tuxedo. Apparently she’d seen pictures of some rich person’s house in a ladies’ magazine.

Ma squeezed Anna’s hand. “We need the money.”

That much was true. Ma’s hours at the Vanderloo house had been trimmed, and the Williamses dropped her in favor of a girl who accepted half the pay. Now, Anna had quit her job. She ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Now, don’t you fret. We still have the money your brother gives us each month. I hate to accept it, now that he has a family to support, but it can’t be helped.”

“I’ll get a job at the Belvidere cannery. I heard they’re paying a dollar an hour.”

Ma’s gentle smile faded. “But I need you here. You’re my only daughter. What would I do without you?” She brushed a strand of hair off Anna’s forehead as if she were still a child.

“It’s only Belvidere.” Ma meant well, but Anna hated being coddled. “I’ll take the train back and forth each day.”

“But you wouldn’t be home as much. I hear the cannery works its people long hours and then the train ride on top of that. I’d hardly ever see you. Please stay. For me?”

That was the problem. All of Anna’s friends had moved on to bigger and better things, but she was still stuck in Pearlman, living with her mother, with no future in sight. At the age of twenty, she hadn’t even had a real beau yet. Oh, she’d fallen for men, disastrously, but they either didn’t notice her or fell in love with someone else.

That man in the mercantile, the one opening the new bookstore, would turn out just like the rest. She couldn’t wait for someone to sweep her off her feet. She had to take care of her own future. That meant getting a good-paying job.

“The only jobs that pay well are at the cannery,” Anna pointed out. “If I get a job there, we won’t have to take money from Hendrick anymore.”

Ma heaved a sigh, which signaled she’d come around to Anna’s way of thinking. “I suppose we have no choice then, but I hate the idea of you riding all alone on the train every day. I wish your father were here. He’d know what to do.”

If Papa hadn’t died, Ma wouldn’t have had to struggle raising two children, and Hendrick wouldn’t have had to quit school in the eighth grade to take over the garage. Everything would have been different. Anna might have been able to go to college. She wouldn’t have worn homemade dresses sewn out of the scraps from Mrs. Fox’s dress shop. But Papa had died—horribly. She shuddered, and shoved the memory into a dark corner of her mind.

Ma must have been thinking about him too, because she sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

Anna hugged her. “Papa was the best of men. He would have taken care of us.”

“He always did.”

Anna was so caught up in the painful memories that the knock on the door didn’t register right away.

Ma noticed it first. “I wonder who that is.” Her eyes grew round. “I hope nothing happened at the plant.”

Fear ricocheted. All that machinery at her brother’s new aeroplane-motor factory. The open belts and whirling lathes. The infernal racket. What if a belt caught Hendrick’s arm? What if a heavy machine fell on him?

A blinding memory—one she desperately wanted to forget—shot through her head. The truck falling, her father’s body jerking from the impact, the cry... She pressed her hands to her ears and squeezed her eyes shut to make it go away.

“Are you all right, dear?” Ma asked gently.

Anna shook off the memory with a forced smile. “I’m fine.”

The knock sounded again, loud and firm.

Ma rose. “I’ll get it.”

Anna’s pulse accelerated. What if something had happened to Hendrick? She couldn’t let Ma hear the bad news first. She leaped to her feet and reached the door first.

The next knock rattled the hinges and made the knob jump in her hand.

“All right,” she snapped, yanking the door open. “There’s no need to pound down the—” But the last word stuck on her tongue, for before her stood the distinguished gentleman from the mercantile.

This wasn’t bad news at all. He’d come to talk to her. Perhaps he’d brought her the archaeology book.

“Oh. You.” The minute the words left her lips, Anna blushed. A scholar wanted intellectual conversation, not some moony girl who couldn’t string two words together.

Yet he looked as taken aback as she was stupefied. “You’re Miss Simmons? Or do I have the wrong address? This is 502 Main Street?”

“Yes, it is.” What on earth did the address have to do with dropping off a book? “I’m Anna Simmons.”

If anything, he looked even more distressed.

“And I’m Mrs. Simmons,” said Ma from behind her. “Do I know you? You look a little familiar, but I’m afraid my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.”

His discomfort eased a bit when he saw Ma. “You knew my father, Percival Landers. I’m his eldest son, Brandon.”

“Little Brandon?” Ma pushed past Anna. “The last time I saw you, your parents still summered here. You couldn’t have been more than twelve and barely reached my shoulder. You laughed all the time.”

Anna lifted her eyebrows. Clearly, he’d outgrown the laugh.

“Then your parents stopped visiting,” Ma continued. “Of course your father would come to town periodically to see how the garage was faring. He was such a kind man, always concerned for us, especially after my husband’s death.” She leaned closer, as if she wanted to tweak his cheeks. Thankfully, he was too tall. “My dear boy, I’m so sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard your father had passed. So young. He couldn’t have been more than sixty. My dear Brandon. I’m so sorry.”

So this was Brandon Landers. Anna had never met him, though Ma had mentioned once or twice that Mr. Landers had two boys. She knew about his father, of course. The elder Landers was a silent business partner of her father’s, though Anna had only seen him a couple times after Papa’s death. He always brought papers for Hendrick to sign and left her brother agitated.

“How is your younger brother?” Ma bubbled on, oblivious to Brandon’s discomfort. “Reginald, is it?”

“He’s fine.”

“And your wife? You must be married by now.”

Anna shot her mother a glare, though she had to admit she wanted to hear the answer. Why hadn’t she considered that Brandon might be married? Because he’d done his own shopping. No married man shopped for groceries.

He shuffled uncomfortably. “No, I’m not married.”

Ma, whose greatest joy in life was matchmaking, didn’t let up. “A fiancée, then? A handsome man like you must be engaged.”

“Ma,” Anna hissed under her breath.

He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not. Please forgive me, but this is not a social call.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Is the man of the house at home?”

“Hendrick?” Anna surveyed the envelope, but he held it so she couldn’t see the address. “Why would you want to talk to him?”

Ma stepped aside. “Do come in, Mr. Brandon, and sit a spell. My son no longer lives here. He married this September and is living at the orphanage, Constance House, with his lovely bride. They’re feeding the children at this hour, so I wouldn’t recommend interrupting, but you can wait here with us and have a cup of tea.”

Brandon Landers in their shabby living room? Anna choked. “I’m sure Mr. Landers has supper waiting for him.”

“My business can wait.” He avoided looking at her.

Oh, dear. The letter brought bad news. Hendrick had put everything into opening his new aeroplane-engine plant. He did not need trouble with the garage. It was their only source of income right now.

Brandon started to tuck the envelope into his coat.

No. Anna couldn’t let him spring bad news on Hendrick. She’d do it. She grabbed the envelope from his hand. “I’ll see my brother gets it.”

Startled, he snatched for the envelope, missed and settled for holding out his hand. “I’d rather deliver it myself.”

She pressed the envelope to her breast. What horrible news was he trying to keep from her? “I’m not a child. If there’s trouble, I can handle it.”

Ma fretted, “What is it? Did your father leave some instructions for Hendrick?”

Perspiration dotted Brandon’s upper lip despite the freezing temperatures. “I’m sorry. My father should have informed you. Someone should have informed you.” His gaze landed on Anna for a second before flitting away.

“Informed us of what?” asked Ma.

Brandon shifted uncomfortably. “I believe it would be best if I deliver the letter to your brother.”

He held out his hand again.

Why did he want this so badly? He must be trying to hide something from her. Anna hesitated long enough to notice that the envelope came from a law firm in Detroit and was addressed to the Simmons family at 502 Main Street in Pearlman, Michigan. Well, she was a member of the Simmons family. She had every right to see this letter too.

She ripped open the envelope. Ma gasped and fluttered her hands with a cry of protest, but Anna would not be deterred. Brandon paled when she pulled out the single sheet of paper. She was right. He was trying to hide something.

“Anna,” Ma reprimanded sharply. “That’s meant for Hendrick.”

“It’s addressed to all of us, the Simmons family, and that includes me.”

“Please don’t,” Brandon pleaded, his palm open.

Anna paid him no notice. She had to know what that letter said. She carried it into the kitchen where there was more light, but as soon as she read the first line, she wished she’d let Brandon Landers give the letter to her brother. She heard the front door open and close.

Ma joined her moments later. “Anna, that was rude. Mr. Landers meant that letter for your brother. I had to assure him I would deliver it to Hendrick tonight, but he wasn’t happy, not at all.”

“I don’t care how he feels. He certainly doesn’t care about us.” Anna dropped the letter on the table. She couldn’t hold it a moment longer. She’d thought Brandon Landers was a hero, but he’d turned out to be the worst sort of villain. “He’s evicting us.”

* * *

Brandon stared at the telephone dial while he waited for his father’s attorney to pick up the line on the other end. The letters and numbers in their brass circles blurred. He leaned his elbows on the desktop and rubbed the fog from his eyes. Should have got more sleep last night. Should have thought of a solution.

Instead, he’d paced all night trying to find a way to keep the Simmonses in the house they’d rented for almost three decades. Mrs. Simmons understood why they had to leave. She’d listened patiently as he explained the terms of the sale his father had negotiated, but her quiet resolve only made him feel worse. He had to help them.

First, he would try to persuade the new owner to extend the deadline.

“MacKenzie here.” The brusque voice of his father’s longtime attorney and executor came on the other end. “What can I do for you, Brandon?”

He hated the attorney’s familiar tone, as if he were part of the family. Perhaps he had wiggled his fingers into Father’s business. Maybe that’s where the money had disappeared. His purchase of the Simmons property was certainly suspicious. He’d said it was just a business venture, that he wanted to open an automobile dealership, that Brandon’s father had made the deal before he’d died, but the man was Father’s attorney and executor. The whole thing smelled rotten. Unfortunately, Brandon had no proof of wrongdoing.

“I need an extension on the Pearlman property on Main and First.” He took a deep breath.

A pause followed. “What sort of extension?”

After weeks of dealing with the attorney, Brandon knew he couldn’t push much. But any little bit would help. “The tenants need more time.”

“You know the contract terms.”

Brandon choked back his impatience. “It’s an elderly woman and her daughter. You can’t put them out at Christmas.”

MacKenzie barely paused. “Your father insisted on those terms.”

Brandon didn’t believe that for a minute. “Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Not only was he keeping the rent unbelievably low, but he sent frequent payments to the family, so why would he sell under such unreasonable terms?”

“Only your father knows.”

“Perfect. And he’s dead.” Once again Brandon choked back his impatience with the slick attorney. “Suppose you make an educated guess.”

“I’m not in the business of speculation, nor would it have been appropriate for him to confide in the buyer.”

Brandon dug the nib of his pen into the blotter. A trace of ink bled into the fibers, making an ugly black mark. “But I can’t force Anna—that is, the tenants—from their home.”

“Then refund the purchase price.”

Brandon growled, “From what you’ve told me, that money was spent. Or did my father have you hide it somewhere?”

“I object to your inference,” MacKenzie retorted. “The contract is ironclad. Fulfill the terms or don’t. The option is yours.”

“But I don’t have the money.”

A pregnant silence followed. “My offer stands. Sign over the deed to your house, and I’ll hand you the property on Main and First.”

Brandon suspected that’s what MacKenzie wanted all along. “This was never a business venture. You want my house. Well, you won’t get it. A Landers built this house, and a Landers will always own it.”

A click on the line signaled an end to the conversation. Brandon hung the receiver on the cradle and buried his head in his hands. He’d let temper get the better of him and solved nothing.

Lifting his head, he stared dully at the room, hoping for an answer. The library had always been his favorite place in the family’s summer home. The paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookcases had fueled his imagination. He’d spent hours dreaming of secret passages and hidden rooms and poking into every nook and corner without success.

It would be nice if those walls did hide a fortune in gold, but of course the house held no secrets and offered no money.

He slipped the sales contract back into its folder. MacKenzie had mentioned the only possible solution, but Brandon couldn’t give up this house. It and the bookstore were his future.

Brandon ran a hand through his hair. Somehow he had to help Anna and her mother. He pulled the ledger close and stared at the gloomy figures. He had the house, and his brother had been provided for in an untouchable trust, but the rest of the money was gone. With no income and insufficient savings, the best he could do was find Anna and her mother a decent house to rent.

Too bad they couldn’t live here. The house was certainly big enough for two more people. Originally built in the late 1840s, it had undergone so many additions and reconstructions that few people could find the original rooms. Years of neglect had left the heavy velvet drapes white with dust. The dark walnut furniture could use a good oiling to restore the wood’s sheen. At least the sage green wool carpet was in good condition. A relatively recent addition, it had seen no activity after the year he turned eighteen, when the family stopped coming here.

Even before that, the long summers of his youth had trickled to a week or two each year, but after the summer his mother died, no one came back. Now this musty old house was his. No money to keep it up, nothing but dust and cobwebs. He’d have to hire a housekeeper; one who wouldn’t charge too much, considering his cash had sunk to a pitiful low. Anna’s waves of light brown hair floated to mind, and with it came a thought. She cleaned houses. As quickly as he thought of it, he set the idea aside. It wouldn’t work. A young woman and a bachelor? Tongues would wag.

If not Anna, then perhaps her mother would take the position. That minister had said her hours had just been reduced. It was the perfect solution. They could live here.

The idea took root and flowered as he imagined Anna sitting by the fireplace, her blue eyes dancing with excitement as he told her about the latest discoveries in the Valley of the Kings. She’d turn toward him, smile and ask his opinion.

He shook his head. What nonsense! The girl couldn’t possibly find him attractive. What’s more, she’d never agree to live in this house. Even with her mother here, it was too scandalous.

He stared bleakly out the window. Trees lifted their bony limbs to the sky, anxious for the first coat of white. Brown leaves scurried across the brown lawn. The colorless, lifeless landscape sucked any fragments of hope from his soul.

Then a single ray of sunshine highlighted the answer.

The carriage house. Of course.

He shot to his feet. It just might work.

Without bothering to put the ledger back in the desk, he hurried to the front entry and donned his coat, hat and gloves. He could help Anna and her mother after all.

Chapter Three

“Don’t worry,” Ma said with a pat to Anna’s arm. “The Lord will provide.”

Anna bit back a growl of frustration and rose from the kitchen table, the eviction letter in her hand. She’d spent yesterday evening and all morning trying to get her mother to commit to leasing a room at either Terchie’s Boardinghouse or above the drugstore, but Ma would not settle for less than a house.

“For the hundredth time, we can’t afford a house. If you won’t decide, then I will. We’re moving to Terchie’s, and that’s that.”

She crumpled the vile letter, and tossed it into the stove’s firebox.

Ma looked up from her grocery list. “Should you have done that, dearest?”

Though Ma had explained that Brandon’s father was the one who’d sold the house, Anna couldn’t forgive Brandon. He could have renegotiated or done something to change the outcome. After all, he was rich. Instead, he was forcing them from their home at Christmastime.

“We only have twelve days.” Anna laughed bitterly at the irony. “The twelve days of Christmas, only instead of receiving gifts, we’ll sell our belongings.”

“Why on earth would we do that?”

“Because they’ll never fit into a boardinghouse room.”

Pans and dishes filled the kitchen cupboards. Every closet contained linens and clothes and coats and galoshes. And that didn’t even include the attic. Ma had never thrown out Papa’s things. She’d packed them into trunks, which then went into the attic. None of it would fetch more than pennies, but they couldn’t take it with them.

“We’ll hold a sale this Saturday,” Anna stated. “It will be a lot of work, but we can use the money. We’ll put everything we can lift into the living room, and Hendrick and Peter can move the rest.”

“Slow down, dearest. There’s no need to get rid of anything. We have plenty of time to find a house. Besides, this coming Saturday is just two days before Christmas. We can’t hold a sale then.”

“Yes, we can. It’s the perfect time.”

“But you can’t mean to sell your father’s gifts.”

Anna choked back tears at the thought of parting with the dolls Papa had given her, but they didn’t have room for sentimental treasures. “Maybe someone who can’t afford new toys this year can get something from us.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s time a little girl used my old dolls. I won’t be having children anytime soon.”

“Oh, my darling girl. All things in good time. There’s no need to sacrifice your dolls just yet. If we don’t find a house right away, perhaps Mariah and Hendrick will keep them for us at the orphanage.”

“Maybe,” Anna mumbled, ashamed she hadn’t thought of that solution. “The girls there could enjoy them.” She wiped her tears on her sleeve. “But there are still the rest of our things. They won’t fit into a single room.”

“Have patience. There’s no need to lease a room just yet,” Ma insisted. “The Lord will provide exactly what we need.”

“What and how? Tell me exactly, because I don’t see it.”

“Through faith.”

“Faith?” Anna pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead. “Faith is fine, Ma, but God expects us to act. We need to leave this house in twelve days. That’s a fact. We haven’t leased another place to stay. That’s another fact. I don’t see a grand house out there with our name on the signpost, and even if there was, we couldn’t afford it. No, we have to rent a room. Terchie’s Boardinghouse is the best option. If something comes up later, we can move again.”

Ma’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t we wait a bit?”

“No, we can’t. Nor can we expect Hendrick and Mariah to house all our belongings. The orphanage is overfull as it is, and the factory is still under construction. Neither has room for old pots and pans. We’ll hold a sale.”

Ma’s hand shook as she lifted a tin soldier from the shelf above the table. From Anna’s favorite doll to Papa’s anniversary gifts to Ma, this shelf traced a lifetime of memories. The toy soldier’s paint had flecked off long ago. “Your father gave this to your brother on his seventh birthday—before you were born,” Ma mused. “He saved every penny so he could buy it. Hendrick loved this soldier. He should have it.” She cupped the toy in the palm of her hand. “Your brother wanted to join the war, but I was so grateful they wouldn’t let him enlist.” Tears misted her eyes.

Now she’d done it. Anna hadn’t meant to make her mother cry.

“I’m sorry, Ma.” Anna wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders.

“Good memories.” Ma kissed the top of her head. “I pray you find as wonderful a man as I did.”

Ma still missed Papa terribly, even after so many years. “I don’t think there’s anyone as wonderful as Papa.”

“I’m sure there is. He’d be good and caring. He’d value honor and integrity, and he’d love you above all but God.”

For a moment, Anna allowed herself to sink into girlish dreams. “And he’d be handsome.”

Ma stroked her hair. “Of course he would be. Take Mr. Brandon, for example. He’s quite handsome.”

Anna pulled out of her mother’s arms. “No, he’s not.” Though she could hardly take her eyes from him, she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, especially since he’d proven heartless and cruel. “His nose is too large.”

“It’s perfectly proportioned.”

“His eyes are too close together.”

“I found them quite nicely spaced. Deep blue too.”

“Not blue. They’re gray.”

“Ah,” Ma said softly, “I must have been mistaken. But you can’t deny he carries himself well. So strong and commanding.”

“He limps and has to use a cane.”

Ma clucked her tongue. “Anna Marie, that’s unkind. He suffered an injury. Why, as a boy he ran around like any other child. He must have been hurt in the Great War. That’s something to respect, not turn your nose up at.”