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A Midwestern Cinderella

She dreamed of digging through ancient ruins—but the only exploring Anna Simmons gets to do is in the expensive houses she cleans in Pearlman, Michigan. When Brandon Landers hires her, she’s unsure whether to be furious or thrilled. He evicted Anna and her ailing mother, but she’s heard rumors of hidden treasure on his land. Treasure Anna decides to find. Not just for herself, but for her new employer whose unexpected kindness has softened her heart.

Physically and spiritually wounded in the Great War, Brandon knows not to hope for the impossible—like buried riches or Anna’s love. Is there still time for them to learn that the only treasure they need is a lifetime together?

“It seems we each have a need.”

“You need a place to live, and I need a housekeeper. If you would be agreeable to the arrangement, I would like to offer you the use of the apartment in exchange for housekeeping services. Two or three times a week would be sufficient.”

Housekeeping? He wanted her to clean house? He was just like the rest of the rich people who lived on the hill. She should have known.

“Y-y-you—” Anna sputtered, trying to find words to dismiss the outlandish plan.

Ma took advantage of her fury to ruin everything. “That would be wonderful. Oh, Mr. Brandon, how can we ever thank you? It’s perfect, isn’t it, Anna?”

Perfect? Living under the thumb of Brandon Landers? Working for him as a servant? Living in what must be servant’s quarters?

It wasn’t perfect; it was humiliating.

About the Author

A small-town girl, CHRISTINE JOHNSON has lived in every corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. She loves to travel and learn about the places she visits. That puts museums high on her list of “must see” places and helps satisfy her lifetime fascination with history and archaeology.

Twice a finalist for RWA’s Golden Heart award, she enjoys creating stories that bring history to life while exploring the characters’ spiritual journey—and putting them in peril! Though Michigan is still her home base, she and her ship captain husband also spend time exploring the Florida Keys and other fascinating locations. Christine loves to hear from readers. Contact her through her website at http://christineelizabethjohnson.com.

Legacy of Love
Christine Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

If we confess our sins, he is faithful

and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

—1 John 1:9

For my nieces, Jennifer and Sara.

May you find adventure around every corner

while enjoying the solid foundation of home.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Teaser Chapter

Chapter One

Pearlman, Michigan

December 1922

“I had to resign,” Anna Simmons explained to her sister-in-law, Mariah, as she pushed open the mercantile door. Her red knit glove looked like a splash of paint against the darkened oak.

The bell on the door tinkled, announcing their arrival to the handful of customers shopping that afternoon. Most looked up to see who’d entered. That’s the way it was in Pearlman. Everyone kept track of everyone else. Sometimes that was good. Other times gossip had a way of taking off and running around town until it had wrung the life out of everyone involved.

Anna knew full well that word of her leaving the Neideckers’ employ would race through town like wildfire. Best douse that flame before it got started.

“I had no choice,” she announced loudly enough for everyone in the store to hear.

“Why?” Mariah’s brow puckered into a frown as she picked up a shopping basket.

“The uniform she wanted me to wear was positively indecent. Why, the skirt didn’t even cover my knees. It was as short as a bathing suit.”

Mariah shook her head. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It was horrible, with a frilly white apron and cap.” She lowered her voice when Mrs. Butterfield glanced her way. “How am I supposed to clean in that? Especially with Joe Neidecker looking at me like I was some floozy.” She shuddered at the memory of the oldest son’s stare. Everyone knew he frequented the speakeasy. “I can imagine what he was thinking. I’ve read books.”

“Dime novels,” Mariah pointed out.

“Books,” Anna stressed. “In the last one I read, the maid fell in love with the duke’s eldest son only to be thrown out on the streets.”

“The son didn’t rescue her? Usually those stories have happy endings.”

“That’s not my point. They threw her out.”

Mariah clucked softly. “So you took matters into your own hands.”

“I’m not wearing that uniform. I clean houses. I am not a servant.” She’d told Mrs. Neidecker the very same thing, but the woman didn’t take it well. Her tirade still rang in Anna’s ears.

“We are all called to serve,” Mariah pointed out. “Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. There is no shame in working as a servant.”

“Maybe.” Anna did not need a lecture. Mariah might be thirty-one years old to her twenty, but that didn’t give her the right to scold. “I’d rather be doing something exciting, like exploring ancient ruins.”

“That requires connections and a great deal of money.”

“I’ll get another job.”

Mariah looked unconvinced as she placed four cans of beans in her basket. “Jobs are difficult to find. I haven’t seen a posting anywhere in weeks.”

“The cannery in Belvidere is hiring.”

“And spend half your wage on train fare?” Mariah’s brown bobbed hair peeked out from under the brim of her blue tricorn hat. “I wish the orphanage could afford to pay you.”

“I wouldn’t take a nickel.” Anna knew how tight Constance House’s finances were. As director of the orphanage, Mariah scrimped and saved and solicited donations, but she could never make ends meet. The number of children had grown but not the funding.

“Thank you, dear.” Mariah lifted the lid on the barrel and examined the flour. “No weevils today. I’ll take five pounds,” she said to the clerk, who’d finished waiting on Mrs. Butterfield.

Anna noted Mariah’s long grocery list. “What can I get for you?”

“Would you ask the butcher for a five-pound beef roast?”

Anna strolled down the aisle lined with barrels containing flour, cornmeal, sugar, dried beans and oats on one side and shelves holding one-pound bags of coffee beans and packets of tea on the other. Rolls of butter sat on ice, while wheels of cheese and the lard can stood nearby.

She passed by the candy display without the slightest interest, but when her eye caught a headline on the Pearlman Prognosticator’s front page, she gasped.

“Mariah, come here.” Hands shaking, she unfolded the newspaper and scanned the single-column article entitled, “Treasure Tomb Unearthed.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mariah hurried to her side.

“Look.” Anna pointed the frayed tip of her knit glove at the article. “A Mr. Carter found a pharaoh’s tomb filled with gold and riches. He says it’s so full of artifacts that it’ll take months to clear.”

“Is that so?” Mariah sounded unimpressed.

“It’s the tomb of a young pharaoh, King Tutankhamun.” She stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Can you believe tomb robbers never found it? Mr. Carter is the first person to step inside since it was closed up centuries ago. Oh, Mariah, if only I was there. If only I could find a treasure like that. Imagine. We’d be rich. The orphanage would have everything it could ever want. Ma could have a big house on the hill. You and Hendrick too. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”

“Oh, Anna, you’re such a dreamer.” Mariah smiled softly. “It would be wonderful, but what would be even better is to finish my shopping before school lets out. Will you pick up the meat from the butcher?”

With a sigh, Anna refolded the newspaper. She wanted to buy it, but, as Mariah would point out, that wouldn’t be prudent now that she had no job.

As she walked to the butcher counter and requested the roast, words from the article bounced around her head. Valley of the Kings. Boy king. How she wished she could have been there when Howard Carter opened the tomb. Had the centuries-old air rushed out? Did it smell stale? Did he gasp when the torchlight danced off glittering gold?

Her imagination raced as she absently accepted the paper-wrapped package of meat from the butcher. One day she would discover an even bigger treasure. The press would swarm around her, eager for just one word from the famed Egyptologist, Anna Simmons. Cameras would flash as the reporters asked what she’d found. She’d shield her eyes from the glare and answer mysteriously, “You’ll just have to wait.”

“Excuse me?” The irritated question came from a very tall and very distinguished man.

Blinking, she pulled herself out of the fantasy to take note of the stranger. He must have been in the store the whole time, but she’d been too preoccupied to notice him. What a mistake. Judging by the quality of the stranger’s clothing, he had money and lots of it. His straight nose and commanding jaw made her tremble. He looked exactly like how she’d imagined Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester.

“I thought you were finished,” he said in a rich timbre that resonated clear to her toes.

“I, uh, uh...finished with what?”

“You said I had to wait.” He pointed to the paper-wrapped package she cradled in her arm. “Since you walked away, I thought you were done.” He swept a magnanimous hand toward the counter. “Please, go ahead.”

“Oh, no.” Anna felt heat infuse her cheeks. When she’d imagined telling the reporters to wait, she must have spoken aloud. “That is, I’m done.” The words came out all awkward, like a dumbstruck schoolgirl. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” His lips curved slightly, greatly softening his appearance. “If I might correct you, the seals had been broken.”

“Seals?” She stared blankly. “What seals?”

“Clay seals. They are affixed to the entrance of any pharaoh’s tomb. You said the tomb had never been opened before, but the seals at the entrance had been broken sometime in the past. Fortunately for Mr. Carter and the Cairo Museum, the contents appear to be largely intact.”

Anna could hardly breathe. Not only did he look distinguished, but he knew everything about the excavation. He must be a professor. Or an archaeologist. Maybe he’d take her to Egypt. Stupid idea. He’d never trust a girl who stammered and talked to herself. He certainly wouldn’t take someone poor. Expedition members had to pay their way.

She bit her lip to force away the disappointment and tried to say something intelligent. “Why is it fortunate for the Cairo Museum?”

His smile deepened. “They will receive the tomb’s contents after Mr. Carter inventories them.”

“How do you know so much?” She was gushing, but how could she help it? A pharaoh’s tomb had been discovered, and this man knew all about it.

“I read the archaeology journals and reports.”

“You do? Do you think...?” She hesitated, but the twinkle in his eyes persuaded her to ask. “Do you think I might borrow your journals someday? When you’re done, of course.”

“You may,” he corrected. “Come by my new bookstore, The Antiquarian, when it opens next month.”

Next month? January was two weeks away. She didn’t know if she could wait that long, but she had no choice. He hadn’t offered to loan his precious journals a moment earlier.

“Thank you, oh thank you,” she said a bit too eagerly.

If he found her schoolgirl reaction amusing, he had the kindness not to mention it. “I suggest you begin with Dr. Davis’s book on Tutankhamun.”

She nodded dumbly.

“Until then.” He turned to the meat counter.

“Until then,” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from him.

“Oh, good, you got the meat. Thank you.” Mariah gently took the string-tied package from her hands. “We should be going. I just need to sign the account first.” She tugged Anna toward the sales counter where the rest of her purchases were already piled into a crate.

Anna reluctantly followed, but her mind lingered elsewhere. She glanced back at the butcher counter. This fascinating man was opening a bookstore. And he read archaeology journals.

“Deliver it to the house with the rest,” the man said to the butcher. He grasped an ivory-headed ebony cane in his right hand. A cane like that could only have come from Africa. The Dark Continent. He must have traveled the world. She would do that one day.

He limped toward the sales counter, and Anna turned away so he wouldn’t notice she’d been staring at him. The cane. The limp. Perhaps he’d been gored by a rhinoceros or barely survived a tiger attack. Maybe natives shot a poison dart into his calf, and he’d lost the use of his foot.

“I’ll have Josh drop this off,” the clerk said to Mariah.

After thanking the man, Mariah asked Anna if she wanted to come over for a cup of tea.

Anna shook her head. “I’d better go home. Ma wanted me to make supper.” She sighed. “Cleaning and cooking. Does it ever end?”

“When you’re doing it for your loved ones, it’s a joy,” Mariah started. “Goodness, is that the school bell?” She hastily buttoned her coat. “I’d better hurry.”

“Go ahead. I want to look around a little.” And read more of the article.

After a final farewell, Mariah left.

Before Anna could drift back to the newspapers, the door opened with a rush of icy wind, and none other than Sally Neidecker entered. Sally had graduated from high school a few years before Anna and went to college the following year, which is where she should be now. Mrs. Neidecker hadn’t expected her daughter’s return until the end of the week. Her appearance now meant trouble.

Anna pretended to be engrossed by the candy selection and hoped Sally wouldn’t spot her.

No such luck. Within seconds, the girl had ferreted her out.

“There you are.” Without so much as a greeting, Sally flounced toward her, the hem of her scandalously short skirt barely peeking out below the bottom of her fur-trimmed coat. “How could you leave Mother without help on the day of her Christmas party? She was beside herself. Absolutely hysterical. I thought we’d have to call in Dr. Stevens.”

Anna’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I, uh—”

“Is that any way to treat a friend? I thought we were friends, Anna. Haven’t I always helped you?”

Not always. True, she’d looked up to Sally when she was younger, and Sally had taken her under her wing, but not like a friend. More like a foot soldier.

“I, uh, thought you were still at the university. Your mother said Michigan didn’t let out for the semester until the end of the week.” It wasn’t much of a distraction, but it worked.

Sally lifted her nose even higher. “I finished my coursework early, and my new guy drove me here.”

The familiar way Sally mentioned her beau made Anna’s skin crawl. She acted as if he was some swell from the big city. Maybe he was, but driving all the way from Ann Arbor alone with a man?

“He’s perfect,” Sally continued, her stained lips bright against the fox fur, “much too good for the girls around here.”

Anna didn’t bother to point out that Sally came from here. Instead, she glanced toward the newspapers.

That reminded Sally of her purpose. “You have to come back to work.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But then who will clean up after the party?”

Anna stared at the candy jars. “I don’t know.”

“What is wrong with you? It can’t be the wages. Mother pays better than anyone else in town.”

“I’m not a servant,” Anna said through clenched teeth.

Sally snorted. “You’re a maid. Maids are servants.”

“I clean houses.”

“Just like your mother.” Sally lifted her nose. “We would have hired her, if we could. She’s more reliable. You should be grateful we gave you the job.”

Anna struggled to choke back her indignation. “I’ll get another job. Someplace where I don’t have to wear a humiliating uniform.”

“Is that what all this is about?” Sally flicked her hand dismissively. “I’d think you’d be proud to wear it. Mother bought them directly from Ashton’s. They cost a fortune and are in the latest fashion, something you wouldn’t know a thing about.”

No one could misconstrue Sally’s meaning as her smug gaze raked downward from Anna’s threadbare coat to her sagging wool stockings.

Anna blinked back tears of angry humiliation. The Bible said to turn the other cheek. It didn’t mention how tough that could be.

Out of nowhere came the warm masculine voice of the distinguished stranger. “If the uniform is that fashionable, perhaps you should wear it.”

Anna’s jaw dropped. She could have hugged the man for lobbing that volley at Sally. He’d come to her rescue in as spectacular a fashion as Mr. Rochester had lifted Jane out of the driving rain and onto his horse.

“The nerve,” Sally said under her breath, before pasting a smile on her lips. Cocking her head until the ostrich feather on her stylish turban swept downward, she fixed every ounce of feminine wile on Anna’s hero. “How witty you are, sir. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She extended a hand.

He ignored it. “At least you’re correct about that.” He nodded curtly. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Without another word, he strode out of the store and straight into Anna’s heart.

* * *

Despite the blustery December weather, Brandon Landers felt hot. He couldn’t stop thinking about the young woman in the store. Her friend had called her Anna. Intelligent, lively and unspoiled, her enthusiasm reawakened hope—and a much more frightening emotion. No woman had generated such feelings since before the war.

Anna clearly hadn’t two dimes to rub together, but she had the nerve to walk away from a degrading job. He had to admire a woman who put ideals ahead of money. Add to that her interest in antiquities, a rare quality for someone her age, and he could soon find himself attracted to her. That was precisely the trouble. She couldn’t be much more than twenty. Pretty young women paid no attention to wounded war veterans chasing the other side of thirty.

At least for a few minutes she’d helped him forget the painful task ahead. He must evict the tenants from the property his father had sold shortly before his death. Worse, they didn’t know the house and business had been sold. Apparently Father had overlooked that little detail.

He fingered the envelope in his pocket, and tension rippled through him. He hated delivering bad news and would never force a family to move on such short notice if there had been any other solution. MacKenzie, Father’s attorney and new owner of the property, insisted they vacate the house by the end of the month or Brandon must return the purchase price. Since Father had already spent that money, and Brandon couldn’t acquire such a sum, MacKenzie had offered to take the family’s Pearlman house as payment.

Brandon’s gut clenched. That house was all that Father had left him. He must evict the tenants from their home or lose his own.

A gust of wind struck, and he tucked the envelope deep into his pocket. That loathsome task could wait until the man of the house arrived home from work. Until then, he’d look over the storefront where he planned to open his bookstore.

He hurried along the boardwalk, shoulders hunched against the wind. The leaden sky hadn’t yielded snow yet, but it threatened. The cold weather had frozen the puddles and forced him to spend more for coal than he’d anticipated. At this rate, he’d run through his meager savings before spring. He needed to get the bookstore up and turning a profit soon, but the storefront required work. A lot of work.

To turn the old harness shop into a viable bookstore, he needed to replace the front window, install bookshelves and build a sales counter—none of which he could manage himself. That meant hiring a carpenter or handyman.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the dim interior. It smelled like a tannery. Dust, dirt and debris filled every corner and crevice. He poked his cane into the wall, and the plaster crumbled onto the plank floor.

“I need help,” he muttered.

“I might be able to assist you with that,” answered a painfully cheerful voice.

Brandon turned to see a man of middling height with unruly hair standing in the open doorway. Informally dressed in a mackinaw coat, he looked every bit the workman Brandon needed.

“You’re looking for work?”

The man laughed and shook his head. “I already have a job as pastor at the church across the street, but I know pretty much everyone in town and can put out the word for whatever you need.”

The man sure didn’t look like a clergyman. “Aren’t you dressed a little informally for a minister?”

The pastor laughed again and extended a hand. “Call me Gabe.”

Brandon stared at the outstretched hand. Ever since the war, he couldn’t set foot in a church. Too much had happened—things he didn’t want to remember, things no one could forgive. But he also couldn’t deny basic civility.

“Brandon Landers.” He completed the handshake. “I’m settling my father’s estate.”

“My condolences. We heard he’d passed away unexpectedly. Will you be staying in Pearlman?”

“At the family home.” This conversation was already taking too long. Soon the man would invite him to church, and he’d have to make up an excuse. He eyed the dark street with its glimmering streetlamps and checked his watch. Five o’clock. Best get his unpleasant task done before it got too late. “I need to leave.”

“But didn’t you want to hire someone?”

An inquiry couldn’t hurt, if the price was right. “Do you know a young man who needs a job?” A youth would cost less than a skilled carpenter.

Pastor Gabe glanced at the filthy interior. “I’d think you’d want someone to clean the place first. I know a lovely young woman who could do the work for you. She’s a first-rate worker and could use the money. The family is struggling to get by, and I learned today that her widowed mother had her hours reduced.”

“I beg your pardon, Pastor. I feel for them, but it’s not a job for a woman. I need shelves built and the window replaced.”

“I see.” The minister tapped his chin. “Her brother and foster brother are excellent with their hands. I’m sure they’d step in for any construction required.”

“That means hiring two people when I could simply hire one.”

“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.”

“But he doesn’t respect us.” An angry tear rolled down her cheek. She could forgive his infirmities but not his actions. “If he really cared, he wouldn’t evict us from our home.”

“Hush, dear. He is simply doing what he must. We are tenants and have no claim on this house. I always knew this day might come.”

“You did?”

Ma looked off into space, lost in the past. “Your father sold this property and his portion of the business to Brandon’s father years ago. I’m afraid your papa wasn’t a very good businessman.” Ma smiled softly. “But I loved him still. He had a heart of gold, would give to anyone who asked for help, even if they didn’t deserve it. I’m afraid some took advantage of him.”

“Like Mr. Landers.”

Ma shook her head. “Mr. Landers was simply doing what any businessman would do. Don’t blame others for our own faults.” She ran a finger down Anna’s cheek, wiping dry the track of a tear. “Your father knew that riches in this life did not matter.”

Anna wasn’t so sure. A decent income would get them out of this predicament. “What about Mr. Thompson? Maybe he can help us. Didn’t he own part of the business?”

Ma shook her head. “When your father and Mr. Thompson started the garage, your papa took out the loan for both properties. Mr. Thompson worked for him. He never owned a share of the business, even though your father called him a partner.”

Anna’s heart sank. Was there no way they could keep the house?

“Sales weren’t too brisk that first year. Before long your father began to miss loan payments. The bank held off foreclosing until your father could find investors. The only man willing to invest was Percival Landers, Brandon’s father. If not for him, we wouldn’t have had this house and the garage for all these years.”

“Brandon’s father owned the garage too? Did he sell that? Is Hendrick out of work?”

“Both properties sold,” Ma said, “but the new owner wants to keep the garage open.”

At least her brother would have an income until the factory turned a profit. “I still don’t understand why we have to leave. You would think the new owner would want the rental income.”

Ma sighed. “Percival Landers charged a very low rent.”

“Are you saying he gave us charity?”

“Mr. Landers treated us with Christian kindness, especially after your father’s death. I can’t count the times he helped Hendrick keep the garage going. You can’t blame him for selling the property.”

Anna could. Ma might call it Christian kindness, but it didn’t sound like it to her. No wonder Hendrick wanted to strike out on his own. No wonder he wanted to make a go of it with his factory. At least he could call it his.

“We’re poor.” Though she’d always known it, saying the word stung.

“No, dearest. We’re richer than the wealthiest man alive, for we have each other and we have God’s love.”

Anna did not point out that the richest man on earth might also have a family and love God.

Ma offered a gentle smile. Despite losing the love of her life when Papa died, she’d never spoken a word of regret. She gave to all who needed consoling and spent many hours at bedsides and baking for the bereaved.

How blessed Anna was to have her for a mother. She bit her lip to stem the tears, but a sniffle escaped nonetheless. If Ma could stay positive, so could she. “Then we’ll be the richest people at Terchie’s.”

Ma laughed, her cheeks rounding, and Anna couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, some way, they’d survive.

“I love you, Ma, and I’m sorry for getting upset.”

“I know, dearest, and I’m sorry I—” A sharp rap on the front door interrupted her midsentence. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.” Anna pulled herself to her feet. A hundred worries bounced through her head, but this time she wouldn’t let them take root. “I’ll see who it is.”

She opened the front door. There stood Brandon Landers, his gray eyes dark and his expression unreadable. She flushed at the sight of his perfectly proportioned nose and nicely spaced eyes.

“Miss Simmons.”

“Mr. Landers.” She ducked her head to hide her reddening cheeks. Why was she reacting this way? He was the enemy.

“Is your mother here?”

He looked into her eyes just for a second, but that single glance did her in. Every thought fled her mind.

“Mr. Brandon,” Ma said as she wiggled beside Anna. “It’s so good to see you again. Would you like to come in?”

“No. I think not.” He cleared his throat. “I have a proposition for you.” Again he glanced at Anna. Again her pulse raced. “The Landers property includes a carriage house. Perhaps you’re acquainted with it?”

Anna nodded dumbly. She’d passed by the Landers estate many a time and as a child dreamed of stepping inside the house that looked like a castle. The gray stone walls and verdigris roof could have graced an English country house. A fence of stone shrouded the property from view, but she’d climbed that fence as a child and had walked its length, dreaming of one day exploring the pretty little carriage house with its dusty windows and the big old house that simply had to contain secret passages.

Brandon cleared his throat, pulling Anna back to the present. “Good, good. Perhaps you aren’t aware that it contains a small apartment, quite small, smaller than this bungalow and much older, but it might suffice.”

Anna blinked. “Suffice for what?”

“For you. Both of you. You said your brother lives elsewhere.”

“As does Peter, my foster son,” said Ma. “They both live at Constance House.”

He nodded solemnly. “Good. It’s only large enough for two. One bedchamber, a small sitting room and a washroom. Would that be adequate?”

“More than adequate,” Ma bubbled. “We don’t need much space now that my boys are gone.”

Anna stared at her mother. Hadn’t she just claimed the opposite? “Where would we cook our meals?”

“You may use the kitchen in the house. It has a separate entrance.”

“Perfect.” Ma clapped her hands together. “We accept.”

“Good,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”

Anna shook her head, trying to grapple with what he was saying. “You’re offering to lease us your carriage house?”

“Just the apartment and it wouldn’t be a lease.”

Anna dropped her gaze. “We can’t afford to buy.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He shuffled slightly, placing his weight on the stronger leg. “It seems we each have a need. You need a place to live, and I need a housekeeper. If you are agreeable to the arrangement, I would like to offer you the use of the apartment in exchange for housekeeping services. Two or three times a week should be sufficient.”

Housekeeping? He wanted her to clean his house? When he’d taken her side against Sally, she’d thought he understood how demeaning it was to be a servant. Apparently not. He was just like the rest of the rich people who lived on the hill.

“You want me to clean your house?” Anna sputtered.

He flushed. “Certainly not. That would be highly inappropriate. I was hoping Mrs. Simmons would take the position. You should be able to fit it in around your other work.”

Ma wasted no time agreeing to the plan. “That would be wonderful. Oh, Mr. Brandon, how can we ever thank you? Of course we’ll take it. It’s perfect, isn’t it, Anna?”

Perfect? Living on Brandon Landers’s charity? Living in what must be servants’ quarters? It wasn’t perfect; it was humiliating.

“No, thank you,” Anna said stiffly. “We can’t accept. It’s quite out of the question.”

“But Anna,” Ma said.

She couldn’t stand to even look at the man. First he had forced Ma and her from their home, and now he wanted to make them his servants. How dare he?

Without a word more, she slammed the door in his face.

Ma gasped, but Anna couldn’t let her mother’s desire for a larger home put them into servitude.

“I’m sorry, Ma. But we can’t live there. It’s not right.”

“Why not? It’s the answer to my prayers.”

Anna cringed. Prayer had not brought Brandon Landers into their lives. He only cared about money. Any man with an ounce of compassion would not first evict them and then make them his servants.

She stormed into the kitchen. “I’m done discussing this, Ma. I will never live in Brandon Landers’s carriage house, and I certainly won’t have you cleaning his house.”

“But it’s a place to live at no cost.”

Anna saw the pain in Ma’s eyes, but she couldn’t subjugate herself, not even for Ma. “We’ll find something else.”

She angrily pulled pans from the cupboard. They all had to be sold. Moreover, the clatter overwhelmed Ma’s soft voice. After frequent attempts to speak, her mother gave up and left the room.

Fine. Let Ma stew about it. It wouldn’t change her mind. Yes, she did feel a bit guilty that she’d upset Ma. After all, she was supposed to honor her mother, but Ma couldn’t seriously expect her to accept charity from the man who’d evicted them. She pulled another pan from the cupboard.

The front door slammed shut.

“Ma?”

No answer.

Where was she going?

Anna set the pan on the table and walked to the front window where she spotted her mother hurrying down the sidewalk toward Brandon’s car. Judging by the way she was waving, she was about to accept the deal that Anna had just rejected. Brandon didn’t seem to notice her, for he got into his sleek black Cadillac.

That didn’t stop Ma. She ran out into the street.

Anna raced out onto the stoop. A light mist was freezing on the trees and bushes. She started to call out to her mother, but the words caught in her throat when she saw Brandon drive forward.

In horrible slowness, like individual frames in a film, Ma slipped and fell—directly in front of Brandon’s car.

* * *

Brandon didn’t see Mrs. Simmons until it was too late. He was still steaming over Anna’s blunt refusal. No one had ever slammed a door in his face, especially not when he’d just made a generous offer. He was trying to help them. Couldn’t she see that?

He’d stormed to the car, and, after several misfires, finally got it started. To be honest, he hadn’t even looked for traffic before inching forward. Then he pressed hard on the accelerator, anxious to leave this debacle behind.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. At first, it didn’t register. Then he realized Mrs. Simmons was waving at him. She stepped into the street, and her feet shot out from under her. Down she fell, directly in front of his car.

He swerved and applied the brake, but the road was icy, and the tires skidded.

Please, no. Not again.

Every detail of the war came back. The acrid smell, the dull thud of artillery in the distance, the sharp fear. He’d led his men into the shelled town as directed. Nothing lived there, not even grass. Mud had swallowed the streets. Artillery had demolished the buildings. It had looked like hell, felt like hell, and would surely be his hell for all eternity.

A slight movement to the right had caught his attention. He’d turned, expecting to see the commander he was supposed to meet. Instead, shells rained down. His men scattered. He yelled for them to retreat, but they either could not or would not hear. Helpless, he watched as one by one they fell.

Just like Mrs. Simmons.

* * *

Anna screamed, unable to move.

Her mother was going to die, just like Papa had died all those years ago. She’d watched him working on a truck from her hiding place in the pile of tires. Only his legs showed. He lay under a truck that was up on a jack, its wheels off on that side. He yelled for Mr. Thompson, but his fellow mechanic wasn’t there, and for a second Anna almost went to him. But she was supposed to be in school, and if she helped him, he’d know she’d skipped class, so she stayed in the tires.

He banged again, and the jack collapsed. The truck fell to the ground. Papa cried out. Once. Then silence. Just a pool of red running out from under the vehicle.

Not again.

The car’s brakes squealed. The wheels locked and the vehicle skidded. Closer and closer it came until Anna knew Ma would die.

She closed her eyes and turned away. She couldn’t watch. But then, just like when Papa died, she looked back. She had to look. She had to know.

This time, she didn’t see the pool of red blood. The car shuddered to a stop mere feet from Ma.

Thank God. Anna breathed out in relief. Then she noticed her mother wasn’t moving.

Brandon flung open his door and clambered out. He lost his balance and grabbed the car for support. Spotting Anna, he yelled, “Call for a doctor.”

A doctor? Anna’s heart stuck in her throat. Ma must be hurt. Or worse. Fear froze her to the stoop as Brandon inched forward on the icy road. She couldn’t move and couldn’t stop watching.

At last he reached Ma. While holding onto the car’s hood, he leaned over and extended a hand. When she reached up, Anna breathed again. Ma hadn’t died. She was just hurt.

Brandon took Ma’s hand and attempted to help her to her feet, but they both fell. At last, Anna found her legs.

“Ma!” She hurried across the yard and onto the street. “Are you hurt?”

Her mother’s face was pale as snow, but she still managed a smile. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make more trouble for you.”

Anna could have wept. She was the one making trouble. If not for her foolish pride, Ma would never have run after Brandon.

He took command. “Let’s get her into the house. You take the right side, and I’ll take the left. I believe your mother hurt her leg.”

Though Ma fussed that she was fine, she winced when Brandon started to lift her. He stopped, but she urged them on. “It’s nothing. Just an old woman’s aches and pains.”

Anna hated to hear her mother call herself old. “You can make it, Ma.”

Together, she and Brandon managed to get Ma to her feet.

“Use my cane to steady yourself.” Brandon pushed the walking stick into her hand. “Don’t put any weight on your injured leg.”

Anna held her mother around the waist while Brandon propped her up with an arm under her shoulders. As they moved toward the house, his hand accidentally brushed Anna’s neck, and she shivered, but not from the cold.

By the time they reached the stoop, the neighbors had arrived, and Peter hurried over from the garage. He took over Anna’s position, and the two men got Ma into the house.

“Miss Simmons, I suggest you call a doctor,” Brandon repeated as they settled Ma on the living-room sofa.

He’d asked her to do that earlier, when she froze. But she couldn’t call. They had no telephone.

He mistook her lack of response. “If it’s a matter of cost, I’ll pay the bill.”

She shook her head and asked Peter to make the call from the garage. He hurried off while Anna fetched a blanket and a cup of hot tea.

“Stop fussing, dear,” Ma chided as Anna wrapped the blanket around her. “I’m quite all right.”

“You haven’t moved your left leg,” Anna said. “Does it hurt?”

Ma sighed and leaned her head back. “Not much at all. Just give me a moment to collect myself.”

Brandon motioned for Anna to join him at the front door, within sight of her mother yet beyond earshot. “I believe she may have sprained or broken her ankle.”

Anna’s heart still thudded wildly after all the excitement, but it practically stopped at his words. She glanced back at her mother, whose face was still pale and drawn. Broken bones were not good for a woman Ma’s age. What if they never healed?

She felt a touch to her shoulder and looked up.

Brandon gazed at her with deep concern. “Don’t worry. Your mother will be fine. She’s a strong woman.”

“I hope you’re right.”

A knock on the door signaled Doc Stevens’s arrival. After a quick recounting of what had happened, he tended to Ma while Anna hovered anxiously. Ma flinched slightly when he examined her. Others might not notice, but Anna could tell she was in pain.

“No broken bones that I can discern,” the doctor said as he closed his bag. “We could get an X-ray in Grand Rapids. Are you able to make the train trip?”

“I can drive her there,” Brandon offered.

Anna shook her head. There was no money for X-rays, and she wouldn’t be beholden to Brandon Landers any more than she already was. “Will she heal if we don’t?”

The doctor nodded as Brandon quietly slipped out of the room. “Nothing’s displaced. Keep her in bed and off her feet. If she must go somewhere, use a crutch to keep all weight off the leg. No work or housework for at least a month.”

“A month?” Anna gasped. They had to move in only twelve days. How would she manage on her own? She gnawed her fingernails. Hendrick and Peter would have to help.

“It’s a good thing your house is single-story,” the doctor said. “I don’t want your mother climbing stairs.”

But Terchie’s Boardinghouse only had upstairs rooms. How could they move there if Ma couldn’t climb stairs?

“I’ve given her a sedative,” Doc Stevens continued. “If the pain gets worse, I’ll prescribe tincture of opium. Call if she develops a fever or if the swelling doesn’t go down in a few days.”

After thanking him and sending Peter back to the garage, Anna looked in on her mother, who had fallen asleep, and was surprised to find Brandon in the room. He’d closed the drapes and tucked a pillow beneath Ma’s head. Anna’s throat constricted. Why was he being so nice? Guilt? That must be it. After all, he was the one who’d precipitated all of this with his impossible offer.

He rose and walked softly from the room, joining her at the front entry.

“You stayed.” She whispered the words as an accusation, but part of her was also glad. How could this man both tempt and frustrate her at the same time?

Sadness swept across his features, and he gazed far beyond her into the distant past. “My mother died when I was younger than you. I know how frightening it can be to think you might lose a parent.” He swallowed and returned to the present. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Her wall of anger cracked. He did know how she felt. In fact, he’d suffered more, for both his mother and father were gone. She’d called him insensitive but she was the one who hadn’t given him a chance.

“No, I’m sorry.” She nipped her lip to stem the sudden swell of emotion. “I shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. You meant well by offering us your apartment.”

His gaze dropped again. “The fault is mine. I should have realized the offer would insult you.”

She shook her head. “I was acting childishly, thinking only of myself.” A little sob escaped. “I should have considered Ma. She wants to stay in the carriage house. She believes God ordained it.”

He stiffened slightly. “I doubt divine intervention, but the offer still stands.”

“But Ma can’t work, and I won’t accept charity.”

“I know.” The faintest smile briefly lifted his lips. “Perhaps you would be willing to clean until she recovers.”

Anna shook her head. “It’s not proper.”

“I’ve been considering that. There’s an old wheelchair in the attic. Perhaps if your mother came to the house with you...”

Anna paused, trying to regain control of her senses. His plan made sense, but he stood too close, the raw scent of him muddling her mind. She stepped back and was relieved when he didn’t follow. At this moment, she needed to think clearly.

Ma had to live somewhere without stairs. The carriage house was a single-story building. It didn’t have any stairs. Presumably the house could also be entered without climbing steps or he wouldn’t have suggested Ma supervise from the wheelchair. She had to put her mother’s needs first.

“You said you required housekeeping just two or three days a week?”

He nodded. “And prepare breakfast and supper.”

That wasn’t part of the original agreement, but she couldn’t quibble over details when Ma needed a warm single-story place to live. He’d regret that addition when he tasted her cooking. “Then thank you. I accept.”

For a month. Then she and Ma would move as far as possible from the man who sent her nerves fluttering every time he drew near.

Chapter Four

“It’s perfect,” Ma exclaimed as Brandon pushed her wheelchair into the tiny carriage-house apartment.

Anna could think of many other ways to describe the cramped rooms. Musty, cool and damp came readily to mind, but for Ma’s sake she held her tongue and walked into the sitting room. Two windows faced the house. Under one sat a small wooden table and chairs.

She pushed open the dusty curtain and a cobweb drifted onto her face. She swatted away the sticky threads. If this apartment was any indication, she’d be working full-time getting the house in order.

“It is lovely.” Ma patted Brandon’s hand. “Thank you for the use of the wheelchair. I can manage from here.”

“Not on my watch, ma’am.” Brandon hastened to help Ma out of the cane wheelchair and into one of the two armchairs by the fireplace. A cloud of dust motes rose when she sat.

“Here’s a cane to help you get around.” Brandon placed a stout walnut cane against the side of the chair, within ready reach should Ma need to walk. “I apologize again for the privy.”

Ma waved a hand. “I’ve used privies and chamber pots my entire life.”

“Still, with your injury,” he murmured, “it’s an inconvenience. Please consider staying in the house. It has indoor plumbing.”

“I’ll be just fine.” Ma clucked her tongue softly. “This is so cozy. We’re looking forward to settling in here, aren’t we, Anna?”

Anna poked at the embers in the fireplace and added another log. “Is this the only source of heat?”

Brandon looked pained. “There are only the two rooms. The fire should be sufficient to heat both.”

“Of course it will,” Ma seconded.

“Too bad there’s not a kitchen,” Anna said.

Brandon cleared his throat. “This apartment was built at the same time as the house, in the 1840s. No one thought to put a kitchen in an apartment in those days.”

Probably because the apartment was intended for servants. Anna pushed the bedroom door open. This room was even smaller than the sitting room, with the back left corner walled off into a closet. She stepped around the bed that she and Ma would have to share and opened the closet door. None of the rooms had electrical lighting. That made it difficult to see the small iron sink in the back corner. It had a pump to draw water. She tested the squeaky handle and with a few pumps cold, clear water gushed into the sink. Across from the sink, a rack had been nailed to the wall. Perhaps ten or twelve garments could be squeezed onto it.

“I hope it will suffice.” Brandon stood anxiously between the bed and the heavy chest of drawers. “I wish I could fit two beds into the room, but the man I hired to open up the place assured me the space was too small.”

“Yet someone added a sink.”

He nervously swiped at his face. “Sometime before the turn of the century. It was probably the height of luxury at the time.”

Anna couldn’t do more than nod at his attempted levity. She rubbed her arms. “It’s cold in here. I hope the pipe doesn’t freeze.”

Brandon reached around her and pushed the closet door completely open. The brush of his arm sent an unbidden yet pleasant sensation down her back.

“If it does,” he said, “let me know. I’ll hire someone to fix it. In fact, if anything breaks or doesn’t work—any problem at all—tell me.”

Though she kept her gaze locked on the clothes rack, she could feel him near.

He tipped her chin so she looked up into those stormy gray eyes. “I mean it, Anna. If you need anything, tell me. Anything at all.”

His touch stole her breath. They were alone. Ma faced the fire in the other room and could hear but not see them. Anna’s heart pounded wildly. Was he going to kiss her? Impossible. They’d barely been civil to each other these past two days. Yet he’d just touched her, and that touch made her knees tremble. What would it feel like to be kissed? What if she did it wrong? She’d read about it in novels, but no man had ever kissed her.

She let her lids drift almost shut, terribly conscious of how close his lips were to hers. Mere inches. And he smelled...well...masculine.

“Good.” He cleared his throat and stepped away. “I’m glad that’s cleared up.”

What had happened? Why hadn’t he kissed her? Her chin still burned where he’d touched it. She unconsciously rubbed the spot as she followed him into the sitting room. He stooped to talk to Ma in tones Anna couldn’t hear.

“Hendrick will bring our things over this afternoon,” Ma answered, her voice honey smooth.

Clearly she adored Brandon. Every gesture, every concession told Anna so. For whatever reason, this was where Ma wanted to settle, and she would apparently put up with a great deal of deprivation and discomfort to do so.

“Now give me a hug before you go,” Ma commanded.

“Ma,” Anna chided. “Mr. Landers is practically a stranger.”

“You know the saying: strangers are just friends we’ve yet to meet. Mr. Brandon and I have met, therefore we’re friends.”

A smile softened Brandon’s stern expression. Clearly he had a soft spot for Ma too. Most people did.

He bent obediently and gave her the required hug. “Please call me Brandon. Mister is a bit formal for friends, don’t you think?”

Ma laughed as she patted him on the back. “I’ll try. I hope you visit here often.” She winked at Anna. “Though I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to chat with my Anna while she cleans your house.”

Anna stared at her mother. “You’ll be there too.”

“Now, I don’t see why that’s necessary. Mr. Brandon is a gentleman.”

So, that was it. Ma was matchmaking. Had her mother seen how close he’d come to kissing her? Heat rose into her cheeks, and Brandon couldn’t possibly mistake the redness for anything but a blush.

His stiff response left no doubt how he felt. “I’ll be busy with the bookstore. I’ll leave the house early and return late.” His glance flitted past her. “I suggest you finish your work by six o’clock. Set breakfast in the dining room. Supper can be left in the warming oven.” His tone made it perfectly clear that he saw her as his housekeeper and nothing more.

Then what had happened in the closet? Or had she been the only one to feel it? Apparently so. It was the same old story. She always fell for the wrong man, and she’d done it again.

Brandon donned his coat and hat. “You may start tomorrow, Miss Simmons.”

Anna nodded curtly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Landers.”

She’d never again make the mistake of liking him.

* * *

Brandon should never have brought Anna to the carriage house. She smelled of cinnamon, sweet yet sharp. Try as he might, he couldn’t get that scent out of his mind. That little episode in the closet washroom had only confirmed what he already knew.

He was attracted to her.

Add the very real complication that he’d also hired her to clean his house, and he’d have to work hard to avoid her.

He opened the door to the Cadillac and settled behind the wheel. The solution was clear. Hard labor would erase this ridiculous emotion, and he did have plenty of work to do. The storefront needed an overhaul before he could sell one book.

He put the automobile in gear and pulled away from the source of discomfort. A few hours in the shop would cast away this confusion.

Early to work and late returning home. If he kept to that schedule, their paths would seldom cross.

With a smile of satisfaction, he parked in front of his shop. First order of business would be finding a carpenter. He got out of the car and crossed the boardwalk to the front door. With a turn of the key and a push of the latch, the door opened.

The room looked no better today, but in the soft morning light, he could envision shelves of books and a sales counter of polished oak.

A carpenter could make that happen. Unfortunately, the man who’d outfitted the carriage-house apartment didn’t work with wood. He’d suggested a Mr. Lyle Hammond, who might be coaxed out of retirement at the right price. Unfortunately, money was the one thing Brandon lacked. He needed an inexpensive carpenter, such as a youth.

That pastor had said he could pass the word. No one knew a town’s inhabitants more than a minister. Maybe Brandon would take the man up on his offer—as long as the pastor steered clear of anyone named Simmons.

Brandon glanced across the street at the cheery little church. Its oak door and railing had been festooned with evergreens and bright red ribbons that fluttered in the icy breeze. No pretentious stained glass graced the front. Instead, an ordinary window looked out on the street. Brandon liked that homey feeling. A church that didn’t put on airs matched the minister who walked through town in a mackinaw coat. If Brandon wasn’t on such bad terms with God, he might be tempted to try the service one Sunday.

As if on cue, the easygoing pastor exited the church and headed directly across the street toward him. The man whistled, hands in pockets, until a Model T passed. Then he waved to the driver, calling out a cheery greeting. With a skip, he hopped up onto the boardwalk and strode toward Brandon’s shop. After another wave at a passerby, he bounded inside.

“Good morning,” Pastor Gabe said as he closed the door. “What a gorgeous day. Perfect for moving.”

Brandon stared. Did the man know everything that happened in this town?

“I wanted to thank you in person,” the pastor continued. “Ma Simmons is delighted that they can stay in your carriage house. She went on and on about how perfect it was.”

“Ma?” Brandon had to ask. “Are you married to one of her daughters?”

Gabe chuckled. “Anna’s her only daughter, but in a roundabout way I am related to Mrs. Simmons. My sister married her son Hendrick. We’re all one extended family. In fact, we offered the guest bedroom at the parsonage and my sister offered a room at the orphanage, but Ma insisted the Lord wanted them to live at your carriage house. She couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. That’s the way Ma is. Once she sets her mind on something, no one can talk her out of it.”

Brandon’s head spun. Sisters and brothers, parsonage and orphanage. It all muddled together. “How many family members are there?”

Gabe laughed. “I can see how confusing it would be. Why don’t you join us for dinner after Sunday worship? Then you can meet the whole clan.”

After worship? God wouldn’t want him in His house, not after what Brandon had done. “I’m busy.”

“Heading home for Christmas?”

Though agreeing would end the conversation, Brandon couldn’t lie. “This is home.” At least it was now.

“Then your family is coming here. Please, invite them too. The more the merrier.” The pastor chuckled and added as an afterthought, “Though I suppose I should give my wife, Felicity, an idea how many to expect.”

“I doubt my brother will visit.”

The minister’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “But Sunday is Christmas Eve. Surely you’ll get together for Christmas.”

The little hole in Brandon’s heart that had started to open when Gabe first mentioned family now expanded into a painful gap. “I haven’t celebrated Christmas since the war.”

His leg had begun to ache after so much standing, and he shifted to place more of his weight on the cane. Though Brandon thought he’d moved discreetly, the pastor noticed.

“Then I insist you join us. We would be honored to include a war hero at our table.”

Brandon’s composure wavered for a second before he regained control. The pastor didn’t know what had happened, and Brandon intended to keep it that way. “Thank you, no. I prefer to dine at home.”

After a moment of surprise, the pastor nodded. “Too bad. Ma Simmons will be disappointed. She talks of you constantly, like you’re family. And we could use help getting her into the house.”

That did not make sense. By Brandon’s count, at least two able-bodied men would be in attendance. “Isn’t her son coming?”

“Yes, but the parsonage has a lot of steps to climb. Many hands make light work. Won’t you reconsider?”

Brandon knew when he was being cajoled. Brutal honesty was the only way out. “I don’t attend church services.”

Pastor Gabe didn’t even flinch, as if he knew that Brandon had strayed from the straight and narrow. “Church attendance isn’t required, though you’re always welcome. We’re a family, sharing our joys and troubles, and our arms are always open. Come to worship if you wish. If not, you’re still invited to dinner.”

The pastor had effectively trapped Brandon. He fought his way out. “Christmas Eve is a time for family. You’ll be exchanging gifts.”

“Any gifts or tokens would be exchanged privately on Christmas Day. Sunday is for family.”

“I’m not part of your family,” Brandon pointed out.

“We’re all part of God’s family. You too.” Gabe grabbed the door handle. “We’d love to have you. Two o’clock.”

The man would not relent, but Brandon could be just as stubborn. Work came first, regardless of the day of the week or year. “I’ll be busy getting this shop ready. It has to open early in January, the sooner the better. You said you knew someone who could do some carpentry. Perhaps a youth who’s good with his hands?”

Gabe mused for a moment. “I think I know the perfect person. Come to dinner on Sunday, and I’ll introduce you.”

Brandon had been outmaneuvered. If he wanted help, he had to endure Sunday dinner. “Very well.”

“Wonderful. We’ll have a real celebration then.” After a parting grin, Pastor Gabe took off down the sidewalk whistling “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.”

Brandon shut the door on the hymn and the wily minister. He had no intention of celebrating on Christmas or ever. He didn’t deserve to be happy, not when his men had died.

* * *

Unfortunately, the main house had fared little better than the carriage house. First thing the next morning, Anna stood alone at the entrance to the imposing parlor and surveyed the massive task ahead of her. The brass and silver had tarnished to such an extent that she doubted she could bring back the shine even if she polished for a month. Dust coated everything. Dampness had seeped into the very fibers of the wool carpets, leaving the place with the moldy smell of a cellar.

“It’s impossible,” she murmured.

“What’s impossible?” Brandon’s question made her jump. He stood in the hallway leading toward the back of the house, impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit, overcoat already on and cane in hand.

She backed into the doorway. The solid plaster walls gave her a sense of protection. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d left for the day. I didn’t see your car.” At least he hadn’t mentioned the fact that she didn’t make him breakfast this morning. The car had been gone by the time she’d dressed.

“I returned to fetch a book.” He withdrew a slim volume from his coat pocket to prove the point. “Which reminds me, I promised to lend you Davis’s book. Follow me.”

Clearly he was accustomed to commanding people. As she hurried after him, she recalled Ma’s speculation about where he suffered his injury. “Were you an officer in the war?”

He stopped in his tracks. “My past is no concern of yours.”

His glare sent icy shivers down her back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious.”

As quickly as it had come, his anger dissipated. “Apology accepted. However, I would appreciate it if in the future you could contain your curiosity about my personal life.”

Anna swallowed hard. What had she said to set him off? She’d only asked if he was an officer. Maybe Ma was right about the injury. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I will,” she promised.

“Thank you. Now let’s fetch Mr. Davis’s report from the library.”

His house had a library? Anna’s pulse quickened. Libraries contained hidden passages and secret rooms. Everything interesting happened in libraries.

He strode down the hallway, his steps strong and confident with barely a hint of the limp. She followed, eager to see the room. The library. The word alone invited intrigue.

Brandon stopped at the third closed door on the right. “Wait here.”

He ducked inside, and she barely saw the floor-to-ceiling books before the door shut behind him. Seconds later, he reappeared.

“Here it is.” He handed her the slender volume. It had less than a hundred and fifty pages, and a lot of those were illustrations.

The Tombs of Harmhabi and Touatânkhamanou. She read the title, no doubt incorrectly pronouncing the unfamiliar words. “I thought this was about King Tutankhamun.”

“It is.” He pointed to the last word in the title. “Mr. Davis simply spelled it differently than the reporters do.”

“Oh.” Somehow the volume wasn’t as exciting as the newspaper stories. She flipped to the title page and noticed the date of publication. “1912? Mr. Davis found the tomb ten years ago?”

“Actually, that’s when the report was published. His work came earlier.”

She couldn’t hide her bewilderment. “Then why didn’t he take the treasure?”

“Read it,” Brandon urged.

He was deliberately holding back, and she could tell by the teasing smile on his lips that he had a surprise in store for her.

“We can discuss it when you’re finished,” he added. “We’ll set aside an evening when you and your mother can come to the house for supper.”

It sounded almost like a date, with Ma as chaperone.

She clutched the book tightly. “I’d like that. Maybe next week?”

His smile faded. “Perhaps. If the store’s ready. Speaking of which, I’d best get back so you can work.” Without further comment, he nodded farewell and departed into the wintry day.

Disappointed, she fingered the book. What had she said? One moment he wanted to talk over supper. The next he couldn’t make time.

She turned toward the desolate house and the hard work that awaited her. Only then did the realization hit. He only saw her as a housekeeper. The offer to talk was meant to appease her and nothing more.

Anger flushed through her. He didn’t care what she thought about the Egyptian excavations. If she wanted to gain his respect, she needed to make something of herself.

Tomorrow she’d take the train to Belvidere and apply at the cannery.

Chapter Five

Anna never took the train to Belvidere. Ma insisted they decorate the apartment for Christmas instead. Since her mother could barely walk, that left the work to Anna. She gathered pinecones and evergreen boughs, while Ma strung corn she’d popped over the fire. Branches of money plant added pearly white disks to the display. She stuck cloves into apples and hung them from old ribbons. Considering the decorations cost so little, Anna thought it looked pretty good.

“It’s not as nice as home, though,” she mused.

Ma looked up from her needlework. “This is home now.”

“Are you sure no one will mind that I cut off some pine branches?” No one of course referred to Brandon, on whose property they’d gathered the boughs and cones and dried flowers.

“Mr. Brandon gave his permission. He even unlocked the garage doors so you could get a saw.”

No matter how many times Ma reassured her, Anna still felt like a thief. They might live here, but only as guests.

Just walking into the garage portion of the carriage house had felt like an invasion of his privacy. As a child she’d often wondered what lay inside the thick stone walls. How disappointing to discover it contained the same things as every other outbuilding. In former days carriages must have been parked where he now kept his automobile. Along one wall stood a tool bench with dozens of old tools hanging from nails that had been pounded into a board attached to the plastered stone wall.

The plaster had been a surprise. It was to be expected in the apartment, but why would anyone plaster a garage? Yet someone in the past had done just that. Judging by the dingy film of dirt, dust and cobwebs, the plastering had been done years ago.

Anna had found a rusty old handsaw that managed to cut through thick boughs after jerking the teeth back and forth against the wood.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t cut a tree for us,” she apologized again to her mother.

“We don’t need a big old tree in this little room. We’d never be able to walk around it. If you ask me, the branches are perfect. Smell the pine.”

Anna inhaled deeply. The warmth of the fireplace had released the piney scent from the needles.

“It’s wonderful,” Ma said from her perch before the fireplace, her head back and eyes closed. “That smell always makes me think of Christmas.” She chuckled, eyes still shut. “Remember when your father cut down that ten-foot-tall tree? He insisted on stuffing the thing into the living room. We had needles everywhere. I was still finding them in August.”

“That must have been before I was born.”

“I’m sure you were there, but maybe you were too little to remember.” Ma sighed. “Such good memories.”

Anna hoped her mother didn’t get misty-eyed. “We’ll start new memories.”

“Yes, we will. And keep some of the old. That reminds me. I promised we’d bring plum duff for dinner tomorrow.”

“Plum duff?” Anna couldn’t hide her surprise. She loved the traditional steamed Christmas pudding, but Ma spent days preparing it. “There’s not enough time. The fruit has to be ripened.”

Ma waved a hand. “Mariah mixed the fruit and nuts with the suet a week ago. She dropped it off this afternoon.”

Anna looked around and saw nothing.

“I had her take it to the kitchen. You’ll have plenty of time to mix the ingredients and steam it.”

“Me?” Anna tried not to panic. “You want me to make it?”

“It’s not that difficult. I wrote down the recipe. It’s on the table.”

Anna glanced over to see that indeed Ma had jotted down her recipe. But knowing which ingredients to use wouldn’t ensure it turned out. Ma always said plum duff was temperamental.

“It’s Saturday afternoon,” she pleaded, “and Brandon probably doesn’t have the ingredients.”

Ma smiled sleepily. “I had him call in an order this morning. The mercantile should have delivered everything by now.”

Anna’s jaw dropped. Ma had not only ordered items they couldn’t afford, she’d somehow managed to suck Brandon into her scheme. “How will we pay for this?”

“Don’t fret. Mr. Brandon put it on his account.”

“He did?” Anna choked. “Why would he do that? We’ll pay him back.”

“Now don’t you go doing that. He insisted, wished us a merry Christmas. What a fine gentleman. He stopped by while you were cutting the boughs. He wanted to make sure you found everything you needed.”

Anna struggled to piece together this very different picture of Brandon Landers. “He always seems so...gruff, like he’s angry with me.”

Ma smiled softly. “The Lord puts people in our lives for a reason.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why he put Brandon in ours.”

“I’m sure you’ll find out one day. He’s such a nice man...” She yawned.

Anna glanced outdoors. It must be nearly four o’clock. If they weren’t going to be up all night, they had to start the plum duff soon.

“Ma, don’t fall asleep. I need your help.”

Ma answered with a soft snore.

Oh, dear. Baking had never been Anna’s strong suit. Making the plum duff without Ma’s help would be difficult. What if she burned it? Or got it too dry? What if... Her mind bounced through a hundred calamities. Worst of all, Brandon would come home in two hours and expect supper.

“I can’t do it myself,” she pleaded. “Why did you tell everyone we’d bring plum duff?”

Ma just snored.

Hands shaking, Anna picked up the recipe. She’d have to try or there’d be no plum duff for Christmas Eve dinner.

* * *

Brandon heard the clatter the moment he stepped into the house. Something metal, he guessed. Pots and pans, most likely, considering the racket came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Get out of there,” commanded a very tired and very upset female voice. Anna’s voice. “Get out!”

His pulse quickened. Someone had broken into the house and was threatening her. Brandon raised his ebony cane to use as a weapon and headed for the kitchen. The room had a swinging door to assist with dinner service. He now realized this could be used to advantage. He pushed it open a crack to get the bearings of the intruder and prepared to whack the man over the head.

He pressed his face close to the opening and peered into the well-lit room. From this vantage point, he could see only cupboards.

Bang!

“You horrible, stupid thing,” Anna exclaimed. “Why won’t you come out?”

Come out? That didn’t sound like an intruder. Brandon let the door close and lowered the cane. Maybe she’d found a mouse. It was entirely possible, given the age and dilapidation of the house. At least she wasn’t screaming at the top of her lungs. He admired that in a woman. It would be more difficult to play the hero, though, since a mouse could easily outmaneuver a man with a bad foot.

A thundering crash came from inside the kitchen, followed by Anna’s cry of despair. “I give up.”

He thought he heard a sob. He definitely smelled something acrid. Smoke wafted out of the kitchen. That had better not be supper, or he’d be eating crackers tonight. Annoyed, he pushed on the door, intending to have a word with her, but before he got it halfway open, Anna gave out a little sob.

“Why do I have to ruin everything?”

Her plea wrenched his heart. Poor girl. The oil stove must have overheated. It hadn’t been used regularly in years. The oil lines might have gummed up or the valves stuck. He could do without supper for one night.

He opened the door to see what could only be described as an explosion. Flour and bits of dark brown goo covered the stove and worktable. Anna sat at the table, dejected, head buried in her hands.

“What happened?” he asked.

Her head jerked up, and she stumbled to her feet. “Bran—Mr. Landers. I, uh, I—I—I’m sorry for the mess.” She swiped at her cheeks.

Not tears. Nothing made him feel more inept than a woman in tears. Should he try to comfort her, or would she only lash out at him? He’d never chosen correctly in the past. Moreover, an employer shouldn’t comfort a young female employee. Except Anna wasn’t exactly an employee. She was a vibrant young woman who lived on his property.

He flexed his hands, unsure what to do. Deep down he longed to take her in his arms, but he shouldn’t. In fact, they shouldn’t be alone together in his house. Youth might be ignoring convention these days, but he would not. Yet he couldn’t turn her out in this state. Where was Mrs. Simmons when he needed her? It was after six o’clock. Anna wasn’t supposed to be here.

What should he do? He couldn’t stand to hear her sob.

He absently picked up a glob of the brown gooey stuff. It smelled rather good as a matter of fact, rich with cloves and spices. He tasted it. The moist cakelike substance melted on his tongue.

“Whatever this is, it’s delicious.” He tasted another bit and then another. “Quite excellent,” he mumbled, mouth full.

She hiccuped and lifted her head. “It is?”

“It is,” he said between bites. “What is it?”

“Plum duff,” she sniffled, wiping her red swollen eyes on her dress sleeve.

Didn’t she even have a handkerchief? Brandon pulled out his and handed it to her.

She promptly wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thank you.” She then offered back the handkerchief.

He grimaced. “You keep it.”

She withdrew her hand and tucked his handkerchief into her apron pocket, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I made a mess of things.”

He hated to see her spirit crushed. She had stood up to the Neideckers. Why would a little cooking disaster set her spirits so low?

“No problem.” He cleared his throat. “None at all.”

That didn’t appear to appease her, for she continued to stare at the black-and-white linoleum floor.

“Well, then,” he tried again, “whenever I’m faced with a problem, I assess the situation, figure out what went wrong and determine a new course of action.”

At last she lifted her gaze. Though her lashes were dewy, her expression had narrowed in puzzlement. “Even if I understood what you just said, what does it have to do with my problem?”

He’d done it again. Without thinking, he’d taken charge as if he was still in the army.

“Pardon me,” he apologized with a flourish. “I meant, let’s figure out how to solve the problem.”

“Oh.” Her full pink lips made him want to think of something much more interesting than cooking. “I don’t suppose you know how to make plum duff in a few hours rather than a week.”

He had to acknowledge he didn’t.

“Or how to get it out of the mold.”

Again his knowledge fell short.

“Then you must know how to clean burned sugar out of an oven.”

It wasn’t a question, and he hated to admit he had no idea. “Hot water?”

Her hands went to her hips. “Just what I suspected. All thought and no action. If you can’t cook or clean, how exactly did you plan to help me?”

That was the Anna Simmons he’d liked so much that day at the mercantile, though he had to admit he wasn’t quite as keen that she’d directed her biting comments at him.

“I could help you clean if you tell me what to do,” he offered weakly.

She rolled her eyes. “In your business suit and coat?”

He looked down at his fine attire. Father would have been shocked to hear what Brandon had just offered. No Landers had ever done servants’ work. When Brandon was no more than five, he’d made the mistake of helping the housekeeper wipe down walls. After shaking him violently, Father had made Brandon say over and over that he would never do that again.

Brandon eyed the cobwebs in the corners of the old kitchen. Look where that thinking had got Father.

“I’ll change,” he said.

She filled a pail with hot water and grabbed the bicarbonate of soda from the cupboard. After hefting the pail from the sink, she set it on the floor in front of the oven with a heavy clunk.

“You’ll leave me alone,” she said, hands back on those lovely hips. “I have work to do.”

That was a command. A wise man would obey. Brandon had always thought himself wise. Until now.

* * *

After changing into clothes that were better than most people’s Sunday best, the man helped her clean the kitchen. He was worse than useless, but then Anna had to remind herself that she’d been a lousy housekeeper when she’d first started cleaning for Mariah at the orphanage. Still, when she told Brandon to scrub the table, he’d worked and worked at it until she thought he’d rub right through the varnish.

Before scrubbing he’d eaten the bits of her demolished plum pudding. At first she’d taken it as a compliment, but then she realized the poor man was hungry. She’d stuck his beef cutlet in the warming oven and forgot about it. By now it must be as dry as shoe leather. To his credit, he’d never once asked what had happened to his meal. Her boiling temper died to a simmer and then cooled.

She pulled the cutlet from the warming oven and set it on the table. “I’m afraid I ruined it.”

“Nonsense.” He sat down with knife and fork and attempted to hack off a bite.

“I’ll make something else.” She reached for a match, but he hopped to his feet and stilled her hand.

“I’ll cook something later.”

“You know how to use a stove?” She could not imagine Brandon cooking. Ever.

“I’m a bachelor. I have to do many things for myself.”

She doubted he had ever cooked or cleaned. Men of his social class hired housekeepers or ate at a club or restaurant. They did not cook.

Still, she kept her doubts to herself. It was pleasant working beside him. She kept glancing over to make sure he wasn’t making a bigger mess, and occasionally she found him looking at her. Their glances didn’t meet for more than a second, but each time it sent an unexpected thrill through her.

When he worked near her, she could smell that sagelike scent that was all his. She closed her eyes to drink it in, and jumped when he touched her.

“Are you all right?” He looked concerned.

Oh, yes, she was more than all right, though if she had to admit it, his nearness both excited and terrified her. And when she stuck her hand in her apron pocket and felt his handkerchief with his monogrammed initials, she ran her fingers over the embroidery and imagined what it would be like to be Mrs. B.L.

“Can we make another duff?”

Anna shook her head. “The fruit and nuts have to sit for a week.”

“A week? Why would you make such a difficult dish?”

“For Christmas. It’s like plum pudding.”

His gray eyes twinkled in the electric lights. “Like in Dickens’s Christmas Carol?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps there’s something else you can make.” He stood and mopped his forehead.

She noticed he’d stopped using his cane a while ago, and though he balanced against the table when moving about, he could stand perfectly well without the aid of his cane.

“What happened to your leg?” she blurted out, and then, when she saw his expression tighten, instantly regretted the question. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s an honest question. It happened in the war.” He offered no further explanation.

“It’s not much, hardly noticeable.”

If anything, his scowl deepened.

Anna tried again. “The cane is so distinguished. Don’t all rich men carry them?”

His eyebrows lifted. “You think I’m rich?”

The way he said it sent shivers down her spine, as if she’d just accused him of the worst thing possible. “W-w-well, you have a nice house, one of the biggest on the hill.”

At last his expression eased, though it didn’t return to the pleasant conviviality of moments before. “I suppose it would seem big to you.”

The words cut deeply. Yes, she was poor, and he was rich, but he didn’t need to be rude about it.

“It was meant as a compliment. I counted seven bedrooms, two parlors, a formal dining room, this large kitchen and two washrooms. You even have running water.”

After a moment, he apologized. “I appreciate your powers of observation and your curiosity.” He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to personal questions.”

“I won’t do it again,” she said, fingering the handkerchief.

His mouth quirked up at one corner, making him look younger and even a bit mischievous. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Anna fought an answering grin. “I’ll try not to pry.”

His laughter rumbled with surprising warmth. “Stay curious. If not for curiosity, Mr. Carter would never have found King Tutankhamun’s tomb.”

A thrill ran through her. Brandon had just compared her to Howard Carter. Maybe he would help her follow in the man’s footsteps.

“I want to do that, to find a lost tomb like he did,” she gushed, the words coming out so quickly that they jumbled together.

He smiled, and a dimple appeared in his chin. “Maybe someday you will.”

Anna caught her breath. He’d practically promised to help her.

Chapter Six

Brandon got out of his automobile and peered at the unimposing two-story house that served as a parsonage. The place looked strangely quiet, considering Sunday dinner was about to take place. The pastor had indicated the entire extended family would be attending. True, Hendrick Simmons’s automobile was still parked at the carriage house, but Brandon expected to see one or two other cars here.

Not so.

Brandon hesitated at the foot of the steps, wondering if Pastor Gabe had taken ill or was called away on emergency.

“There you are,” called out the youthful minister from the front door. “Come on in.”

Despite the icy December day, Pastor Gabe dressed in shirtsleeves, rolled up to the elbow, much more informal than Brandon expected for Sunday dinner.

He mounted the steps with care, using the handrail to ensure he didn’t lose his balance. “I expected to see a car or two in front of the house.”

Gabe held the door open for him. “You’re the first to arrive.”

“I am? It’s almost two o’clock.”

“The others will be here soon.”

Brandon stepped over the threshold and into a Christmas fantasy. Every wall, shelf and table was decorated with greenery, ribbons and bows. The parlor contained some of the finest mahogany furniture that money could buy. A large tree graced the far corner, covered with garlands and crystal ornaments that looked like they’d come from Tiffany. The overpowering scent of cloves must be coming from the apple-shaped golden pomanders. The room reflected high society on a small scale. That certainly did not fit the minister’s casual dress and manner. The church must be doing very well indeed.

“Mr. Landers.” An elegantly dressed, willowy woman approached with a radiant smile. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. Gabe has told me so much—all good. May I take your coat?”

“Pardon my manners,” said the pastor. “Brandon Landers, this is my wife, Felicity, the joy of my life.”

The man’s tender smile made Brandon’s heart ache. His mother and father had once shared that tenderness, before Father let business consume his life.

A baby’s wail sent Felicity upstairs with an apology. “Little Genie—that’s our daughter, Eugenia Louise—must be hungry.”

That left Brandon alone with the minister and a lad of perhaps ten or eleven who watched solemnly from the sofa, a storybook on his lap. He was dressed in the finest boy’s suit New York could offer.

“This is my son, Luke,” Gabe said. “Luke, meet Mr. Landers. He’s opening a bookstore in town.”

The boy closed his book, carefully set it on the end table and stood to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Brandon was charmed by Luke’s manners. Too many parents these days let their children run wild, without the slightest attempt to teach discipline and good behavior.

The boy had his father’s dark curls but otherwise didn’t resemble either parent. The dark skin couldn’t have come from that porcelain-complexioned wife. And Pastor Gabe looked to be in his late twenties. His wife was even younger, too young to be the boy’s mother.

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