Legacy of Love

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.”