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MARY AND CHRISTENA made their way down the ferry’s gangplank Friday morning, jostled along by dozens of other vacationers. In front of them, Mackinac Island’s commercial district—actually the backside of the district—spread out along the shore. Above and behind it was a broad hill, with an old army fort off to the right. They followed the crowd between two fish sheds and out onto the island’s main thoroughfare.
Colorful little shops lined the sandy street, selling all manner of curios and candy to the thronging tourists. Carriages and wagons slowly made their way through the promenaders and the flocks of bicyclists that flew this way and that.
The two women spotted the Grand Hotel’s omnibus and climbed aboard. After a hearty welcome to Mackinac from the young, heavily-freckled driver, the conveyance clattered into motion. As it swept up the hill, Mary caught her first sight of the magnificent hotel. A smile blossomed across her face. The sprawling, five-story structure of white, perched at the top of the hill, seemed to go on forever. She prodded Christena in the ribs.
“Oh, Tena, it is grand, isn’t it?”
Christena shook her head in wonderment. “The pictures in the brochures don’t really do it justice, do they? If ever there was a place made for summer magic, this is it.”
“Will you look at that front porch?” Mary asked in amazement, as the vehicle drew near to the central staircase into the hotel. “It must be a city block in length!”
The omnibus lurched to a halt, and the passengers stepped down. A bellman greeted Mary and Christena and directed them to the red-carpeted steps. When they finally reached the porch above, they had to quickly step aside, to avoid the traffic in and out of the hotel’s doors. Guests up and down the porch’s length were seated on benches and rockers on either side, while revelers flowed between. Children capered around in front of mothers and grandmothers who were enjoying cups of tea.
Mary took Christena by the arm and attempted to forge through the crowd, managing immediately to walk right into a young man striding by with a tennis racquet. He dropped it as Mary dropped her purse.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she apologized. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No apologies needed,” he laughed, stooping over to retrieve both the racquet and the purse. “My fault entirely. I was daydreaming about the match I just fumbled.”
He wore white trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt that revealed muscular arms, and he did look a bit flushed and a little sweaty. Mary guessed his age at about that of her brother Jim—in his early twenties. Probably just out of college for the summer.
“I’m Thad Watkins, by the way.”
He extended his hand and Mary shook it.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Miss Mary MacDougall and this is my aunt, Miss Christena MacDougall.”
“Good heavens! I thought you two were sisters.”
Christena gave him a polite smile, but Mary could see she wasn’t buying the young man’s line of guff. If this fellow thought he could charm Mary’s aunt with transparent flattery, he was greatly mistaken.
“How long have you two been on the island?” he asked, pushing a thick mop of flaxen hair back on his head.
“Just arrived,” Mary replied. “From Duluth. We’ve been looking forward to it for months.”
“I’m from Chicago myself. My grandmother brought me and my chum up here. Kind of her reward for doing so well in college.”
“How lovely,” Mary said.
“Yup. Just finished my first year at Wharton School of Finance and Commerce in Philadelphia.”
“A distinguished institution,” Christena observed.
“That it is,” the tennis player agreed. “Well, best get inside and tidy up. It occurs to me, if you like to dance, there’s always a band playing in the ballroom. Maybe I’ll see you two there.” He gave them a brisk salute with his racquet and marched into the hotel.
Christena arched her eyebrows. “I must say, the guests here seem a tad bit shy and reserved, don’t you think?”
Mary chuckled. “Thank goodness the hotel is packed. Hopefully we won’t run into him again.”
She locked her arm into Christena’s and the two made their way through the doors and into the spectacular lobby—walls painted green, with opulent furniture and art and flowers all about. After checking in, they took the stairs up to the third floor, to their adjoining rooms, where both had excellent views overlooking the Straits of Mackinac.
Mary quickly changed out of her traveling clothes and went down to the lobby, where she dispatched a telegram to Duluth. A short time later, she and Christena were sitting in rocking chairs out on the Grand Hotel’s great piazza.
“That telegram you just sent in the lobby,” said Christena, gazing out onto the water. “What was that about?”
“Something’s been nagging at me ever since we spoke to the undertaker,” replied Mary. “Chances are there’s nothing amiss, but I just need to confirm a certain fact with Mrs. McColley. Once I’ve received her reply, I’ll sit down, compose my official report, and post it off to her.”
Christena rocked slowly forward and backward. “You know, Mary, I’m all for women getting out of their ruts and pursuing serious interests, even careers. But I must say, the life of a detective seems a bit, well, improbable. Even for a strong-willed person such as yourself. If you’re dead set on a career, why not medicine? Like your friend Lillian. I’m sure you’ve learned a lot already at Dr. Burns’s practice. Wouldn’t helping patients get well be a lot more rewarding than helping someone find a stolen piece of jewelry?”
Mary wrinkled her nose. “To tell you the truth, I don’t find sick people all that interesting. But the psychology of criminals? The unraveling of their tricks and their subterfuges? Now that’s fascinating. And to be able to reveal malefactors, and see them brought to book...” She puffed herself up a little, thinking of her twin triumphs of 1901. “To have done some good for the victims and for society. That’s the best part—justice.”
Christena narrowed her eyes and peered evenly at Mary. “Very fancy words, my dear. But, I think, disingenuous.”
“What do you mean?” Mary huffed.
“I don’t think you want to pursue detection for society or for the victims or for justice. I think you’re doing it because it’s exciting. You have remarkable self-confidence and intelligence and you want to do something extraordinary. It gives you a thrill that being an unremarkable rich girl cannot.”
Mary scowled at her aunt, but couldn’t think of a retort. Because everything her aunt had just said was true.
“Tell me quite honestly, Mary. Are you not even a little tempted to live the life you’re entitled to? To party and dance and travel pretty much constantly, until some handsome young man with good prospects marries you? Didn’t you ever think that might be...”
“Fun?” said Mary. “No. From the time I was little and Emma Beach talked about it, I thought it sounded dreadful. I want to work, Christena. I want to be in charge of my life. I want to be in control.” She frowned at her aunt.
Christena smiled at her. “I understand, Mary dear. But if I’m going to defend you to your father, I need to be very sure that you know what you’re doing.”
* * *
AFTER A GENEROUS BREAKFAST Saturday morning in the hotel’s big dining room, Mary and Christena, both in white summer frocks, set out to explore their new environs. They strolled down the long porch at the front of the hotel, nodding and saying hello to other guests.
Below the hotel, a lovely beach stretched along the shore. As the two women made their way down it, the wind attempted to snatch their broad straw hats from their heads. Christena tied hers down tighter, while Mary took hers off and carried it. Though the sun wasn’t that high, Christena still opened up her parasol.
As luck would have it, they ran into young Mr. Watkins and his friend. Both men were dressed rough and carried fishing rods and kits.
“We chartered a small boat,” Thad Watkins explained, “and aim to see what we can pull out of the straits for dinner tonight. The kitchen manager said they’d be happy to fix up whatever we catch. Perhaps you ladies would care to join us for dinner? My grandmother will be there, too.”
Mary was about to say no, but Christena surprised her by piping up first.
“We’d be delighted, Mr. Watkins. Just leave word for us at the desk. The name, as you may recall, is Miss Christena MacDougall.”
“Right,” said Thad Watkins. “The Misses MacDougall. Easy to remember.”
As the two anglers tramped away, Mary shot her aunt an annoyed glance. “Why in the world did you accept his invitation?”
In return, Christena looked annoyed at Mary’s annoyance. “Mr. Watkins comes across as a bit swell-headed, I will grant you. But he was being polite. He may be able to introduce you to some of the other young people at the hotel. There’s nothing wrong with meeting new people.”
The comment irritated Mary.
“I know you enjoy Edmond’s company,” her aunt continued. “But he won’t be here for a while. It wouldn’t kill you to have some fun in the meantime with some other folks your age.”
Mary did not want to continue in this vein of conversation. She was nervous about Edmond’s visit. What would it be like to spend so much time with him—some of it out of Christina’s sight? Thinking about him made her feel a little crazy. She knew she wanted him in her life. But as what? And of course Edmond must have his own expectations of Mary. How did he see her in his future?
It was all so confusing. Maybe time alone with him would clarify things. But she didn’t need her aunt to complicate the situation by trying to thrust her into the social whirl at the Grand Hotel.
They walked off the beach and back up the hill in silence. After lunch, Christena positioned herself in a rocker on the verandah, starting a new book, while Mary took a long bike ride through the bucolic, woodsy interior of the island. When she got back, she stopped by Christena’s room. Her aunt informed her that Mr. Watkins and his chum had hooked several fat lake trout, more than enough for a generous dinner for five. The two MacDougalls would be expected in the dining room at seven.
Mary groaned inside but accepted her fate. “Well, I suppose it would be rude not to show up.”
“Quite rude,” Christena agreed.
A crisp rapping of sharp knuckles came through Christena’s open door from the hallway outside. Mary opened the door, looked out, and spied a bellhop waiting with a silver tray in hand, in front of her own door.
“Yes, may I help you?” she asked.
The young man, almost painfully thin, turned to her. “Miss Mary MacDougall? Telegram for you.”
She took it from him, thanked him, and gave him a quarter for his tip. He looked quite pleased to receive such a generous gratuity.
It must be the reply from Clara McColley, she thought, as she tore the yellow envelope open. But it wasn’t.
She looked at Christena. “It’s from Edmond. He and Paul are coming.”
Christena beamed. “Excellent. When will they arrive?”
“On Monday. In just two days!”
