If Miss Eloise hadn’t been such a champion, Maggie would think it was time to insist she keep her nose out of … what? What exactly was Mr. Hill other than a library patron? A friend? Beside her, Wesley Graham Hill III hadn’t stopped talking about the lectures he’d enjoyed in the Reading Circle and at the assembly hall and how her mind would swell if she could hear them all. Her arm nestled in his as they crossed the wooded campus of Bay View. Of course she’d walked beneath the summer shade of these maple trees a hundred times or more, but only as if she’d borrowed the sweet place without legitimate permission. She might believe it were hers easier if she’d jumped into it with H.G. Wells’s time traveler at her side in place of Wesley Hill.
Wesley led her toward Evelyn Hall, the largest and most beautiful Queen Anne-style home near the center of campus with a large wraparound porch dotted with rocking chairs. The transom windows were cracked open to let the cool summer breeze from Lake Michigan keep the crowded room they entered from overheating while Miss Beecher spoke.
Maggie hardly noticed anyone in the audience, so enraptured was she by Miss Beecher’s recitation. Wesley seated her next to another academy man, nestling her in the chair between them. Lost in the story world the woman created, the transport into imagination so glorious, Maggie was convinced her own ability to take Wesley to Holland and back with her words paled by comparison.
Outside Evelyn Hall, shadows from the setting sun cast the flowers into greater brilliance than she’d noticed before. The air from the bay had grown cooler and the scent of pine trees filled the evening air. Goose bumps traveled up her arms, the absence of her seatmates’ nearness now chilled her as they walked farther away from the crowded speaker’s hall. She shivered and folded her hands across her arms, the story still casting a sweet satisfaction over her soul.
“You’re cold?” Wesley shifted out of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders as the man she’d been sandwiched beside approached them. Linked on the man’s arm was a stunning brunette dressed in an evening gown Maggie had seen in a shop window. Wesley draped his arm about Maggie’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. “Come have tea with us, Mag? Please say you’ll come along, it’ll be just the thing to warm you.”
The young man with wire-rimmed spectacles grasped Wesley’s shoulder with a squeeze. “So, you’ve brought your own company finally, Wes? I thought I’d have to manage your schedule forever.” He winked at Wesley as he waited for an introduction.
“Aw, Sam, lay off. This is the lovely Miss Maggie Abbott I’ve told you about.”
Maggie felt her cheeks grow pink under the compliment and scrutiny. Suddenly she felt her smart navy skirt and ivory shirtwaist represented Miss Eloise’s generation more than her own. Soon she’d been introduced to Wesley’s lifetime chap, Sam, and Sam’s lady friend, Francine, as the four drifted away from the center of campus. Away from home. Away from the train station and the library. Away from her father and Miss Eloise. A wonderful, terrible shiver enveloped her beneath Wesley’s jacket. The jacket wafted minty soap with a mix of oak moss and ferns that made her feel as if she’d just slept in one of the English gardens she’d read about. Penhaligon’s English Fern cologne, was it? Maggie had noticed it at Fay’s Dress Shop, remembering the ingredients of the fragrance Father had told her about.
The glory of the evening was more intoxicating than any book she’d ever read, and as with books, she couldn’t tear herself away from it as they strolled through the grove and along the streets lined with cottage after cottage. Each one held its own charm, white-painted gingerbread lattice framed over lace-curtained windows. Porches lined with chairs tugged at Maggie’s yearning for a porch of her own where she and Father could sit and watch the stars or drink a cup of cocoa. July cicadas had begun to sing, announcing midsummer and the coming of August warmth.
At the foot of the steps that Sam and Francine ascended before them, Maggie hesitated, overwhelmed by the formality of crossing the threshold of Wesley’s family cottage linked on his arm. Something warned inside her, and it must have shown on her face.
“Mag?” Wesley turned back from the steps to face her as she looked up at the two-story luxurious summer home and wondered how formidably powerful and genteel the family’s winter home surely was.
“It’s so lovely.”
“Come meet my aunt. She’s been waiting for an introduction.” He stood before her, the twilight growing dark around them, the light from the parlor window around his strong shoulders. “Don’t be nervous, Mag. She’ll love you. You’ll love her.”
“You should have told me you had this in mind.” She swallowed and bit her lip, taking a deep breath before she looked up at him. “You did … have this in mind, didn’t you?” The question blurted before she could take it back, yet she really had to know just how he’d been thinking of her.
Stepping closer, Wesley laid his hands over her arms, engulfed in his jacket sleeves.
She searched his eyes that twinkled with the rising moonlight, wanting reassurance she hadn’t been foolish. Her heart skipped a beat when he slid a lock of her hair away from her face.
“Would you have come if I’d asked?” That cheeky half grin she’d come to like tugged at his mouth. “Or would you have run off like you have every other time?”
Somehow his baritone voice, their conversations about worlds far away, all their talk of the wisdom of God and humanity, his patient waiting for her as he stood close, eased the warning within. She thought to pray before resting her arm in his, unsure she could hear any heavenly directive at such a moment. How did anyone know with certainty about such things?
And how had he called her “Mag” in such a way that made her think he’d thrown convention and formality aside like a society rebel, yet still managed to treat her in such a way that made her want to follow him through the front door of the most prominent family in Bay View?
Wesley wasn’t sure which was more worrisome—that the formidable wealth he lived in was overwhelming, or that facing Uncle Bernard as a woman of unknown family lineage might scare her away forever.
Hand at her back, he led her through the front doors, down the hallway, and into the parlor where Sam and Francine had taken their comfortable places. He hoped Sam might buffer the conversation and any unwelcome scrutiny from Uncle Bernard. But his uncle wasn’t home. Only Aunt Maud, and she brimmed with all the sweetness that he loved her for.
Wesley breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the tension and tightness from his chest. Aunt Maud, who only saw hearts and souls, could be counted on to put Maggie at ease. He winked at her from where he stood next to Maggie.
While he made introductions to his aunt, Sam and Francine drifted to the settee where they sipped tea and paged through the day’s newspaper. True to her nature, his aunt engulfed Maggie with a warm embrace that made him wish his mother could have been there for the introduction. Maggie caught his gaze for a moment as Aunt Maud engaged her attention—pouring her tea, offering her pleasantries, and drawing her in with conversation about the Reading Circle and the library.
When the teacups were emptied, he and Sam convinced Maggie and Francine to take turns reading poems aloud from the Reading Circle magazine. First Francine stood in the center of the parlor to mimic the monologue stance of the evening’s reader, then Maggie. Aunt Maud sat quietly in her rocker with needlepoint work that had slid to her lap as she’d laid her head back, her eyes closed while listening to Maggie’s sweet recitation of “The Brook” by Tennyson.
To have her here. To listen to her voice, the rhythm of her words, the song of the cicadas accompanying her from the open windows. To let his gaze lock with hers when she looked up from the page, the soft pink on her cheeks when she did—Wesley’s heart turned in his chest with the satisfaction of enjoying her presence and the feeling that she belonged here with him. He had every confidence in her, having witnessed her twill a story and paint a scene with her words. Yet, as she had glanced at him before she’d begun, as if to bolster some insecurity, she had a look on her face not unlike the near panic when she rushed away at the end of their every meeting. A look he suspected spoke of some vulnerability he’d yet to discover—an uncertainty he yearned to guard.
Sam, Francine, and Aunt Maud applauded when she finished, and Wesley stood up to take the magazine from her. A sudden urge to kiss her cheek overcame him as his hand brushed hers. All doubt vanished from Maggie’s face as she smiled under their praise for her performance, her eyes twinkling with delight as he looked down at her. But the magic moment broke with the commanding voice of Uncle Bernard interjecting into the social hour that was nearly perfect until now. “What’s all this excitement?”
Wesley followed social protocol with an introduction, praying his uncle would welcome Maggie as warmly as his aunt had. “Uncle Bernard, this is Miss Magdalena Abbott, my reading assistant from the library.”
“So you are.” He tipped his head, his direct gaze deflected to the floor a split moment as if he might dismiss her presence and turn away altogether. Instead he leaned back his head to focus on her. “So Miss Abbott, are library sciences your training and ambition?”
Wesley wanted to rescue her. Shield her from an interrogation that was sure to end in some degree of silent disapproval if she weren’t connected to a solidly established family. Aunt Maud had resurrected out of her chair and come to Maggie’s side.
“Yes sir. I hope to become head librarian one day.” She stood straight, shoulders confident. Though a few red blotches crept up her neck, she never flinched as she returned Uncle Bernard’s gaze. “It’s so gracious of your family to have shared your home with me this evening.” The pulse at her throat defied the calm in her voice.
Uncle Bernard’s eyes squinted. “Abbott, you say? I don’t recall the surname. Have you summered here long?”
“All my life, sir.” Her lip quivered.
“Here in Bay View?”
“Petoskey.” She glanced to Wesley, a look of uncertainty shimmering behind her forced confidence.
Sam and Francine announced their leave and bid all good night, relieving Maggie of the inevitable study of Uncle Bernard. Wesley drew Maggie toward the door, his hand on the small of her back, wanting to protect her from any impending disapproval. He would defend her strengths to his uncle no matter the pressure and resistance, but only after he’d seen her home safely. “It’s late, Uncle. Forgive the short introduction, but I must get Maggie home.”
Uncle Bernard bowed slightly, ever polite. “Next time we’ll visit about your family, Miss Abbott.” He smiled. Wesley knew he meant well, but his mannerism still boded a thorough interrogation ahead.
“Perhaps, sir.” She managed to hold a confidence as she faced him, then thanked Aunt Maud. He felt Maggie’s urgency mount as she moved toward the door, holding his arm a little too tightly, as if ready to bolt.