“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