style="font-size:15px;"> “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
