Bay City Belle. Shirley Kennedy

doll. I left it in the dining room.”

      Amy was hardly ever without her favorite doll. Belle turned back toward the house. “I’ll get it, sweetheart. You children go ahead. Tell Weldon to hitch up the buggy.”

      Back in the house, Belle headed toward the dining room. She was almost there when she heard voices. Harlan and Victoria must be still there, no doubt lingering over another cup of coffee. She was about to enter when she was struck by the peculiar tone of Victoria’s voice, a stressed, near-desperate sound she’d never heard before. Belle never snooped, but something made her stop outside the door and listen.

      “…it’s hopeless, Harlan. She’s stolen my children away from me. They’ll probably start calling her ‘Mother’ soon, and I’ll be left completely in the cold, just someone who happens to live in the same house.”

      “That’s nonsense.” Harlan was using his most soothing voice. “You are their mother, Victoria. No one can ever take your place.”

      “Ha! The other day when Amy cut her finger, who did she go running to? It wasn’t me, it was her wonderful aunt Belle, and that’s because my children love her the best now.”

      “Then why don’t you talk to her? Seems to me that would be the most sensible solution. Just tell her to back off, don’t give the children so much attention.”

      “I could never do that. Belle’s been wonderful to the children, and to us, too. I would never dream of hurting her feelings.”

      “Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

      “What can you say? There’s no solution. Belle will be with us for the rest of her life, and I’ll just have to live with the pain of knowing my children love her more than they love me. Oh, look, Amy forgot her doll. I’ll try to catch them before they leave.”

      The scrape of chair legs told Belle she’d soon be discovered. She darted away, barely making it to the stable before Victoria arrived, doll in hand. “I found Amy’s doll.” She smiled at Belle. “So sweet of you to do this. What would I do without you?”

      Belle accepted the doll. She forced a smile, not easy considering her insides had turned numb and a dry sob burned in her throat. “Always my pleasure, Victoria. I feel the same. What would I do without you?”

      Chapter 2

      The North Maine Woods, 1870

      Yancy McLeish lived deep in the woods. If he had his choice, he would never get farther than a mile or two from the log cabin that nestled amidst tall firs, pines, and cedars, overlooking the blue waters of Moose Lake. What with hunting, fishing, and trading with the local Indians, he could pretty much never leave, but he liked his coffee in the morning, a habit he’d picked up in the army. He liked sugar to sweeten it with, plus a few odd items he couldn’t grow, shoot, or hook on a line, so much as he hated to, there were times when he had to make the five-mile trek to town.

      And besides that, he had to pick up his mail. As he rode into Jackman, towing his pack mule behind him, he didn’t look forward to his visit to the Jackman General Store and, in particular, Mrs. Louella Pierce, store clerk, postmistress, and persistent busybody. He’d be polite, like he always was, but had to brace himself for that moment when he walked into the store and she’d loudly declare, “There he is! One of our brave boys in blue! You’ve got mail, Captain McLeish.”

      For one thing, the mail she sounded so excited about never amounted to much, nothing more than an occasional letter from one of his old army buddies who knew where he was, or maybe a catalog or two. For another, he wasn’t “Captain” anymore, nor was he wearing blue. After his discharge from the Union Army, he couldn’t get out of his uniform fast enough, couldn’t burn it fast enough. And brave? Anyone who managed to live through the hell of those so-called “heroic battles” didn’t give a damn about brave. They were grateful they’d survived the slaughter and happy to still be alive.

      Yancy reached the store, tied his horse to a hitching post, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

      “Ah, there’s Captain McLeish! Our brave boy in blue.”

      Good God. “Hello, Mrs. Pierce. Just came to stock up on a few things. Pick up my mail.”

      The round little woman with sharp blue eyes looked like she was chomping at the bit to tell him something. “I’ve been waiting for you to come in. Wait till you see.” She trotted to the mail counter at the back of the store, ducked behind it, and came up with a letter. “Look! It arrived a week ago. I thought you’d never come in. Mercy me, it’s clear from San Francisco.”

      His heart jumped, but he didn’t let it show. “Is that so?” He gave a mildly interested shrug and reached for the letter. Without giving it a second glance, he stuck it in the buckskin pouch hanging from his belt. “Thanks, Mrs. Pierce. I’ll read it when I get home. I’ll be needing some supplies. Coffee to begin with…”

      He wasn’t being spiteful and took no pleasure from the look of disappointment on the postmistress’s face. How could he explain he did everything alone now and wasn’t about to share his personal life with anybody? He’d learned a lot of things from the war, but the main thing he’d learned was if he didn’t let himself get involved with anyone, then he wouldn’t get hurt. Besides, he liked the solitude and no one giving him advice, telling him what to do.

      When he left, he slipped out quietly, grateful Mrs. Pierce was busy helping another customer. He packed up the mule and had mounted his horse when she followed him out, bursting through the door and down the steps like her life depended on it. “Wait up, Captain. I wanted to talk to you. Did you know we have dances at the church every Saturday night?”

      “No, I didn’t know that.”

      “Well, you really should come sometime. We’ve got girls galore who’d love to meet a handsome hero like you.”

      He wasn’t a hero, and handsome? She had to be joking. Years ago, Mother used to embarrass him when she bragged about how tall, lean, and good looking he was, how all the girls were attracted to him. Four hard years in the army took care of that. Now he was more like tall and gaunt, and when he looked in a mirror, two war-weary eyes that had seen too much looked back at him. “I’m not much for dancing, Mrs. Pierce.”

      She beamed, all rosy cheeked and friendly. “Well, you keep us in mind now. If ever you want to meet a pretty girl, you know where to look.”

      “I’ll do that.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat and rode away, leading the loaded pack mule behind him.

      Only one person in the world could be writing him from San Francisco. He figured to wait till he got home to open the letter but hadn’t got a mile out of town before curiosity got the better of him. He reined in his horse, pulled the letter from the pouch, and examined it closely, front and back. Postmarked San Francisco. George Washington stamp in the corner. Fancy that. His brother had seen fit to spend three whole cents on him, and he couldn’t imagine why. He unfolded the letter. Of a heavy, quality parchment, it had a fancy gilt letterhead at the top. Good for old Ronald. He’d always wanted to be the biggest toad in the pond, and now it looked like he was.

      Bank of the Golden Gate

      From the Desk of the President

      My Dear Brother,

      Ever since you were discharged, I’ve been trying to find you. With the help of an agent from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, I finally tracked you down. I must confess, I was astounded when I learned of your present whereabouts. I’m aware of the many travails you went through during your time in the Union Army, but for the life of me I cannot imagine why you’ve taken to the woods. According to the agent, you’re living entirely alone with nothing but Indians and bears for company.

      Did you know Mother has come to live with me? Lately she’s been ailing and longs to see you. She thinks, as do I, it’s high time you came out of the wilderness. My bank continues to prosper. Why not come to San Francisco and work for me? I have made a fortune and so could you.

      Yours