Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

  “Hey, boss!” A man flagged him from across the bridge and close to the edge of the upper pond.

  Nathaniel jogged across the short expanse and drew up in front of the bewhiskered, rough-clad worker. “Everything all right?”

  “No, sir. Word just came down that Martin Jenkins didn’t show up at the log landing.”

  Nathaniel removed his hat and scratched his head. “Anyone find out where Jenkins is?”

  “Figured we’d best ask you before sending someone down the mountain to his place.”

  “Fine. Who can you spare?”

  “I’ll find someone and report back.”

  Nathaniel spun on his heel and raised a hand in dismissal. “I’ll be in the office.” He made the rounds from the millpond to the train unloading its cargo and back to the office on the slight rise above the tracks. The paperwork that had built up since the last manager left covered the desk. He’d best get to it.

  The next hour passed without incident, but the calm was broken when a man he didn’t recognize burst through the door, panting and gasping for breath. “Excuse me. You Mr. Cooper?”

  Nathaniel swung around in his office chair. “I am.”

  “Sampson sent me down to check on Martin Jenkins. I couldn’t raise anyone at the door, and the curtains were drawn, so I asked at the general store. No one’s seen Martin for at least a couple of days. Went back to the house and pounded, then tried the door. The smell hit me, and I nearly gagged. I walked through the kitchen to the back room. Found Jenkins on the floor. Dead.”

  Nathaniel stood to his feet, shock slowing down his response. “Dead? You’re sure? Did you call for the doc?”

  “Yes, sir, I did, although I didn’t need to. He’s for sure dead and stunk something fierce.” The man grimaced. “Looks like he was bashed in the head.”

  Nathaniel’s chin jerked up. “That’s terrible. Does Jenkins have a family?”

  “His wife’s dead, and his daughter has been out of town visiting kin this past couple of weeks.

  Nathaniel grabbed his hat and shoved it onto his head. “I’d better ride down and see what I can do. It might take a couple of days before the sheriff can get here from Troutdale. Find someone to notify Jenkins’ crew.”

  The man nodded and left the shack. Nathaniel strode to the door and stepped outside. Trouble on the first day didn’t bode well for the future.

  Andrew stood on the fringe of onlookers grouped near Jenkins’ porch and shook his head. No good would come of this day. He stared at the blanket-draped body being carried out the front door by two sawmill workers. Both mills had closed early as a result of the unexpected death, and word had spread through the small community.

  A tall man with dark brown hair and a small mustache stood on Jenkins’ porch and waved his arms. “Could I have everyone’s attention?” The voices around him stilled, and the man continued. “My name is Nathaniel Cooper. I started today as assistant supervisor of the Palmer mill, and the supervisor is out of town for the week. Did any of you know Jenkins well?”

  “Yes, sir. Lots of us did. Martin worked at the sawmill for years before being promoted to skidding supervisor at the log landing.” Vernon Mills, a man wearing grease-stained overalls, wiped his palm on his leg and stared at the man standing next to him. “Laws, Joe, how long you think Martin worked here in Bridal Veil, anyway?”

  Joe Kline removed his hat and twisted it in his hands. “Don’t rightly recall, but it’s been a number of years. Most of us knew him. I played cards with him many a time and counted him a good friend.” He wagged his head. “Can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “How’d Martin die, anyway?” a voice called out from the back of the gathering.

  Nathaniel hunched a shoulder and frowned. “Looked like he hit his head. Might have slipped and fallen. Doc’s going to take a look at him as soon as he arrives from another call.”

  “Sure is goin’ to be hard on Jenny. She’s always been close to her pa.” Joe dusted his hat against his leg, then shoved it back on his head.

  Donnie Williams stepped to the fore and raised his voice. “Or someone could a’clubbed him in the head. Any proof he fell?”

  A murmur rose from the people nearby, and Andrew glanced around. Frowns marred several faces, and one of the two men who’d spoken earlier turned with a scowl. “Donnie Williams, shut your trap. Ain’t nobody in this town who’d want to harm Martin.”

  Andrew thought back to Saturday morning when he’d stopped at this house. Was it possible Martin had been killed, or could it be a simple accident? The man hadn’t answered the door, and no one had seen him since.

  Nathaniel raised a hand, and the crowd quieted. “We don’t know anything yet. Anyone see Martin the past couple of days?”

  Joe Kline rubbed his bald head and squinted. “Martin was supposed to come over Friday night and play a hand of cards, but he didn’t show.” A quick shrug. “Figured he found somethin’ else to occupy himself with and didn’t think on it anymore. Wish now I’d come and checked on him.”

  Donnie took a long stride toward Andrew and pointed his finger at him. “I seen him at Jenkins’ house Saturday morning, comin’ out of his door. Maybe he’s the one what knocked him in the head.”

  Andrew jerked his head around and stared at Donnie. Was the man mad, or did he really believe he’d seen him exiting Jenkins’ door? “I wasn’t in Jenkins’ cabin! We were shorthanded, and I came to see if he could fill in at the mill. He didn’t come to the door.”

  “No sir. I seen you come out that door.” Donnie pushed his short bulk closer to Andrew. “I also seen Miss Garvey knockin’ on Martin’s door Friday night. Then Saturday morning Miss Garvey came along and flirted with you. For all I know, she’s in on it, too.”

  “Why you—” Andrew grabbed the front of Donnie’s shirt and shoved his nose close to Donnie’s face. “Miss Garvey was on her way to help Mrs. Hearn. She had nothing to do with it, and neither did I! You didn’t come along till I’d turned away from the door and was speaking to Miss Garvey.”

  Joe pushed through the group of men clustered nearby. “Donnie, you’d best take that back. We don’t take kindly to trash-talkin’ about one of our decent women.”

  Donnie shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to, just tellin’ the truth as I seen it, no matter what you say.” He turned toward Cooper and sneered. “You mark my words.” He jerked his head toward Andrew. “Browning here could a’had somethin’ to do with Martin’s death.” He snapped his mouth shut, then shouldered past the men standing nearby and stomped off into the woods.

  Andrew met Nathaniel Cooper’s gaze. The man’s eyebrows drew down, and a quizzical light shone in his eyes. “If you think of anything that might help, you’ll let me know, Mr. Browning?”

  Andrew nodded and spread his hands. “Sure. But I told you everything—Jenkins didn’t answer the door, and I went on to the next house.”

  “Can you remember who you saw before you got here?”

  “No one. I tried two other places and nobody was home.” Andrew felt a surge of fear.

  Grant Cowling moved forward and clapped Andrew on the shoulder, then raised his voice. “I believe you, son. I don’t know what got into Donnie, suggestin’ you and Margaret could have anythin’ to do with Martin’s death. That boy has worked for me nigh onto two years, and I’ve never seen him so ornery. Sure hope what he said doesn’t reflect poorly on Margaret, her bein’ our schoolteacher and all.”

  “Nothing to worry about there.” A strong voice off to Andrew’s left sliced through the air, and Robert Ludlow, the head of the Bridal Veil schoolboard, moved up beside Grant. “Besides, I didn’t hear him offer any proof.” Ludlow directed his gaze toward Cooper and stepped onto the bottom step of the porch. “In fact, it might pay to look into Williams a bit, since he could have been hanging around the house when Browning arrived, and possibly on Friday evening, as well.”

  Cooper shoved his hat back on his head. “I agree. I’m just gathering what information I can, ah
ead of time.” He cast a direct look at Andrew. “We don’t know what happened, yet, but if it wasn’t an accident, I imagine the sheriff will need to ask questions.” He turned and raised his voice. “If no one else saw or heard anything, I guess we’d all best get back to what we were doing. The doc will let us know his findings, and I’m sure we’ll get a visit from the county sheriff, when he has time to get here. Too bad we don’t have our own law enforcement in Bridal Veil.”

  “Good thinking, Cooper.” Robert Ludlow extended his hand. “There’s been hobos walking and riding the rails of late. I saw at least one person, maybe two, sneak off the train and slip into the woods a week or so back. Be sure to let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

  Ludlow turned to go, and Andrew tapped his shoulder. “Thanks for sticking up for Miss Garvey the way you did. Much appreciated.”

  “Certainly. She’s a lovely lady.” He nodded. “I need to go. Good day.”

  Andrew watched him walk away, thanking the good Lord both Ludlow and Grant had intervened. What was Donnie Williams thinking, claiming he’d been in Jenkins’ cabin? And hobos riding the rails? He hadn’t noticed any strangers in town who weren’t associated with the mill, but it might pay to be careful. He’d have to keep a closer eye on Margaret, her living alone and all. The last thing he wanted was something happening to the woman he’d promised to protect, who was burrowing ever deeper into his heart.

  Nathaniel went back into the cabin after the crowd dispersed and walked from the living area to where they’d found Martin’s body. He covered his mouth and nose with a clean cloth, but even so the smell almost overpowered him.

  While the man could have slipped and struck his head on the corner of the table, he doubted that was the case. Papers littered the floor, and an empty oil lamp lay shattered on the hearth. Good thing the base had been dry and the wick not lit, or they might have had a worse tragedy on their hands than one dead body. Fire in the woods was a sawmill worker’s biggest fear, and prevention was taken seriously.

  He headed toward the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. The gingham curtains at the windows showed the evidence of a woman’s touch, and he remembered one of the men mentioning a daughter. Poor girl, she’d be returning to Bridal Veil for a funeral instead of to her father’s welcome.

  He guessed, by the looks of things, that the daughter had been gone for a while. The plank floor was in sore need of a good scrubbing, and unwashed dishes sat on the food-littered table. His gaze traveled to the table where flies buzzed over the remains of what must have been Martin’s last meal, then paused on a scrap of paper fluttering across the floor. He strode over and planted his boot on the missive before the breeze could drive it into hiding. Probably something from the desk. He bent over and plucked it from the corner and held it up to the light. Painfully neat letters covered the lined paper in what appeared to be an almost childish hand.

  We’ll pay you back for the food as soon as we’re able. Please forgive us for not asking. We’re hungry.

  Nathaniel frowned and read it again. No way would Andrew Browning have written something like this if he’d come into the house when Donnie Williams saw him. His thoughts returned to the man who’d stood accused in front of the cabin just minutes before. Browning had been sitting beside Margaret at church, and they’d been smiling and chatting when he’d first spotted them. After hearing the men refer to Margaret as Miss Garvey, he knew that she wasn’t married, but could Browning be Margaret’s beau? He didn’t appear to be the type of man who’d murder someone, but you couldn’t always tell. He could have a temper. Or maybe Martin was interested in Margaret as well, and Browning flew into a jealous rage and attacked him. Then there was Donnie. His claims seemed a bit exaggerated, and he wondered what drove the man to spout off as he had, dragging Margaret’s name into the mix.

  He looked again at the paper clutched in his hand. This didn’t make sense. Why would someone leave a note that they were hungry, had taken food, and would pay for it later? Why not come forward and ask? Small towns were known for their hospitality, and most anyone here would feed a hungry person without payment. Someone had mentioned hobos riding the rails. Could one of them have snuck into the house, left the note, and panicked when Martin came home? Of course, it was doubtful anyone would apologize for taking food, then kill the person if they arrived home unexpectedly.

  Items were scattered around the floor in the small room where Martin’s body had lain. He scanned the room, then stepped to the table, righted the chair, and picked up a book lying facedown on the floor. “Tom Sawyer.” He shook his head. “I guess you never really know a man till you see what he likes to read.”

  He kicked aside the fragments of broken glass. Someone should clean up this mess before the daughter came back. If she did. One of the men had mentioned that the rest of Jenkins’ family resided in Portland. Chances were they’d hold the funeral service there, and she might never return. Surely some of the local women would offer to pack her things and ship them back on the train.

  Another paper the same size as the first caught his eye, and he stooped over and picked it up. He withdrew the first from his pocket and compared the handwriting. Not even close. The second looked as though it were penned by a child with an unsteady hand and nowhere near the grasp of the English language as the first.

  I pay fer buk

  What in the world?

  He shook his head. These notes would be turned over to the sheriff when he arrived. It wasn’t his job to figure it out, but he’d keep his eyes open just the same. Jenkins was under his charge, and it was his responsibility to look out for his men. That included keeping watch on Browning, as well. If something in the man had snapped and he’d attacked Jenkins, then anyone could be in danger, including Margaret. She wasn’t his responsibility, but he’d not see any woman come to harm if he could help it, even one who’d toyed with his emotions and then turned away.

  Chapter Twelve

  Samantha scrunched down into a pile of hay in the barn loft and stared out the window at the dusky, predawn sky. The moon was just starting to wane as fingers of morning light pushed over the top of the horizon. For the last two weeks she and Joel had lived in a corner of this rundown barn that appeared to be abandoned, huddled under the hay for warmth in the coolest part of the night. As thankful as she’d been for the food they’d eaten, they were tired of hiding. Besides, they needed a real bath in a sore way. Three times now they’d snuck down to the base of the waterfall near dusk and cleaned up the best they could, but a hot tub and a hair wash sounded mighty good.

  Maybe Mrs. Stedman had stopped looking. She could always get more children from the orphanage, couldn’t she? Of course, she never let them forget how much they cost her, so it might be good to stay put for a while. She sighed. It would be so nice to find a home.

  The sun was just tipping the top of the hills to the east when Samantha slipped out of the barn. Joel wouldn’t wake for at least another hour. Her brother seemed increasingly tired—whether from poor food or lack of real exercise, she didn’t know. Something had to change soon.

  She jogged away from the barn, clutching her flour sack to her chest and praying. The care of her brother sat heavy on her shoulders, and she longed to be a little girl again, like she was before Mama and Papa died and all she’d known was taken from them.

  The squeal of train brakes coming up the tracks a hundred feet away slowed her steps, and she dodged into the brush. Sleeping close to the tracks at Mrs. Stedman’s, she’d grown so used to trains passing that she rarely noticed them anymore—but she couldn’t take a chance that someone might notice her lugging a bag and skulking through the bushes.

  The conductor jumped from the caboose and walked down the line of freight cars. Nothing else stirred, and silence settled over the length of the tracks. Samantha darted through the brush away from the train.

  A stretch of woods and heavy brush lay between the old barn and the edge of Bridal Veil. Prickles ran up Samantha’s back,
and she shivered. Normally she loved the woods, but this morning something didn’t feel right. She stepped onto the path and started through the trees, then stopped, her heart beginning to drum against her chest.

  “Get off the path. Hurry.” Her head jerked up. Who had spoken? She waited, not moving.

  “Run into the woods. Now.”

  She caught her breath and dashed forward into the trees, somehow knowing the voice could be trusted.

  Voices. She could hear men somewhere behind her.

  God, help me please. I can’t let them find me. Joel would be all alone. She darted off the path, then stopped, panic gripping her body. Which way to run?

  The voices increased in volume. A low, guttural growl and a whining, higher-pitched one spoke back and forth. “You sure you seen her come this way?”

  “Yeah. When I peeked outta the train door I seen her dart into the brush, then she took to this path. She disappeared around the corner and headed into these woods.”

  “She’s an awful pretty little thing, even if she is dirty.” The man snickered. “Maybe we can take her with us when we get back on the train.”

  “Like you got room to talk, yer dirty yer own self. Now keep your trap shut. Ya don’t want someone hearin’ ya, do ya? We don’t need the law after us.” His voice dropped, and Samantha could barely hear him. “But takin’ her might be a good idea. Let’s start huntin’.”

  Samantha sank to her knees, her stomach lurching.

  “Get up.”

  She raised her head and looked around.

  The voice again. Firm, yet gentle and kind. “Get up, Samantha. I’ll lead you to safety.”

  This time she didn’t hesitate. She jumped to her feet and moved. But which direction?

  “Go to the left. Now.”

  She swung to the left and picked up her pace, the voices receding just a bit. She still hadn’t seen the men, but the panic didn’t lift.