Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

  He hesitated, and a worried frown settled on his mouth. “All right. It goes against everything in my heart to let you walk away, but I understand. May I call on you tomorrow evening?”

  “I don’t think so. I need some time to sort things out. This is all so—sudden. Confusing. There’s more than just you involved here.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “Browning.”

  She picked up the hem of her skirt with her left hand and turned away. “Thank you for coming to see me, Nathaniel.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You were right that I needed to know the truth.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Margaret walked down the dirt path leading away from the stream for a hundred yards or so, then stopped, perched on a fallen log, and slipped on her stockings and shoes. She looked back the way she’d come, dreading to see Nathaniel following her, but it appeared he’d given her an adequate head start. She shook out her skirt and hurried up the path, suddenly aware of the children waiting at the cabin. If only she could go home and think this through alone.

  A memory niggled at the back of her thoughts: Papa lying on the couch in the living room, gasping for air, and begging her to forgive him. She’d thought it strange, as there was nothing she could think of to forgive. Now she knew. Papa had carried the burden of guilt for four long years, and only when dying had he decided to ask her forgiveness. Then he’d died before he could utter an explanation, and even the letter he’d written didn’t fully explain.

  If he’d been able to tell her what he’d done, would she have forgiven him? Yes, she’d have said the words to allow him to pass in peace. But she also knew that true forgiveness is a choice, and she wasn’t sure she could make that choice even now. Her father might have been trying to protect his young daughter, but he’d gone too far, interfered too much. And on top of everything with Nathaniel, he’d tried to coerce Andrew to marry her—assumedly to save her from men like Nathaniel.

  Why did all the men in her life think they knew what was best for her? Nathaniel left town assuming she didn’t care about him without seeking her out to be sure, Papa interfered to the point of changing her future, and Andrew wanted to court her because Papa had pressed him to care for her in the event of his passing. Margaret couldn’t stand it any longer; she needed to know if Andrew had taken her on as a duty, and she wouldn’t let up until he told her the truth. Then she’d have to face the facts of what Nathaniel had revealed and try to decide what to do with that knowledge.

  The walk from the waterfall to her cabin had flown, and she thanked God she’d not met a single person along the way. It was hard enough facing Sammie and Joel without trying to hide her agitation from an adult. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, then stopped, her hand still gripping the metal knob. Sheriff Bryant sat on a chair near the kitchen table, his large hand gripping a mug of coffee.

  Margaret stepped inside the cabin and shut the door behind her, glancing around for Sammie and Joel. Neither was in sight, so she focused on the man sitting quietly in the chair, sipping his drink. She straightened her shoulders and met his eyes. “Sheriff Bryant. Might I ask how you came to be in my house drinking my coffee?”

  He set the mug down and rose. “A girl answered the door. She and her brother were in here just moments ago. Samantha, I believe she called herself, said she needed to escort her brother out to the necessary at the back of your cabin.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Margaret hastened to the door and onto the porch, certain the excuse had been a ruse for Sammie and Joel to slip away. The girl was terrified of the law, and she couldn’t imagine her sticking around. “Samantha?” She sped toward the small structure a hundred feet behind the cabin. “Joel?”

  The door of the little building creaked open and Joel carefully shut it behind him, then turned with a smile. “Howdy. You got back.”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. “Yes. Is Sammie around?”

  He swiveled and peered over his shoulder, then stepped around the corner of the privy. “Sammie? You out there?”

  “I’m here.” Samantha trotted around the corner, one hand clutching some wildflowers. “Miss Margaret, the sheriff is sitting in your kitchen.”

  Margaret stepped forward and reached for the girl’s shoulders, giving her a hug before she could pull away. “I saw him. How long has he been here?”

  Sammie shrugged and handed the flowers to Margaret. “Not long. I’d just put the coffee to perking when he knocked at the door. Figured maybe you had your hands full of something and couldn’t open it, so I swung it wide.” She kicked a fir cone across the clearing. “He stepped inside, pert as you please. Took his hat off and gave me a big smile, then sniffed the fresh coffee and asked for a cup. After he asked after you, that is.”

  “You told him I wasn’t home?”

  “I did, but he said he’d like to wait. He’s a lawman, and I didn’t want to rile him.” She turned worried eyes on Margaret. “Did I do wrong, Miss Margaret? Should I have told him to go away till you got home?”

  Margaret patted her arm. “You did just fine, honey.” She turned to the quiet boy standing nearby. “Come on, Joel, maybe we can find a cookie for you and our visitor.”

  His face lit with a warm smile. “Whoopee! I love cookies, don’t I, Sammie?”

  “Yes, you do, Joel. And Miss Margaret’s are the best.”

  Joel turned to Margaret. “Can Andrew and Mr. Gibbs come have some cookies with us? I want to play with Buck, and Andrew can read me a story.”

  Sammie frowned and shook her head. “Joel. It’s enough that you’re getting a cookie—you oughtn’t complain that you don’t have someone to play with. I’ll read you a story later.”

  Joel hung back. “But when is Andrew comin’ back, Sammie? He’s been gone forever.”

  Margaret stepped forward and touched the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll be here tomorrow, I’m sure. Maybe we can let you stop by to see Mr. Gibbs and Buck, as well. But for now, we need to see about those cookies, all right?”

  He nodded and looped his arm through Sammie’s, and the children trooped back to the porch.

  Margaret trailed behind them, wondering at the girl’s calm demeanor. Had the sheriff reassured her he wasn’t here to take her back to wherever she ran away from? She shook her head, knowing the man would have no reason to do such a thing. Maybe the reassurance she’d received from Andrew and herself the last time they’d tried to run had worked. Whatever had happened, she was truly thankful the Lord had kept them safe and at home this time.

  Samantha and Joel entered the house, and Margaret followed on their heels. “I apologize for taking so long. I wanted to check on the children.”

  His eyebrows rose and he nodded. “Understandable, what with not knowing for sure about Mr. Jenkins’ demise. Best to keep an eye on the youngsters.” He cast a quick look toward Joel, who stood washing his hands at the kitchen sick under Sammie’s supervision, and lowered his voice. “Although the boy looks big enough to take care of himself, and his sister, if the need arose.” He turned inquisitive eyes on Margaret and dropped his voice. “You ever have reason to believe he’d hurt someone?”

  Margaret sank into a nearby chair, all thought of offering the man a cookie disappearing. She leaned forward and whispered, “No. Certainly not. Why in the world would you ask such a thing?”

  Sheriff Bryant hesitated, then reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a folded paper. “Do you recognize the handwriting, Miss Garvey?” He leaned across the table and held out the square missive. “Go ahead. Open it. Please.”

  Margaret stared at the paper and felt her heart pounding under her cotton blouse. Foreboding seeped into her mind, and it was all she could do to extend her hand and take the paper. She glanced at Sammie and Joel, who’d moved over to the sofa.

  “Sammie?” Margaret tucked the paper in the pocket of her apron and took a step toward them. “Would you be willing to get the cookies and read to Joel for a while, so the sheriff and I can visit?�
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  “Sure.” Sammie jumped up, reached into the jar for two cookies, and plucked the book off the bureau where she’d laid it the last time they’d read aloud. She settled down on the sofa and drew Joel down beside her, their backs toward the kitchen table.

  Margaret removed the paper from her apron but let it lay unopened on the palm of her hand. She raised her eyes to meet Sheriff Bryant’s. “What is this?”

  “It was discovered in Martin Jenkins’ house the morning they found him. Someone left it in the kitchen.” He reached into his other breast pocket and withdrew another scrap. “And this second one was found in the room where he died.” He pressed it into her open palm. “Tell me what you think.”

  She knew without looking what the paper would contain. Sammie had told her about the notes she’d left when they’d taken food to survive. What in the world did that have to do with Martin Jenkins’ death? Stranger still, why would Sammie have left two notes in the same house? Unless…

  She tried to stifle a gasp. Perhaps she’d left one and Jenkins didn’t find it, then she came back after he died and left the other? Her hand began to tremble and she willed it to stop. Leaving a note about food didn’t implicate the children in anything other than being hungry and taking food without permission. It wasn’t something they should have done, and she could see why the sheriff would be upset, but just the same….

  She unfolded the first note and read the words she’d expected to see, neatly penned by Sammie. Then she carefully opened the second paper and stared down at it, unable to take in the meaning of the poorly printed words:

  I pay fer buk

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Andrew hurried through his bath, shaved, dressed, and slipped on his shoes. His clammy hands fumbled with the laces and his stomach lurched. Not seeing Margaret for five days shouldn’t cause this type of reaction, but a sudden urgency to get to her cabin drove him forward. He’d probably look like a fool rushing over tonight, but it couldn’t be helped. He wanted to see her. When had his feelings for her changed from interest into the devotion a man has for a woman he’d like to marry?

  The smell of wood smoke and some type of meat roasting made his mouth water as he jogged past the Lambert cabin, reminding him he’d skipped dinner. It would wait, and he doubted his stomach would tolerate food at the moment, regardless.

  A knock sounded at Margaret’s door and she rose, but Sheriff Bryant held up his hand. “If you don’t mind, miss? The hour is getting a bit late, and maybe I should get it?” He didn’t wait for a reply but grasped the doorknob and drew open the door.

  A quick look over the sheriff’s shoulder showed Andrew Browning standing with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. “What’s going on here? Margaret, are you all right?” He took a step forward and the sheriff moved out of his way, allowing Andrew to pass. Andrew held out his hand toward her, an anxious look in his eyes.

  Relief lifted Margaret’s heart but she tried to push it away, remembering her father’s letter. But her common sense warred with her emotions, reminding her that Andrew cared about Sammie and Joel. She’d have to ignore her personal feelings and deal with what was most important right now. She reached out and squeezed his fingers, then withdrew her hand. “I am now. I’m glad you’ve come, Andrew.” She turned toward the sheriff. “Have you met Mr. Browning?”

  “I have, and you were on my list to visit tomorrow, so I’m happy to see you this evening.” Bryant leaned his hip against a kitchen cupboard and crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope you won’t mind my asking you a few questions?”

  Andrew continued to grip Margaret’s hand, looking from her to the sheriff. “What’s this about? Questions about what?”

  “Andrew!” Joel jumped to his feet, Sammie dropped the book she’d been reading, and they both raced to his side. “You came home!”

  Andrew grinned at the two as they halted beside him, and he returned Joel’s exuberant hug. Sammie stood back a pace and smiled but didn’t move closer. “I just got down off the mountain and came right over after I cleaned up.” He wrinkled his nose. “You can be glad I didn’t come first.”

  Sammie giggled, and Joel scratched his head. “Why not?”

  Sammie elbowed him gently in the side. “He didn’t smell good, so he had to scrub himself before comin’ to see Miss Margaret.”

  Joel’s brow puckered. “Sammie said I stunk real bad when we came, but Miss Margaret let me in before she made us take a bath.”

  Andrew patted the boy’s arm. “That’s because she’s a nice lady, but I don’t want to take advantage.” He turned his attention to Sammie. “Were you reading a book?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve been reading Adventures in Wonderland, and Joel loves the rabbit.”

  Joel nodded. “Alice falls down a hole.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat and raised his brows, directing his attention at Margaret and glancing pointedly at the children.

  Margaret picked up the book they’d dropped on the floor and handed it to Sammie. “Would you mind reading just a bit longer? You can both have another cookie if you like.”

  “Goodie! Thank you!” Joel bounced over to the cookie tin and pulled out two sugar cookies, handing one to Sammie and taking a big bite of his own. “Read to me some more, Sammie.”

  The younger girl took his hand and led him back to the far wall, where they sat down on the sofa. The two heads came close together over the book spread open in Sammie’s lap, and the soft sound of her voice drifted across the quiet room.

  The sheriff waved a hand at the two chairs next to the small pine table. “Would the two of you mind taking a seat?”

  Andrew drew out a chair for Margaret and seated her, then took the other. The sheriff stayed standing but leaned forward and placed the open notes in front of Andrew. “This is what brought me here this evening. I’m still investigating Martin Jenkins’ death and trying to find out who his enemies might be, or who could’ve been at his home the night he died. Miss Garvey looked at these before you knocked, but she hasn’t had a chance to tell me what she thinks.”

  Andrew picked up both pieces of paper and laid them on the table, smoothing the creases and perusing the words. He glanced at Margaret, then at the sheriff, his eyebrows raised. “Where did you get these, and what do they have to do with Miss Garvey?”

  “They were found in Martin Jenkins’ home the same day they—” he dropped his voice near a whisper—“found his body.”

  “I still fail to see the connection or why you’re here.” Andrew placed his forearms on the table, his eyes not straying from the sheriff’s face.

  Bryant stepped close to the table and squatted on his haunches, keeping his voice low. “I think it has something to do with those two.” He nodded toward Sammie and Joel. “From what I can gather, these aren’t the only notes found. Several people had food disappear, and notes were left. The handwriting is the same. Other than the one about the book, that is.” He plucked up the poorly written missive and gave it a slight shake.

  Margaret looked over the sheriff’s shoulder at Sammie and Joel. Both heads were bent over the open book, and the girl carefully pronounced the words in a firm but quiet voice. Joel’s intent gaze studied the pages, as though he were trying to picture each scene as his sister opened a new world to his imagination. Margaret knew Sammie had left notes while hunting for food, but it never occurred to her they might have stumbled into the Jenkins’ home near the time of his death.

  There was no way Joel could be involved, although she had little doubt he’d penned the second note. The boy was big for his age, and if provoked, might defend his sister—but she didn’t believe he would harm anyone. She’d doubted he’d even think of such a thing, much less know how to carry out an attack on a grown man. But what did the note about the book mean, and what had he taken?

  Sheriff Bryant stirred beside her, and she turned back to him. He rocked on his heels and studied her face, then looked back at the two heads huddled over the book in the corner.
“You know I’m right, don’t you, Miss Garvey? You recognize the handwriting?”

  Margaret shook her head and met his eyes. “I’ve never seen Samantha’s handwriting, so no, I don’t know you’re right.” She wanted to jump from the table, grab Sammie’s and Joel’s hands, and dash out the door—away from this man with the piercing eyes and probing mind, this man who could destroy the children’s lives.

  “But you know something about what’s going on, and I have to insist you tell me.”

  Andrew cleared his throat but kept his voice low. “She doesn’t have to talk to you, Sheriff. If she doesn’t recognize the handwriting, you need to leave it at that.”

  The sheriff glanced from Margaret to Andrew, his face still and intent. “Just because she doesn’t know the handwriting doesn’t mean there isn’t more she does know. I’d like to hear how the children came to be with you, Miss Garvey, and how long they were in town prior to their arrival at your home. Exactly what do you know about their past and their family?”

  Wallace Stedman stomped up the stairs of his mother’s house and pushed open the door, banging it behind him. He made a beeline for the most comfortable piece of furniture in the house, her overstuffed sofa, and slouched full length on it, propping his shoes up on the arm. Sweet bliss, getting off his sore feet and onto something soft. He closed his eyes and settled down for a much-deserved rest. His mother mightn’t be happy with the news he’d brought, but she couldn’t blame him. All he could do was try, and he’d done that, for sure and for certain. Peace settled over the room, and oblivion crept over his mind.

  Heavy footsteps thudded across the wood floor of the adjoining kitchen, then stopped. Wallace let out a sigh. Ma was fixing dinner. The footsteps started up again, but this time they headed toward the small parlor where he lay. He opened one eye a slit, anticipating a call to dinner, although he’d yet to smell any tantalizing odors drifting from the kitchen.