Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

  Ma walked into the room and screeched. For a woman of her substance she moved amazingly fast. Within seconds, she was looming over him. “What are yer filthy shoes doin’ on my sofa?!”

  He sat up, then bolted to a standing position. He ought to have known better. Ma was protective of her furniture. But before he could even open his mouth to apologize, she leaned closer and squinted at him.

  “What you home for, anyhow? You better a’brung those kids back.”

  “Now, Ma, I did my best.” He plastered on what he hoped was his best smile. “You got any of that stew you’re famous for? I sure am hungry for some of yer good cooking.”

  Her mouth tightened further. “Don’t you be changin’ the subject. Speak up now, and be quick about it.”

  Wallace rocked on his heels and frowned. His feet screamed to be loosed from the too-tight shoes, and his stomach reminded him that he’d not eaten for hours. Ma could be so difficult. He scratched his chin. Worse, she was gonna be plumb irate when she heard his news. Maybe he could hold her off for now and get dinner first. “My feet hurt, Ma. Can I have something to eat and sit for a spell first? My stomach’s done ate a hole in itself, I swear. I ain’t had nothing to eat since yesterday.”

  She took a step back. “I suppose you can eat a bowl of stew and talk at the same time.”

  A jerk of her head toward the door sent him racing for the kitchen. No way was he waiting around and giving Ma a chance to change her mind. No sir.

  A couple minutes later he sat at the wobbly table pushed into the corner of the dimly lit kitchen. A candle burned near his plate, dripping wax onto the marred wooden surface. Wallace gulped the stew and swiped a chunk of bread into the savory depths, bringing the dripping morsel to his mouth and inhaling the bite. Ma sat across from him, watching every spoonful enter his mouth until he’d cleaned the bottom of the bowl and held it out for more.

  She shook her head and withdrew the bowl. “Talk, boy.”

  He plunked back against the spindles of the chair and sighed. When Ma got in one of her moods, there was no help for it. He’d best be telling what he knew. He’d almost stopped at another orphanage on the way back home and asked if they’d give him another brat but couldn’t decide if Ma would want a boy or a girl, so he let it go. ’Sides, he didn’t care to tackle the paperwork they’d expect him to sign, and his stomach was howling for vittles.

  “I didn’t find ’em.” He cringed, wondering where those blunt words had sprung from.

  “Where’d you look? You go to the places I told you?”

  “Yes, Ma. I went back to where them kids come from, just like you said, and I talked to the neighbors. No one’s seen them since the orphanage people took them away after their parents died.”

  “Where else did ya go?”

  “I talked to the people at the orphanage where you got them, tole ’em they ran away, and that we wondered if they’d made their way back to ’em.”

  “You what?” Ma sat back in her chair, her mouth hanging open. “Now they’ll think I ain’t fit to have no more kids, if I can’t keep the ones they give me. Why’d you tell ’em somethin’ like that?”

  He scratched his head, not comprehending the logic. “I thought you’d want me to talk to them people. It’s the only other home those kids knew besides the one with their ma and pa, so it seemed natural they’d go back there.”

  “You didn’t think, that’s yer problem.” Ma shook her head and sighed. “Never mind, don’t matter now. Where else you look?”

  “Please, Ma? I’m still starving.”

  She grabbed his bowl, clomped over to the pot simmering on the blackened stove, and slopped a dipperful into the dish. “Now finish talkin’.”

  “I will.” Wallace dipped in his spoon and gulped a large bite, then started to talk. “I went to the police in Portland, but they didn’t care. Said runaways ain’t their problem. Told me more’n likely they’re long gone by now. Wanted to know if they’d committed a crime. I said no, just run away is all.”

  Ma rolled her eyes and groaned. “Why didn’t ya make somethin’ up? If they thought they’d done wrong, they’d be more apt to look for ’em. Don’t you got a brain in your head, boy?”

  Wallace’s back stiffened, and anger surged through him. His stomach was full now, but his feet still hurt and he’d been tramping around the country for days, with no thanks from his mother. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m tired, and I’m sick of you talking down to me. I did what you asked, and nothing makes you happy. Go find ’em yerself, if’n you think you can do better.” He jutted out his chin. “I’m going to get some sleep.” He belched again, just because it would rile her, and left the room.

  Ma had been testy for weeks, and he’d had about as much as he could take. She needed to start appreciating him, that’s what. Those two brats were orphans, and he was her own flesh-and-blood. Time she started remembering that and quit nagging at him so much. He dropped onto the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and leaned against the soft back. She couldn’t say nothing about his shoes on her precious furniture now. He let out a grunt and turned on his side. Blamed kids. Ma could hunt for them next time. He’d had enough.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Nathaniel stooped over and plucked a chunk of dried mud from the edge of the braided rug in the front room of his home. He stalked to the door, yanked it open, and pitched the mud as hard as he could, hoping to find a sense of release from the pent-up emotion he’d been stifling since Margaret walked away an hour or so ago. Why hadn’t he insisted he walk her back to her cabin? What kind of man was he, letting her go home alone while he retreated like a whipped pup with its tail between its legs?

  Had she secretly wished he’d followed and wondered at his absence?

  It was past suppertime, and he supposed he should fix something to eat. He shut the front door with more force than necessary, grabbed a cast-iron skillet from a peg on the wall, and dropped it onto the stove. He glared at the pan, then snatched it from the grate and hung it back on its peg. Food didn’t appeal—not much did, except finding a way to wipe the distress from Margaret’s face when she’d heard the news about her father. He muttered a quiet curse, then lifted his voice and shouted the words again.

  What he wouldn’t give to take back telling Margaret about the box. But then, she’d never have known he hadn’t intentionally left her in Bridal Veil. He groaned deeply, leaned his hands on the table, and dropped his head. He’d wanted her to know he hadn’t deserted her, but it had never occurred to him how she’d react. Would she calm down and see he’d not intentionally abandoned her, after she’d had time to think about it? Fix it. He had to fix it.

  Where was his hat? A quick look in the kitchen didn’t reveal the gray felt, and he strode into the front room. Not there either. Where was the blasted thing? He lifted his hand to run his fingers through his hair and stopped, shut his eyes, and shook his head, then tugged the brim of the hat perched on his head down closer to his eyes. He stalked out the door. Margaret might not want to see him right now, but he had to see her. Somehow he must make her understand he hadn’t intended to hurt her. Somehow he had to make it right.

  Margaret stared at the sheriff and felt the muscles of her face tighten. How much should she tell this man? Would answering his questions put Joel and Samantha in danger? Her stomach twisted, and a burning sensation rose in her throat. Mama and Papa had drummed honesty into her mind, and she knew God hated lying as well. The need to protect the children drove her almost to the point of fabricating a half truth, but her innate honesty and desire to please God held that thought in check. “I’m afraid I don’t know much.” She gripped her hands together in her lap. “I think they’d been in town for at least several days before Mr. Gibbs brought them to my home.”

  Sheriff Bryant rose and took a step closer. “Gibbs brought them? Where did he find them, and what made him bring them to you?”

  “He came home early one day and found Joel sitting in his yard petting Buck, h
is dog. Sammie was terrified and wouldn’t come inside the fence until Mr. Gibbs held Buck’s collar.”

  “Why were the children there?”

  Margaret lowered her voice. “Joel let it slip that they were hungry.” She glanced across the room. Sammie had paused in her reading and lifted her head but wasn’t looking their way. Please God, don’t let her be aware of what’s going on. She couldn’t stand it if Sammie took Joel and tried to run again. They might not be so lucky, and she might not be so blessed to find them easily the next time. What if Sammie spooked badly enough to take her brother and hop a train again? They could end up in Portland, living on the streets, and who knew what would happen to them there. “We need to keep our voices down.” Sammie bent her head over the book, and Margaret could hear her soft voice. She turned her attention back to the sheriff. “I presume they may have come to find food.”

  The sheriff spun his hat in his hands, drawing the brim through his fingers. “So do you believe they’d been taking food and possibly leaving notes?”

  She hesitated, hating the thought of agreeing but knowing she didn’t have a choice. Andrew’s face showed strong sympathy for her dilemma, and his slight nod urged her to continue. “Yes, I do. But I can’t believe anyone as honest as Sammie would do something bad and not own up to it, either.”

  “Ah-huh.” Sheriff Bryant leaned against the nearby cupboard for a moment, as if contemplating her words. The silence was broken only by the hum of Sammie’s low voice reading the words and the turning of a page in the book.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Are you thinking they might be involved in some way in Jenkins’ death?”

  Bryant raised his head and met Andrew’s eyes, then shrugged one shoulder. “Not sure yet. The boy’s big enough to hit a man on the head with a skillet. Might be they came planning on finding food and got surprised. Might not have meant to hurt anyone.”

  Margaret loosened her hands and laid her palms flat on the table. “What now? Are you”—she dropped her voice and hissed through her teeth—“considering taking Joel into custody?”

  “No. I’ll ask them some questions, but I have other possibilities, as well. Someone saw hobos walking the tracks around the same time, and I hear there was bad blood between Jenkins and one of the log skidders—a Dan Meadows.”

  Andrew nodded. “I talked to him on the job several days ago. I’m felling trees back of the Palmer mill for the rest of the summer, and Meadows is working up there. Jenkins was his boss—Meadows said he wasn’t sorry Jenkins was dead, or something to that effect. I don’t remember his exact words, but his tone said a lot.”

  “Ah-huh.” The sheriff placed his hat on his head and took a step back. “Maybe I’ll wait on talkin’ to these youngsters. You happen to know if Meadows stays up at Palmer on the weekends?”

  Andrew shook his head. “Not sure. He has a cabin at the logging site, but he’s a drinking man. Some of the men take the back road from Palmer and head to Corbett or Troutdale over a weekend.”

  “I’ll see if I can track him down. I’ve also sent word to Seattle and Vancouver to be on the lookout for two men riding the rails coming from this direction. Not much we can do to find someone when we don’t know what they look like, but from what you said, they might be wanted.”

  Margaret released her breath and leaned forward. “That’s wonderful. I was afraid those men were being completely overlooked.”

  The sheriff opened his mouth, but a sharp rap at the door snapped it shut again. “I’ll not impose on you again, Miss Garvey. It’s your home.”

  “Thank you, although I can’t imagine who’d be calling.” She cast another look at the children. Sammie had quit reading and stared at the door, then turned with a worried expression toward the sheriff and over to Margaret. How much had the girl heard? A stab of fear bit at Margaret’s heart. Please, God, help. She rose from her chair and stepped toward the door. Please let it be good news. They’d had enough pain, fear, and trouble to fill a year, and didn’t need any more. She swung the door wide and stared into the stormy eyes of Nathaniel Cooper.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Margaret bit back a groan, wanting nothing more than to shut the door in Nathaniel’s face. She hadn’t even had time to consider the meaning of his revelation, and now with this added complication, it didn’t look like she could deal with her questions anytime soon. “May I help you, Mr. Cooper?”

  She felt rather than saw someone step up behind her, and a moment later, the sheriff’s voice spoke close to her ear. “Ask him in, if you please.”

  “What?” Her back stiffened. Sheriff Bryant had promised not to impose again, and now he was making demands? “Why?”

  “Mr. Cooper is the one who found the notes. Please ask him in.”

  She hesitated. If she suggested the sheriff step outside to talk, it would be rude—and she’d not find out what Nathaniel wanted or what he told the sheriff. She swung the door wide. “All right.”

  The sheriff stepped up and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Cooper. You were my next stop. Looks like Providence brought this group together tonight.”

  Margaret frowned. “I doubt Providence had anything to do with this.”

  Nathaniel stepped across the threshold. “I didn’t expect to find you here, Sheriff. You were heading to my place? May I ask why?”

  “If you’ll come in and sit down, I’d be happy to explain.”

  Nathaniel walked in and stopped, staring at Andrew. “Looks like you’re having a regular get-together.” He swung his gaze from Margaret to Andrew, then around the room at the silent children.

  Andrew stood and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “Mr. Cooper.”

  Nathaniel didn’t thrust out his hand but took off his hat and tucked it under his arm, giving Andrew a bare nod. “Browning. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I’m staying at my home in Bridal Veil on the weekends. I’ll head back up the mountain on Sunday afternoon.”

  Joel tapped Margaret’s shoulder. “I need to go to the privy again, Miss Margaret. Can Sammie go with me?”

  “Sure, Joel.” Margaret turned to the quiet girl who was watching the group of adults with wide, frightened eyes. “You can play outside when Joel is done, but please stay near the cabin where I can see that you’re safe, all right?”

  Sammie nodded and gripped Joel’s arm. “Yes, ma’am. Come on, Joel.” She steered her brother around Nathaniel and cast him a dour look before heading out the door.

  Margaret stepped over to the kitchen window and pushed it up a couple of inches. With this many bodies in the small house, it wouldn’t hurt to have some fresh air—besides, being able to keep an ear turned toward the children would be a good idea, as well. She turned to the men seated across the room. “Gentlemen, I realize we’re a ways from the window, but I don’t want Sammie and Joel to hear. I hope you’ll keep your voices down if we’re speaking about anything”—she glanced out the open window toward the woods—“sensitive in nature?”

  Nathaniel frowned after the girl, then swung back to Margaret. “I don’t understand why those two are still in your home, Margaret.”

  She lifted her chin and crossed her arms. “You don’t need to understand, Nathaniel, as it’s not your business.”

  His face blanched, and he drew back a half step. “As you will.” He turned to Bryant. “Sheriff?”

  “You brought two notes that you found in Martin Jenkins’ home. I showed those to Miss Garvey, and she believes it’s possible they were written by Sammie and Joel. I understand from talking to people who were at Jenkins’ cabin that you”—he nodded at Andrew—“had a run-in with a young man who accused you and Miss Garvey of being in the Jenkins’ home the day before.”

  Nathaniel lifted a hand. “I must protest, Sheriff…”

  “I can speak for myself, Cooper.” Andrew cut across Nathaniel’s words. “And I can speak for Miss Garvey, as well, since I was at the cabin when she arrived in the clearing.”

  Marg
aret laid a hand on Andrew’s forearm, then dropped her arm to her side. “Andrew, it’s all right. No one is accusing me of anything.” She looked from Nathaniel to Sheriff Bryant. “Are you?”

  The sheriff shook his head and smiled. “No, ma’am, I’m not. Just trying to get a feel for what happened, and when. Why don’t we all take a seat?” He motioned toward the sofa and drew a couple of chairs across the floor from the table. “Miss Garvey?”

  She hesitated, then sank into one of the hardback chairs, leaving the men to decide who’d have to sit next to each other on the cozy sofa. Nathaniel gripped the back of the one remaining chair and spun it around, then sat, while the sheriff and Andrew each took a corner of the cushions.

  Margaret laced her fingers in her lap and met the sheriff’s eyes. “I was there twice, actually. But I didn’t enter the house either time.” She paused, but no one spoke. Andrew sat on the edge of the sofa, forearms propped on his knees, while Nathaniel leaned back, arms crossed.

  Sheriff Bryant laid his hat on his knees. “Why did you stop by the cabin?”

  “Jenny Jenkins is one of my dearest friends, and I’d gotten a letter that day, expressing concern over her father. She worried he might not be eating properly. I took over a dish of stew but didn’t find anyone at home.” She hesitated, looking from one face to the other, then shook her head.

  “What is it, Miss Garvey? I’d like to know anything you observed, even if you think it’s not important.”

  “Well…” She took a deep breath, then expelled it. “It was no doubt my imagination, but I was certain I heard something in the woods after I knocked on the door. I called out, but no one answered.” She uttered a small laugh. “An owl hooted and flew out of a tree, so I probably was mistaken.”