Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

  She raised her eyes toward the starlit heavens. “Lord, give me wisdom and help me to make wise choices. I’ve tried to trust You in the past, and I keep making mistakes and not listening to Your gentle voice. Open my ears, and help me to hear this time.” She turned to go back inside, then paused. “And Lord, please protect the lives of the people who call this area their home, and bring Andrew and Nathaniel back home.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Andrew, Julius, Grant, and Nathaniel climbed into Julius’s wagon, loaded with shovels and burlap bags they could soak with water to help fight the fire moving toward Palmer. Other men were heading out on horseback or on foot, and lanterns bobbed in the air like fireflies dancing in the night. The warning had gone out to Palmer for the residents to leave the town and head west to the outlying farms. Some of the men would stay behind to protect the buildings and mill.

  Andrew prayed that the homes and residents of Palmer would remain safe and that the fire could be contained or die out in one of the deep canyons before reaching the town. Thank the Lord the Trickey family had sounded the alarm, but they’d been driven from their home by the flames, along with at least one other family on Angel’s Rest.

  Silence lay over the wagon like a wet woolen blanket. Each man seemed wrapped in his own reflections, and even the normally loquacious Julius kept a still tongue as he guided his mules up the hillside in the gloom. A pale moon had peeped out and hovered above the horizon, casting a paltry light that further muted the atmosphere.

  How he hated leaving Margaret alone at her cabin. Not that he worried about Sammie and Joel—not for a moment. But the winds were fickle here in the Gorge, and all it would take was a shift in direction to send the flames roaring toward Bridal Veil. It had taken all of Andrew’s control not to kiss Margaret before he left. He’d promised himself he’d not press his suit after learning of her interest in Nathaniel Cooper, but he’d been hard-pressed to keep to that promise. If the man won her heart, Andrew prayed he’d deserve her.

  Was Grant right that he shouldn’t give up without a fight? It was something to consider. Not that Margaret wasn’t worth fighting for, but he wanted to be loved because she chose to love him, not because he wheedled her to. She’d not been happy about the letter her father left, or the request he’d made, and Andrew couldn’t blame her. He’d tried to convey his feelings, but she didn’t appear to have heard—and the fear over the fire had overshadowed everything since. He’d have to trust that God would lead her decision where he and Cooper were concerned.

  Andrew peered ahead as the mules pulled the wagon and men over the last rise. The sawmill and outlying buildings were lit by men running from one place to the next with lanterns in hand. Smoke hung heavy on the air, and each gust of wind increased the acrid smell.

  The blast of a train whistle split the air as Andrew and the rest of the men jumped to the ground. Andrew grasped the arm of a worker hurrying past. “What are they doing with the locomotives?”

  “The engineers are moving them back into the hills to be safe. The company can’t afford to lose Peggy and Jumbo.” The man shifted the box he carried on his shoulder and scurried away.

  A lantern bobbed nearby and Dan Meadows, the burly bullwhacker, stepped closer. “Glad you fellas made it. Unload your shovels and dig a ditch on the east side of the mill buildings.”

  Nathaniel grabbed a shovel from the back of the wagon. “You’ve got plenty of water in the millpond. Can you pump it out?”

  “That’s the plan.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s get busy. We got men rigging hoses to the pump carts.”

  The four men spread out, shovels over their shoulders. Other strong hands grasped the hoses and dragged them across an open space. Men rushed around, some digging a fire break in front of the main mill building, while others steadied the hose that shot water onto several of the outlying buildings closest to the stand of trees to the east.

  An hour passed and Andrew gauged the time to be nearly two in the morning. He frowned at the eastern sky, worry clouding his thoughts. A red glow backlit the night, and the smell of smoke intensified. The explosion of another tree in the fiery inferno to the east was a reminder that the fire was increasing in intensity—and that, with each new explosion, it drew closer.

  Andrew plodded on, tossing dirt with his spade and widening the ditch now spanning a length of over one hundred feet. Would it be enough to save the mill and keep the fire from jumping into the cluster of homes beyond? The shouts of men and cries of children came clearly to his ears as families packed what they could and abandoned the rest.

  A man’s booming cry echoed across the clearing. “It’s coming!”

  Andrew raised his head. Orange tongues of fire licked the tree-tops on the crest of the ridge and hungrily made their way into the timber below. The hair on the back of his neck rose. “Faster, men, faster!” Andrew bawled at the top of his lungs and dug his spade in yet another time.

  He heard Nathaniel bellow to the men holding the hose, “Point it onto the east side of the mill building. Dose her good, and keep the water coming!”

  In what felt like a matter of minutes, the sheet of fire consumed the entire hillside, creating a spectacle the like of which Andrew knew he’d never forget, if he got out of this place alive. Fear twisted his gut as flames ripped through one tree after another, dancing from treetop to treetop in amber balls of light. Had it not been so sinister and destructive, it might have been beautiful.

  A shudder tore through Andrew’s body. His thoughts flew to Margaret, Sammie, and Joel. Please, God, let Bridal Veil be spared. He couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to the people he loved. He renewed his efforts on behalf of this town, but futility pressed hard on his spirit. The fire was moving closer, and it didn’t seem possible that ten times as many men could possibly save this mill or the town that lay beyond.

  Suddenly a tree on the edge of the woods closest to the frenzied crew fell, exploding as it hit the ground, and sent a gigantic shower of sparks across the clearing. Men ran from the onslaught, slapping burning embers from their clothes. Andrew watched in horror as flames ignited the cedar shakes on the building nearby. The heat of the raging inferno must have dried the water they’d sprayed not long ago onto the roof, leaving the buildings once again at the mercy of the fire. Men stood back, gaping, as the flames took hold and grew in size, quickly engulfing the roof and working their way out toward the walls.

  Cries of fear and disbelief rose from the group as the blaze jumped from one rooftop to the next. “Pump harder, men—we need to get the water up there!” someone holding the hose shouted into the night.

  “No use!” The men manning the pumps raced from the area where they’d been working as sparks and flames cascaded around them. “The pumps are useless; the heat is melting the hoses. There’s nothing more we can do. Save yourselves! Leave the town! Leave the town!” Men scrambled to get out of the way, dashing across the nearby bridge toward the homes on the west side of the mill.

  Frantic, the remaining men, women, and children raced past their now doomed homes and headed up a road toward farms to the west. Flames roared against the night sky, shedding light on the path out of town. The frightened cries from some of the children pulled at Andrew’s heart, and he continued to utter prayers for safety with each step he took.

  A half mile up the road they came across a clearing in the woods, and the ground leveled out into pasture. A farmhouse stood on the far edge, and a man, woman, and several children stood huddled on the porch. The husband lifted a lantern and peered at the group of stragglers approaching his home. “Has the fire reached Palmer?”

  A man’s voice came from the back of the small band. “Yes, sir. The town’s on fire and it’s not far behind us. Don’t think it’s safe to stay here. You’d best take what you can carry and come with us.”

  The man shook his head. “Don’t want to leave my farm. I turned my animals out already, just in case, but I’ll stay and fight the
fire if she comes.”

  A mighty roar filled the night air, with another close on its heels. Grant’s face twisted in horror, and he turned toward the farmer. “That was two of the boilers explodin’ at the mill. I’m guessin’ the other six will follow. It’s an inferno back there, mister, and you’d best not stay. It’s not safe for you or your family.”

  The woman on the porch tugged at her husband’s arm. “We need to listen, Sam. If the good Lord wants to save our farm, He can, but we need to think of the children.”

  Another explosion seemed to rip a hole in the sky, sucking the air and energy right out of the clearing. Andrew drew in a deep breath. “Your wife’s right. You need to leave. Now.”

  The woman raced into the house and came out with a box in her arms, shoving it at her husband. She scooped up a toddler and bounded down the steps. “Let’s go, Sam. There isn’t anything we own that’s worth dying for.”

  Sam hefted the box to his shoulder and handed his lantern to one of the nearby men. “All right, Martha.” He nodded to his wife. “Come on, kids, let’s go.”

  The rest of the group followed their lead as the rumble of the remaining boilers’ demise shook the ground beneath their feet.

  Matilda Stedman stood by the wagon and looked up at her son. His cough had finally cleared with her nursing, but now she’d caught whatever he’d had. Wallace had grudgingly agreed to hunt for Sammie and Joel one last time. She’d promised to ask the orphanage for another girl if nothing came of this hunt, but she was loath to give up a trained girl like Sammie. “You got to promise me you’ll talk to everyone on my list afore you come back, ya hear?”

  Wallace picked up the reins and scowled. “I hear, Ma. You said it at least a dozen times already, and I’m getting tired of jawing about it. Let me get out of here so’s I can get back, will ya?”

  Matilda stepped away from the wagon seat, torn between letting her son go and boxing his ears. “Don’t sass me, boy.” Letting him go seemed the wisest choice if Sammie were to be found. “Remember, I don’t care if you bring the boy back or not. Someone wants him, you give him away. I just want the girl.”

  Wallace rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, Ma.” He grabbed the reins with both hands and slapped the horses’ rumps. “Yaw! Git up there.” The wagon jerked forward with a squeak of the wheels and rumbled across the open space in front of the barn, raising a cloud of dust that sent Matilda into a fit of coughing.

  She waved her arms in the air, but it did little good. She retreated to the porch and climbed to the top step. A deep groan of the wood beneath her feet gave her only a split second of warning before the board broke in half and her ankle plummeted to the hard ground beneath. “Oww!” she shrieked as the sharp board gouged the tender flesh beneath her stocking.

  “Wallace, come back, son, I need your help!” she yelled.

  But the wagon didn’t return.

  She stood for a moment, one foot still on the broken step, the other plunged a foot below. “Blame it all!” She jerked her leg up. “Yeow!” Pain shot through her ankle, but her foot came free and she staggered onto the porch. “Dad-gum steps. Worthless son,” she muttered as she pushed open the door to the house and limped toward the kitchen.

  Wallace had best bring that girl back and then get to work fixing stuff around this place. She’d had it with just about everything and wasn’t going to tolerate much more.

  Andrew brought up the rear of the group he’d found himself with. Some of the others had headed down a road they were sure would lead to safety, and the rest had continued on toward the small town of Latourelle, about three miles below Bridal Veil. They had at least one canyon to cross, and the fire still raged not far behind.

  Martha, Sam, and their children had remained with his group, as had Nathaniel and another man named Silas, whom he didn’t know. Sam still lugged the heavy box of belongings on his shoulder, and Martha trudged behind him, carrying a toddler in her arms. Andrew could see by the droop of her shoulders that her strength must be failing. He picked up his pace and drew abreast of her. “Here, ma’am, how about letting me carry the boy? You need to rest your arms.”

  She glanced at him and started to shake her head, then stopped and heaved a sigh. “All right. Thank ye.” She lifted the dozing child burrowed against her chest and handed him to Andrew, then reached out a hand to the next youngest child trudging beside her.

  Her husband turned his head and grunted. “That goes for me, too, mister. I was about to toss this box and carry my boy.”

  Martha peered over her shoulder, and a shudder shook her slender frame. “You think the fire got our house?”

  Andrew followed her gaze, regret and sympathy tugging at his heart. “I don’t know. It’s possible it could have skirted the clearing. I’m praying for God’s protection.”

  She nodded and resumed walking, quickening her pace to catch up with the men forging ahead. “Guess that’s all any of us can do, and I thank ye for praying. Hope we’ll find shelter soon so these babes can rest.”

  Thirty minutes later the tired band waded across a stream at the bottom of the steep-sided canyon. Andrew set the little boy gently on a bed of moss and stooped to cup water in his hands, then tossed it over his head and neck. “The air’s cleaner down here. Shouldn’t take long to get to Latourelle once we’re out of the canyon, but I hate to start up the other side and get back into that dense smoke.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Yeah, but we don’t have much choice. Got to keep moving.”

  Sam lifted his head and sniffed at the air. “You think we’ve left the fire behind? Doesn’t seem to be anywhere nearby, from what I can tell.”

  Nathaniel sat on a rock and pulled off his shoe, shaking it until something small tumbled from inside. “Doubtful. The wind is still blowing out of the east, and there’s been nothing to stop it from spreading. If our luck holds, we’ll find a farm and hitch a ride back to Bridal Veil soon.”

  Andrew leaned over and picked up Martha’s boy from where he rested. “Luck has nothing to do with it. God’s leading us out of this forest, and He’s the one who will take us on through safely.”

  Nathaniel scowled. “Think what you want to, Browning, but I don’t buy it. God could have kept the fire from starting, but He didn’t, so I’m not putting too much hope in Him getting us out of this fix. No, sir—we’ll have to do that on our own hook.”

  “Sorry you feel that way, Cooper.” Andrew hefted the dozing boy against his shoulder and nodded toward the hillside before them. “We’d best get at it.”

  They spent the next hour trudging through brush, slipping on fir needles, and struggling to see their way by the dim lantern Nathaniel held aloft. Martha gripped the hands of her middle and oldest children, a girl of about nine and a boy of eleven, while Sam stayed close to his family, balancing the box of belongings on his shoulder. When they finally crested the top of the hill, gasps were heard from Martha and her son, and the young girl whimpered. “The fire’s close!” Martha pointed off to the right. “It can’t be more than a quarter mile from the path.”

  Sam grabbed his daughter’s other hand and tugged. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry.”

  They quickened their pace and covered at least another mile, with the crackling of flames surrounding them on three sides. The path took a sharp bend, and they rushed to round it.

  Sam’s voice pierced the night just ahead of Andrew. “Lord, get us through this. It doesn’t look good, men.”

  Andrew stopped abreast of the now quiet group and stared at the sight ahead of them. They stood on the edge of a clearing with a stand of trees on the far side. A lone tree had ignited, and the flames raced up through the dry branches and into the top. Sparks leapt from the crown of the tree and into its neighbor. They watched as a gust of wind blew across the clearing and acted like a bellows, chasing the tongues of fire from treetop to treetop.

  Nathaniel turned and lowered the lantern, no longer needed to light their way. “We’ve got to go back the way we came before
the fire closes off the path. Hurry!”

  Chapter Forty

  Margaret stood on the steps of the Company store, praying for news of the men who’d gone up the mountain. No word had arrived from Andrew or Nathaniel. For the last two days stragglers had made their way into town on foot and by wagon, coming from the west where they’d escaped the firestorm that ravaged the town of Palmer. Reports had filtered down a day after the fire was spotted that the Trickey farm had burned, along with several others, and Palmer had been completely consumed.

  During each hour that dragged by, Margaret struggled to hold on to her faith. So many times in the past she’d begged God to answer her prayers, and the heavens seemed to be brass. What if God chose not to answer this time, as well, and took the man she loved? She placed her hand over her heart. Where had that thought come from?

  “Margaret!” Clara’s voice rang out from just up the path, and Margaret spun around. “I stopped by your cabin.” Her friend walked rapidly the rest of the way to the store, her breath coming in quick little gasps.

  “I’m so thankful you’ve come. I’ve been beside myself with worry.” Margaret pressed her cheek to Clara’s hair and returned the warm hug, then stepped back. “I can’t stand the waiting much longer, and no one seems to know anything new. Sammie and Joel are playing at Art Gibbs’ home, so I have a little time. Would you walk with me to the waterfall?”

  Clara slipped her arm through Margaret’s. “Of course. I’ve been praying for the men that haven’t returned.”

  The two women struck out on the path that led west from the front steps of the store and walked the several hundred yards to Bridal Veil Falls. The sound of the mighty falls had increased in volume over the past two days, now that the mill at Palmer was no longer diverting water down the flume and into the mill. The two women climbed up the path that bordered the stream. Margaret paused beside a large, moss-covered boulder and sat down in front of it. Clara sank down beside her and leaned against the rock.