Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

  The train whistle blew again, and the wheels began to turn. Margaret peered over Andrew’s shoulder just in time to see the detestable Wallace Stedman clambering onto the freight car. “Good, he’s leaving.” She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, new strength flowing into her body at the man’s departure. “And he’ll have to ride clear to The Dalles before he can catch a train back.”

  She stifled a chuckle. How silly she’d been giving in to her emotions because that man threatened them with his mother’s return. God was bigger than Mr. Stedman or his mother, and she’d do well to remember that.

  A sudden thought turned her away from the departing train. “We need to let Sammie and Joel know he’s gone.” She dashed for the steps and bounded up and across the front porch, throwing open the front door. “Sammie? Joel?”

  Grant Cowling stood chatting with Dan Meadows, the bullwhacker from Palmer, but turned at the sound of her voice and nodded toward the back corner of the store. “Donnie’s workin’ stocking shelves, and the children are somewhere in the same area. They’re fine.”

  Margaret’s shoulders tensed. Donnie had tried to create trouble, and she didn’t want Sammie and Joel near him. The door opened again and she stifled a groan. Andrew. She’d raced off without him and must have shut the door in his face. She turned. “I’m sorry—”

  Sheriff Bryant stood in the doorway with Andrew beside him.

  “Oh, my.” Her hands flew to her face. “I didn’t realize you were in town!”

  The sheriff’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Had me a little unfinished business and took the steamboat down. I needed to talk to some folks out east of town, so brought my horse and stopped at their place.” He took off his hat and tucked it under his arm, then looked over at Andrew. “Glad to find both of you here at the same time.” He glanced across the short distance to the counter and nodded. “Cowling, Meadows, good to see you, as well.”

  Dan Meadows emitted a grunt that passed as a greeting, and Grant Cowling raised his hand.

  Andrew turned to the sheriff. “What can we help you with this time?”

  “Now that the town’s safe from the fire, I’m hopin’ Joel can give me a mite more information.” He turned his head and scanned the interior of the store. “He here with you?”

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Sheriff, I just got back from tramping over the hills and canyons for the past two days, trying to stay ahead of the fire. I need to head home and get cleaned up and grab a bite to eat. Do you suppose you can give Miss Garvey and me some time before you talk to Joel?”

  The sheriff turned his hat in calloused hands. “Don’t see any reason why not. I’ve got other business I can attend to.”

  The door opened again, and Margaret turned, fear gripping her at the realization that Wallace Stedman might have seen the sheriff arrive in town and decided to stay. Instead, Robert Ludlow stepped over the threshold, a bag gripped in his hand. “I say, Cowling, did I miss the train? There’s no one at the depot office.”

  Grant Cowling sauntered over, wiping his hands on the front of his apron. “’Fraid you did, Ludlow. Won’t be another one till tomorrow morning. Sorry ’bout that.”

  Robert Ludlow mumbled a low curse, then jerked his head up and met Margaret’s eyes. “Pardon me, Miss Garvey. That was uncalled for.”

  “Certainly,” she said graciously, then gestured toward his bag. “School starts shortly, and I expect you’ll want to be here for the opening day. Are you taking a short trip?”

  He set his bag on the floor and took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopping his forehead. “It’s unseasonably warm today, is it not?”

  Andrew stared at the man. He started to speak but then checked himself.

  Samantha and Joel peeked around a corner of a nearby aisle, and Sammie’s low voice called out, “Miss Margaret? Is it all right to come out?”

  Margaret walked over and put her arm around the girl’s slim shoulders, relieved that the children were still in the store and hadn’t slipped out. “Yes, honey. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you right away. We’re heading home now.”

  Sammie peered around the front of the store, then stood on her tiptoes and looked out the window toward the tracks. “Is he gone?”

  “Yes, he’s gone.” Margaret hugged her, then released her grip and turned to Joel. “I’ll bet you’re getting hungry, aren’t you?”

  His eyes brightened. “Yes, ma’am, my tummy is grumbling somethin’ fierce. I asked Sammie for one of them big pickles in the barrel, but she said I’d have to wait.”

  Sheriff Bryant strode over to the barrel Joel pointed at and cocked his head toward Grant Cowling. “Charge this to me, Grant.” He turned to Joel and grinned. “Pick out the biggest one you can, son. You, too, young lady, if you care for pickles.”

  Both children raced to the barrel and jabbed at a pickle with the long-handled fork lying on a shelf nearby. “Thank you, sir,” they chorused.

  “You’re welcome. Now, I have a favor to ask.” The sheriff took a step closer to Joel and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Remember you told me that you took a journal from Mr. Jenkins’ house?”

  “A journal?” Joel wrinkled his nose and twisted his mouth. “No. I took a book and a pen; don’t know nothin’ about a journal.”

  The sheriff smiled and nodded. “That’s right, a book. It’s very important to me that I find that book. When you go home with Miss Garvey to have lunch, could you think on it for a while, and see if maybe you can remember where you left it?”

  The room grew still as each set of eyes rested on Joel. No one moved, and even Robert Ludlow and Dan Meadows seemed to understand the importance of the moment as they stared at the boy, each one holding his breath as he awaited the answer.

  Joel popped the end of the large dill pickle into his mouth and sucked on it, then took a bite and munched for a moment before swallowing. “Yep. I’ll think on it.”

  “So you don’t remember yet where it could be?” Sheriff Bryant asked.

  Joel shook his head, then shrugged. “Might. It was a nice book, and I wanted Sammie to read it to me.”

  Andrew stepped closer and touched the boy’s shoulder. “Joel, it belongs to someone else. The man who died has a daughter, and she’d like to have his things to help her remember her papa. Do you have anything to help you remember your mama?”

  Joel twisted his mouth to the side and scrunched his brow, then nodded. “Ah-huh. Mama give me a top when I was little. Papa carved it for me, and Mama painted it all pretty. Sammie keeps it in our bag for special times, huh, Sammie?” He turned an excited face toward his sister. “Can we play with it when we get back to the house?”

  Sammie smiled. “Yes, but you need to help them find the book first, Joel. The man’s daughter would like to have it, just like you have Papa’s top. Will you tell me where you left it?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe after we get home and have dinner, I’ll remember.”

  Margaret drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to quiet her pounding heart. If Joel could produce the journal, it might remove any lingering suspicion. But it would also free him to leave town, if his rightful guardian came to claim them. Part of her hoped he’d never remember, but she knew that wasn’t right. God would want the truth to come out and the murderer to be found. Besides, it was His job to protect the children. “Then let’s go home and eat, so you can help the sheriff find the book when we’re finished.” She reached out a hand to Sammie and another to Joel, and they both grasped her hands eagerly.

  Andrew gave Margaret a dimpled smile. “I’ll see you after I get cleaned up and grab a bite to eat.” He turned toward Sheriff Bryant. “Want to meet me at Miss Garvey’s in about an hour? I’d like to fill you in on something that happened before you arrived.”

  “Sure.”

  Dan Meadows pushed forward, a question clouding his face. “What’s this you’re saying about some journal of Jenkins’? He leave some kind of record that might tell you who killed him?�
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  Sheriff Bryant motioned Margaret toward the door. “Why don’t you take Sammie and Joel on home now, and I’ll stick around and answer these fellers’ questions?”

  “Thanks.” Margaret tugged on Joel’s hand as the boy paused, his face seemingly intent on the sheriff’s words. “Let’s go, Joel.”

  He hung back for a moment. “But I remember, Miss Margaret. It must a’been the pickle ’cause my tummy’s not grumbling anymore, and I remember! I left the book in the—”

  “Wait!” Sheriff Bryant held up his hand and clutched Joel’s shoulder. “You can tell me later. Let’s keep it a secret for now, all right, Joel?”

  The tension in the room slowly dissipated. Donnie Williams had come from the back of the store and stood off to the side, his arms filled with boxes and his mouth gaping. Robert Ludlow’s frozen stance near the door didn’t change even after the sheriff’s last words, and Dan Meadows and Grant Cowling appeared caught up in the moment and barely breathed.

  “A secret?” The boy clapped his hands and grinned. “Goody! I love secrets!” His big smile slowly changed to a frown. “But I thought you wanted to know where I put the book?”

  The sheriff glanced around the room, then leaned over and lowered his voice. “I want you to tell me, but this room isn’t good for telling secrets. Do you think you can still remember if we wait until I come over to Miss Garvey’s house, after you eat?”

  Joel nodded and the grin came back again. “Ah-huh! I won’t forget again, no sir.”

  “Good, then I’ll see you after dinner.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  The man skulked behind Margaret Garvey’s cabin, taking care to stay in the shadows behind a clump of brush and trees. He mumbled a low curse, wanting to lash out and hit someone. Jenkins had kept a journal. Why hadn’t he thought to stay and scour the man’s house for anything that could incriminate him, instead of running away so fast?

  He’d slipped out of the store and drifted down the path toward Miss Garvey’s cabin, hoping no one would suspect what he had in mind. The sheriff had entered the woman’s door moments earlier, and the man outside had relaxed just a little. He’d thought the sheriff would have headed this way earlier, but he’d obviously been mistaken. Strange that he came without Browning, though. Maybe the man had fallen asleep after his long ordeal of running from the fire. He shrugged. Guess it didn’t matter.

  A window sash rose at the back of the house. Smoke still lingered in the air after the big fire, and a lot of folks were leaving their windows open during the day, hoping to air things out. He moved around the stand of brush and stepped carefully, watching the ground for anything that would give away his presence.

  Voices drifted out into the still, late summer air as he eased a little closer. Margaret Garvey’s clear, feminine voice was easily distinguishable from the rest. “So now that we know where Joel left the journal, what’s next?”

  “After I finish this fine cup of coffee, I think I’ll mosey over to the other side of town and take a look-see in that abandoned barn at the Jorgensens’.”

  A rattle that sounded like a cup on a saucer made the man standing near the window hold his breath and take a step back. Had someone stood up and headed toward the window?

  He sidestepped around a pile of firewood and darted back into the trees, careful to crouch low and watch his step. Time to get moving. The sheriff didn’t appear to be a lazy man or one who’d sit nursing a cup of coffee long, now that he knew evidence lay a half-mile away. He should have time to get across town and grab that journal before anyone showed up at the old Jorgensen place. There may not be anything written there that mattered, but he couldn’t take the chance.

  Andrew Browning squatted behind a musty pile of hay in the old barn and waited, happy that he’d been able to help the sheriff lure the man who’d killed Jenkins. Too bad they still didn’t know who it was, but the sheriff seemed convinced that one of the men in the store was the culprit.

  He shook his head and stifled a sneeze. Too much dust in this place and the hay must be several years old. Hopefully no mice or rats had found the journal and destroyed it.

  When the sheriff had come to Andrew’s home shortly after he’d left the store, Andrew had been intrigued at the man’s plan. Bryant would slip out to Margaret’s home, get the location of the journal from Joel, and meet Andrew right after that to fill him in. He’d asked Andrew to put off his bath and meal until they nabbed the murderer. Of course, that assumed whoever it was would follow Bryant to Margaret’s house in hopes of discovering what Joel knew, then try to give them the slip by getting here first. Andrew grinned, knowing the sheriff would sit near an open window and talk plenty loud.

  He wouldn’t have considered the plan if the sheriff hadn’t agreed to leave a guard at Margaret’s home. Not that she should be in any danger, but you never knew what a desperate man might try. Knowing the sheriff would follow close on the man’s heels and be here to help apprehend the murderer set his mind further at ease. He’d not thought to bring his revolver when he left his house but knew the sheriff would come armed.

  Andrew’s thoughts drifted to Margaret, and joy surged through his heart. He still had a hard time believing she’d run to him, not Cooper, when they’d stepped off that train. The last thing he’d known, she’d decided to give Cooper a chance. Of course, a hug of relief at seeing him alive didn’t mean she was in love with him, but it was definitely a great start. Once this mess with the journal was finished, he meant to get cleaned up and court Margaret Garvey good and proper.

  His mind settled on the other problem yet to be resolved, and he frowned. What about Sammie and Joel, and that scum who called himself Wallace Stedman? Would Stedman go through with his threat and bring his mother back for the children? They’d need to question the children more closely and see what could be done to stop Mrs. Stedman from taking them.

  He’d hoped Margaret might be able to keep them indefinitely and maybe—

  Heat rose at the back of his neck. It might be too early to think about the future, but after the way Margaret greeted him, there was a good chance she returned his feelings. If that were to happen, he’d be happy to take Sammie and Joel and help raise them as his own, if they wanted to stay.

  The rusty hinges on the side door of the barn squealed in protest after so many years of disuse. Then the noise stopped, and all was quiet. Had a gust of wind propelled the door? He waited, holding his breath. Thirty seconds went by, then a full minute, and he started to relax. The squeak came again as though the door had opened another couple of inches. This time soft footfalls followed the sound as someone moved from the door to the cow stalls.

  Muttered words that Andrew couldn’t discern met his ears as the man stumbled in the dusky interior. Stall doors opened, and the sound of rummaging drifted over to Andrew. Where was the sheriff? Fear shot through him when he realized the intruder could find the journal and bolt from the barn before he had a chance to see him.

  If only the sheriff had been able to hunt for the journal before anyone arrived. Andrew shifted his body to the left and peered around the stack of hay, hoping to get a glimpse of the man. Nothing. It appeared he’d have to vacate his position and come out in the open to get a good look. Better wait awhile and give Sheriff Bryant a chance to arrive.

  More mumbling and an occasional curse drifted across the barn, along with the continued sound of searching. At least the intruder hadn’t found the book yet.

  “Ahh, got you!” A familiar voice grunted the words, and the movement ceased.

  The hair stood up on the back of Andrew’s neck and he straightened his spine, ready to rush from his hiding place and tackle the intruder. He pushed to his feet slowly and rubbed his hands down the legs of his grimy trousers. He eased from behind the pile and took a step toward the man who stood with his back toward Andrew.

  “Glad you found what you were looking for, Ludlow.” Sheriff Bryant’s calm words broke the charged interior of the barn, and Andrew took
a step closer, keeping his eyes fixed on Robert Ludlow’s back.

  Ludlow snarled a curse, shoved the journal into the front of his shirt, and spun on his heel. He leapt forward, running for the big front door that stood open just a crack, not seeming to notice Andrew standing in the shadows a couple of yards to the side. Andrew gave a mighty lunge and landed on the man’s back, bringing him hard to the ground. Ludlow grunted and struggled, but Andrew pinned his arms to the floor.

  Boots sounded on the wood floor, and little puffs of dusty hay rose near Andrew’s face. “You can get up, son. I’ve got him covered,” Sheriff Bryant said.

  Andrew looked up into the business end of a Colt revolver. He rolled to one side, pushed to his feet, and stood next to the sheriff. “Glad you got here when you did. I figured he was ready to bolt, and I’d have to hold him till you arrived.”

  “You did a good job, son. I’m beholden.” The sheriff leaned over and prodded the prone man with his foot. “Roll over and hand me that journal.”

  Ludlow didn’t move.

  The sheriff grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him over onto his side, then reached inside the front of his coat and yanked out the journal. “It’ll be interesting to see what’s in this book.”

  Ludlow pushed to his knees and lifted glaring eyes. “You got nothing on me. I happened to come in this barn and stumbled across that book, that’s all.”

  “Ah-huh, we’ll see.” Sheriff Bryant trained the gun on the man without wavering. “Browning, how about you take a look at this, while I keep our guest covered.” He handed the journal off without moving his gaze. “Just skim through it, and see if you catch any mentions of this gent.”

  Andrew flipped the book open at the front and noted the date was almost a year ago. Figuring any entries about Ludlow might be more recent, he turned to the center and started thumbing through each page quickly, hunting for Ludlow’s name. “Ah, here we go.” He lifted his eyes and met the sheriff’s stern gaze.