More Than Meets the Eye

by Karen Witemeyer

  Christie stiffened her shoulders and nodded.

  “Good. Be watching.”

  Without the coffee paraphernalia to slow her down, Evangeline flew down the well-trodden path into the woods. The deeper she went, the more smoke she encountered. What started as a slight haze quickly darkened and obscured every loping step she took.

  Then she heard the sound she most dreaded. Hacking, uncontrollable coughs. She spied Seth’s tan shirt through the trees and raced for him. He stood bent in half, a handkerchief tied around his face, a hand clutched to his chest.

  “Seth!” She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, trying to move him back the way she had just come. “You have to get out of this smoke.”

  “Earl . . . couldn’t . . . follow . . .” His body shuddered as coughs wracked him.

  “Don’t worry about Earl. I’ll go after him.”

  He shook his head. “No. Too . . . dangerous . . . Benson . . .”

  “Benson wants Christie, and she’s alone by a stand of pecans a hundred yards back. Go to her, Seth.” If she’d managed to get Christie to stay put by convincing her it would help Seth, the reverse ought to work as well. “She’s the one in danger, not me.”

  He tilted his head and gave her the look that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do. Obviously, he had much more practice divining her machinations than Christie did, but he couldn’t deny that she spoke the truth, even if it was an incomplete version.

  “You’re not doing anyone any good here, Seth.” If cajoling didn’t get him moving, maybe harsh truth would. “The smoke’s too thick for you to follow Earl, and your lungs are too weak to stay here, even if your hard head doesn’t want to admit it.” Another set of coughs quaked through him as if to make her point for her. She raised a brow at him. “Go to Christie. Watch over her. Clear your lungs. Trust me. I’ll stay hidden and use the smoke to my advantage. I won’t interfere with anything. I’ll just keep an eye on Earl.” She set a hand on his arm. “We need him, Seth. He can testify against Benson.”

  Seth was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. With a tight nod, he straightened, his hand going to the buckle of his gun belt. “Here,” he rasped as he shoved the heavy accessory at her. She reached for it, but he hesitated in letting it go. “Stay . . . safe.”

  “I will,” she vowed, the love and concern in her brother’s face making her eyes itch more than the haze of smoke. She took the belt and strapped it around her waist, the holster hanging low over her hip. On impulse, she clutched Seth in a quick, fierce hug, then gave his shoulder a little shove. “Go.”

  Her heart surged in thankfulness when he turned and staggered into a jog that took him away from the smoke.

  Evangeline ratcheted up her skirt and yanked at the petticoat beneath. Her hems were always ragged, thanks to her regular jaunts with Hezzy, so it took little time to find a tear she could exploit. Using both hands, she yanked a large section of cotton free from the lower ruffle, then tied the material around her nose and mouth. Inhaling what would be her last gulp of halfway decent air, she squared her shoulders and forged deeper into the thicket.

  Within minutes, Earl’s angry voice rasped through the trees.

  “You destroyed my still! I’ll see you hang!”

  “Moonshining’s illegal, friend.” Another voice. Benson? “I’m doing the community a favor.”

  Evangeline slowed to a near halt and skirted away from the path, moving from tree to tree, looking for a safe vantage point from which to watch the confrontation. She squeezed between the trunks of two oaks growing practically on top of each other and squinted into the smoke. Her eyes, raw and stinging, watered. She brushed at them impatiently with the back of her hand. Just then, a breeze blew, clearing a path for her to see. Secreting her body behind the larger of the twin oaks, she peered around the trunk.

  Earl stood with his back to her near a pile of rubble that looked to be a mess of barrel shards and copper tubing.

  Another man stood across from him. A man in a black suit, with a shiny bald head.

  And a shotgun.

  “They’ll thank me for ridding their town of an unwanted bootlegger,” the man in the suit argued in a smooth, cultured voice. Calm. Confident. Controlled. Not even the smoke seemed to affect him. “You’re the criminal here. Not me.”

  Earl limped forward, ducked his head to cough and spit something vile upon the ground, then advanced again. “I reckon they’ll see things differently when they learn you tried to kill my stepdaughter.”

  Silence, thick as the smoke billowing up from the splatter of sour mash, filled the air.

  Earl pressed his advantage. “She can talk. Betcha didn’t know that, did ya? Told me what ya done. How you used my wagon to cart her down to the river. My own wagon.”

  Evangeline cringed. Stop talking! The fool was giving too much away. He was going to endanger Christie even more with his bravado.

  Earl continued ranting, too worked up by the destruction around him to consider the consequences. “You’re a bold one, Benson. Too bold. I will see ya hang.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  In a blink, the schoolmaster jerked the shotgun he carried up to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Earl grabbed his belly and fell to the ground.

  Evangeline jumped at the booming sound of the shot and gasped at the sight of Earl crumpling to the ground. Smoke filled her lungs at the violent inhale, and coughs immediately followed. She lunged behind the oak, pressing her hand tight against her mouth to muffle the sound.

  “Who’s there?” Benson snapped.

  Tears stung her eyes as she tried with all her might to keep her coughs inside. An impossible task. One escaped. Then another.

  Pressing her lips together to try to hold in the coughs, she pulled Seth’s revolver from its holster and clutched it in front of her with both hands.

  Footsteps crunching against scorched earth mixed with Earl’s moans and curses.

  “That you, Miss Christie?” Benson’s voice. Closer. “You’ve caused me no end of trouble, my dear.”

  More steps.

  Should she run? Stay hidden? God above, what do I do?

  35

  Logan stopped at the schoolhouse long enough to determine that Seth wasn’t there, then immediately remounted and headed in the direction of the smoke. The same direction Earl had come from the day he delivered that jug of bootleg whiskey.

  Hurry, his gut urged. Faster!

  Bending over Shamgar’s neck, Logan pushed the horse to a gallop. He approached a small, rundown cabin and slowed. “Hello, in the house!”

  No one answered.

  “Seth?” he shouted as he turned Shamgar around in a tight circle.

  Go! That inner voice demanded obedience, and Logan responded without questioning. He pointed Shamger in the direction of the smoke and gave him his head.

  After riding a short distance, a movement to his left drew his eye. A woman. Arms overhead, waving. He squinted into the thin haze. Christie?

  His heart plummeted. If Christie was out here, that meant . . .

  “Eva!” He reined Shamgar in and jumped from the saddle before the horse had a chance to halt. “Where is she?” he yelled at the deaf woman. “Where’s Eva?”

  “Come,” she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward a copse of pecan trees. “You have to help. He’s too heavy for me.”

  He? Logan didn’t care about any he. He needed to find Eva.

  Then he saw Seth, lips slightly blue, body hunkered against a tree trunk, a sick wheezing sound echoing in the air.

  “I need to get him away from the smoke, but he’s too weak to walk.” Christie’s voice cracked. “Please.”

  Eva would never forgive him if he walked away from her brother. Shoot, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Logan bent, grabbed Seth’s arm, and stretched it around his shoulder. Seth was barely conscious. Logan took hold of his middle and lifted. His thighs and back strained under the weight, but with an extended grunt, he got him up, t
hen dragged him toward Shamgar.

  He caught Christie’s eye. “Hold the horse’s head still.” Shamgar wouldn’t shy, but the girl looked desperate to help.

  Seth roused enough to grab the horn and swing his leg awkwardly over the saddle. But before Logan could turn to give Christie a leg up too, Seth grabbed Logan’s wrist.

  “Evie . . . in woods . . . gunshot . . . Benson . . .”

  Logan’s blood turned to ice. He wanted to throw Seth off Shamgar’s back and race into the trees, but that wasn’t an option. Not with Seth at death’s door.

  Logan stared him in his bloodshot eyes and gave his solemn vow. “I’ll find her.”

  Seth’s hand fell away.

  Logan spun to lift Christie up behind Seth. The sooner he got them away, the sooner he could go after Eva.

  “How far to the still?” he demanded of the young woman when she looked at him to collect the reins he held out to her.

  She wrapped her arms around Seth’s slumped torso and gathered the leather straps around her fingers. “No more than a hundred yards straight into the thicket.” She nodded her chin in the direction.

  Logan slid the rifle from the saddle boot, then turned Shamgar toward the clearer air back toward the cabin he’d passed. With a smack to the horse’s rump, he sent Seth and his lady off, then sprinted straight for the woods and the heart of the smoke.

  Evangeline cocked her revolver with a quivering thumb, pointed the barrel to the sky, and slowly leaned toward the opening between the twin oaks, keeping her belly as close to the tree as possible. She couldn’t risk running without first pinpointing where her hunter stood. His occasional coughs told her he was somewhere to her right, but she didn’t know how close.

  She slid sideways a hair farther, until her right eye cleared the trunk, then jerked back. Dear heavens! He stood less than ten yards from her. Running was out of the question.

  But hiding would do her no good, either. Eventually, he’d wander close enough to discover her location.

  That left only one option. Brazen it out.

  Inhaling a deep breath would only wreak further havoc on her lungs, so she had to settle for a quick closing of her eyes instead as she reached deep into her gut to find her courage.

  Lord, help me.

  Then, with bleary eyes and burning lungs, she stepped through the narrow opening between the twin oaks and pointed her weapon straight at the schoolmaster’s chest. “Stop!”

  The command would have been much more satisfying had it not exited her mouth as a wimpy rasp. Thankfully, her body bluffed better than her voice, for her hands were steady and her legs held firm.

  Benson didn’t jump or startle. He simply turned to face her . . . and smiled. “Ah, Miss Hamilton. Aren’t you the plucky one?”

  “Toss your shotgun on the ground!” That order had a little more gumption in it. She even made a gesture with the barrel of her revolver to indicate where he should throw his weapon.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He’d made that same reply to Earl a heartbeat before he’d shot him. Evangeline swallowed and narrowed her eyes. “Now!” she blustered. She couldn’t let him think her weak.

  But it seemed he’d already made up his mind about that, for he called her bluff, shaking his head as he lifted his weapon an inch higher. “You won’t shoot me. You don’t have the stomach for it.”

  Was he right? Probably. Her gut was churning even now at the thought. But she couldn’t let him win. He’d just shoot her and go after Christie.

  She pulled the trigger. He actually jumped this time. Satisfaction surged in her chest when his weapon dropped back to its original position near his waist.

  “That’s your one and only warning,” she growled through her petticoat kerchief like a real bandit as she adjusted her aim back to his torso. “Now, drop your gun.”

  Unfortunately, the schoolmaster didn’t follow the script and start quivering in his boots. Instead, he smirked that superior, condescending smirk of his and said, “No.”

  Of course he said no. He hadn’t blinked an eye over shooting Earl in the belly, either.

  The shotgun started a slow crawl back toward Benson’s shoulder. “You won’t shoot me,” he mocked.

  Her finger hovered over the trigger, ready but frozen. Oh, mercy. He was right. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t shoot a man.

  He grinned in triumph as he set the stock to his shoulder. “Your heart’s not hard enough.”

  “Mine is!” a male voice boomed.

  Evangeline dove for the ground, and a shot rang out behind her.

  Benson yelped and took off at a run.

  “Eva!” Footsteps pounded the ground. Then all at once Logan knelt beside her, wrapping his strong hands around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” His beautiful gray eyes searched her face.

  Heavens, but she wanted to curl up against his chest and let him hold her until her nerves settled and her heart ceased trying to jump out of her rib cage. But she couldn’t. Not when there was so much at stake.

  She sat up and yanked the makeshift kerchief from her mouth. “I’m fine. Go after him.” She pushed at his arm. “He shot Earl. If you catch him, we can take him before a judge. I saw it happen.”

  Logan glanced in the direction Benson had run, then back at her, clearly torn.

  “Go!” She pulled away from him and stood on her own feet. The smoke was lifting, making it easier to see and breathe.

  Still, Logan hesitated. “What about Earl?” The fallen man’s moans had grown weaker, but they could still be heard.

  “Benson gutshot him.” Evangeline started walking toward Christie’s stepfather. “I’ll do what I can for him, but I don’t think he’ll last much longer.” She nodded in the direction the schoolmaster had scurried. “Go, Logan. Bring Benson to justice.”

  He held her gaze for a moment longer, then pivoted and sprinted after the fleeing man.

  Evangeline hurried to Earl’s side and dropped to her knees. Blood was everywhere. It pooled beneath him, oozing over his hands where he’d tried to plug up the holes. Unfortunately, Benson’s buckshot had left too many for him to stopper.

  He turned his face toward her, his eyes already glassy. “Take it,” he rasped.

  “What?” Evangeline looked around for an object of some kind, but saw nothing.

  Nothing but blood. Dear Lord. She had to try to help him. Grabbing her skirt, she found a relatively clean spot and pressed it against a place at his side that seemed to be oozing more than the others, though there was so much blood, it was nearly impossible to tell where the actual wounds were located. Dizziness assailed her, but she shook it off. She had to focus. Had to help him.

  He must be in so much pain. Tears dribbled from the corners of her eyes. Bright red blood stained her fingers. She stared at the color on her hands, and her stomach lurched. She’d known he would be bad off, but she hadn’t been prepared for . . . this.

  “Quit . . . fussin’, girl.” He lifted a hand and swatted weakly at hers. “Too late . . . for me. Take it,” he said again. “Take it . . . to Christie.”

  Evangeline frowned. “Take what?”

  Slowly, with a tight grimace and a low moan, Earl lifted a hand to his chest and grabbed onto something inside his shirt. “Key.”

  He yanked downward, but it wouldn’t come free. He was too weak to break the leather thong tied around his neck. His eyes slid closed in defeat.

  Evangeline barely knew this man and liked him even less, thanks to his treatment of Christie, yet even so, her heart went out to him. He was dying. She couldn’t just ignore his struggles. Clasping his hand, she eased the key from his grip. She slipped the thong off his neck, and when she laid his head gently back onto the ground, the lines around his eyes softened.

  “Tell her . . . she was right.” Earl captured Evangeline’s gaze. “Her ma deserved better. She deserved better.” His breathing started to gurgle slightly. “Archie’s in Longview . . . with my sister. Took him in . . . for the money
. Won’t want him . . . if the payments . . . stop.” A cough interrupted him, a choking cough full of blood-colored spittle.

  Evangeline set the key aside and lifted his head, turning it so he wouldn’t choke. When he calmed, his eyes found hers again.

  “There’s letters . . . in the lockbox. Ledgers, too. Benson’s not as smart . . . as he thinks . . . he is. Take him . . . down.”

  Evangeline gave a sniff, and dipped her chin to rub her eye against her shoulder. “We will,” she promised. “He’ll not hurt Christie or anyone else ever again.”

  Earl’s eyes slid closed. “Good,” he murmured, the word slurred and hard to understand. “Needs to pay . . . for blowing up . . . my still.”

  His body went slack. His breathing stopped. Evangeline bent over him and wept for a life cut short by violence. Wept for her best friend, who’d just lost another family member, even if he was a despicable creature who seemed to care more about his still than his stepdaughter.

  However, he wasn’t entirely heartless. He’d given Evangeline the key that could lead Christie to her baby brother. Maybe there’d been some good in him all along, hiding deep beneath the scurrilous surface.

  You know the truth of his heart, Lord. Evangeline touched a hand to his shoulder. Have mercy on his soul.

  She collected the key Earl had given her with his dying breath and stood. After wiping the blood off her hands with the neckerchief she no longer needed, she dropped the soiled scrap of petticoat next to the dead man and stared in the direction Logan had gone.

  Keep him safe, Lord. One fatality was enough for today.

  She tucked the key into her pocket and started walking back to Earl’s cabin, praying all the way that the Lord would see justice done.

  36

  Logan jogged through the woods, ears tuned for footsteps and heavy breathing. The occasional cough fell like a breadcrumb, creating an audible path for him to follow, yet the farther they removed themselves from the smoke, the fewer coughs sounded.