Margaret relaxed and tried to laugh. Only an owl. Nothing to worry about. She’d been thinking about the walking travelers who followed the tracks from town to town, looking for work, and had allowed her imagination to run wild. Time to get home and into the security of her cabin.
She stepped off the porch and walked quickly down the path but couldn’t quite keep from looking over her shoulder and back into the woods.
Chapter Eight
Andrew Browning rapped on Martin Jenkins’ door for the third time, then stepped to the edge of the porch, frustration tugging at his nerves. Jenkins was known for sipping a pint on a Friday night, and more than likely he was sleeping it off at this time on a Saturday morning. Andrew would need to find someone else to help at the mill today. It wasn’t often they pulled men in on their day off, but this rush order had them scrambling to find extra hands.
The color of sunshine flashed through the brush a hundred feet from the house, and Margaret Garvey stepped into view, wearing a bright yellow dress. The thought of spending time in Margaret’s company on this fine day brought a surge of pleasure to Andrew’s heart. Then, just as quickly, it plummeted. If only he didn’t have to move on to the next mill worker’s house, then hurry back to work. “Margaret, what brings you out this early?”
“Andrew.” She drew to a halt a couple yards away. “I thought I’d bring Mr. Jenkins a dish of stew, since Jenny’s still gone, then I’m off to help Mrs. Hearn for a bit.”
Andrew leaned an arm against the wood post on the edge of the porch. “You do so much for people in this town. You’d best be careful, or you’ll take sick.”
“Nonsense. I’m strong and healthy and perfectly able to help where I’m needed. Besides, I don’t see you taking much time away from work.”
He straightened and felt a flush rise up the back of his neck. “That’s different. I’m a man and I’m supposed to work. You’re a woman and, well…”
She cocked her head and her smile faded. “And I’m in need of a man to take care of me, is that it?”
Now he felt his face flame in earnest. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He swiped at his hot forehead with the back of his sleeve. “I just meant, it’s nice for women to get to stay home and not have to work—aw shucks, I’d better quit while I’m ahead.”
“I’m not so sure you are ahead, Andrew.” She took a step forward. “And I’d better get moving. Mrs. Hearn’s husband’s been feeling poorly for several days.”
“Ho there, Andrew Browning.” A young man with a stocky body and short legs emerged from the trees into the light. Donnie Williams stopped at the edge of the hard-packed dirt yard and glared at Andrew, then over at Margaret. “What’re you two doin’ here?”
Andrew stepped off the porch and strode over to the younger man. “Looking for extra help at the mill. You working at the store today?”
Donnie’s eyes narrowed. “Nope. Not workin’, but don’t care to work for you, either.” He shot a glance at Margaret. “Guess you came over here to meet up with him, huh?”
Margaret’s head shot up, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, Donnie, but no, I didn’t.” She nodded at Andrew and turned her back on Donnie. “Good day, Mr. Browning. I hope you’re able to find help soon.”
Andrew’s eyebrows shot up, and he frowned. He’d been trying to watch out for Margaret’s welfare the way her father had asked, but it appeared she didn’t care for the effort. The last thing he wanted was to drive Margaret away, since his interest increased whenever he spent time in her presence. Was that hasty exit directed at him, or at Donnie? The young man’s suspicious tone hadn’t set well with him, and he wondered what could be behind it. He turned to the silent man standing close by. “You know anyone else who wants to work?”
Donnie hunched his shoulder and smirked. “No idea. I’m going fishin’. Guess you’d best figure it out yourself.”
Andrew watched him saunter away, then glanced at his watch and groaned. The yard boss would bawl him out for sure if he didn’t get back with help soon.
Irritated at the exchange with Andrew, Margaret picked up her pace across the clearing. As much as she’d loved her father, that same attitude cropping up in Andrew bothered her. Her father always thought he knew better than she. She’d often wondered if Nathaniel had disappeared due to her Papa’s overprotectiveness. What man would want his father-in-law peering over his shoulder all the time, making sure his little girl was being properly cared for? She wanted to choose the man she’d marry and the life she’d live for herself, not have someone trying to do it for her. If Andrew tried bossing her, she’d give him a talking-to.
The walk between Mr. Jenkins’ cabin and Mrs. Hearn’s home took only a couple of minutes, but it gave her time to gather her thoughts. She lifted her hand to knock and drew in a deep breath. No time to worry over men or her future right now. Someone else needed her help, and her own problems would have to step aside for a time.
Chapter Nine
Samantha’s stomach twisted. The last batch of bread and the two apples they’d taken had lasted the entire day and well into Saturday morning, but now it was suppertime. Hunger pangs drove them out of the woods and back toward the homes on the far edge of the town. This wasn’t the best time to find food, but she couldn’t stand the thought of her brother going hungry all night. They’d been hiding behind a house for the past two hours, watching for any sign of movement behind the gingham curtains, but nothing had stirred. No lanterns lit, even though dusk would soon fall. She wanted to leave Joel behind again but couldn’t take the chance that he’d stay hidden. He’d been restless all day, and it had taken all of her persuasive powers to keep him calm as the day drew to a close.
“Come on, Joel. We’ll see if we can find some food.” She gripped his hand and tugged, willing him to move forward and not make any noise. Joel stopped abruptly. She stumbled on a rock and caught herself. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes grew wide. “Is the people in the house going to feed us and let us sleep in a real bed?”
She stopped on the carpet of fir needles and faced her brother. The fragrance of wood smoke carried on the breeze, and the soft melodic chirp of birds gave their hiding place a sense of safety and peace. But she knew how quickly that safety could shatter. Approaching a homeowner and asking for food or shelter wasn’t something she was willing to do—at least not yet. “I’m sorry, Joel, but we can’t talk to the people in the houses.”
“But I want somebody to play with. I’m tired of sleeping on the ground in a smelly barn and washing in the stream. Why can’t we live in a real house again, Sammie?” His plaintive cry increased to almost a wail.
Samantha gripped his hands tighter and whispered, “Because we don’t want Mrs. Stedman to know we’re here. We’re playing hide-and-seek right now. You like to play that, don’t you?”
His contorted features relaxed, and a smile chased away the pout. “Ah-huh, I do. But isn’t it stealing when we take people’s food? How come food’s all right to take?”
Samantha wanted nothing more than to lay her head down on the cushiony ground and cry. But she’d always tried to be honest with Joel and teach him right from wrong. It’s what Mama would have done if she’d lived. “It’s not right to steal anything, even food.” She looked him straight in his eyes. “I’m writing them a note.” She dug in her pocket and took out her notepad. “See?” She flipped a couple pages, showing him the writing he’d struggle to decipher, but wanting to help him understand. “I tell the people that we’re hungry, and we’ll come back and pay for everything as soon as we can.”
“Oh.” A soft light shone from the boy’s eyes. “Kind of like when the man Papa worked for paid him after he got done working?”
“That’s right. Now come on. I want you to come with me, but you have to be very quiet.”
Joel put his finger to his pursed lips. “Shh…not a peep.”
“Good boy.” She patted his arm and drew him
forward, praying he’d remember his promise. They tiptoed from tree trunk to brush clumps until they reached the back door, and Samantha peeked in the window. No movement or sounds that she could tell. It looked like the door opened into the kitchen. They slipped inside and she moved swiftly to the cupboard. The quicker they filled their bag, left a note, and got out, the safer they’d be.
Joel stood, fidgeting, in the middle of the kitchen as Samantha hunted for something edible. “My feet hurt. I want to sit down.”
Samantha glanced around and frowned at the filthy table and chairs. “Do you promise not to bother anything if I let you sit in the front room?”
Joel nodded and grinned. “Promise, Sammie. I’ll be good.” He wandered into the nearby room and stopped, then tiptoed a few more steps, peering into a side room. A man was lying on the floor, and he’d made a mess. Why would the man tip over his chair and throw papers on the floor? Maybe he should get Sammie so she could wake the man and help clean up his house. He shook his head. No. Sammie said to be quiet and not bother nothing.
Then he saw a small book under the edge of the tipped-over chair. Maybe he could write things like Sammie did. Ah, a pretty pen rested on the edge of another chair, almost ready to fall. He snatched it up and gripped it tight, then leaned over and plucked the book from the floor and turned its pages. He wished he could read better, but most of the words didn’t make sense. The man wrote funny anyway, all curly and twisty, instead of the easy letters his sister was teaching him to write. Maybe Sammie could read stories to him out of this book.
What did she say about leaving a note? He’d best let the man know he’d come back and pay for it. He tore out a small piece of the page with no writing on it, then picked up the pen.
I pay fer buk
There. He laid the note on the chair, then shoved the book and the pen in his pocket and grinned. Too bad that man was still sleeping and didn’t want to eat, too. Joel tiptoed back into the kitchen.
Chapter Ten
On Sunday morning Nathaniel unpacked the last of his belongings and sank onto the sofa in the tidy, if stark, living room. How ironic that he’d been given the same house where Margaret and her father once lived. He could almost feel her presence. Not that he’d been allowed to visit here much; her father was too protective for that. But he’d been in the house a couple of times and hadn’t forgotten.
A rush of memories poured over him, bringing a sadness he found hard to push down. What would this new adventure bring? He’d almost turned down the offer when it came, in spite of the attractive wages. He’d been making four dollars a day at his last job—not bad by any means—but the six dollars a day he’d make managing the upper millpond would allow him to put money away. Maybe someday he’d marry and settle down. Since achieving the age of twenty-four, he’d begun to realize life was speeding by.
He felt a twinge of regret at the thought of the young Margaret who’d been so deeply in love with him—or so he’d thought. Her sweetness and innocence had drawn him from the start. At first he’d tried to ignore her hero worship, knowing that four years separated them. But after repeated encounters at social gatherings in the small town, he’d found her hard to resist. What would she be like now? Would the grown-up Margaret still remain unspoiled, or would she be like so many other selfish, conceited women he’d known, wanting to wring what they could from a man?
He’d nearly married his boss’s daughter two years ago but had discovered his bride-to-be socially ambitious and caring more for what he might bring to their union than for himself. When it became apparent that Marie and her father were planning his life, he’d fled the job and the engagement. He doubted Marie had been too brokenhearted. She had a roving eye for handsome men.
He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. His new job must remain his focus, not a woman, no matter how attractive. Margaret probably had a couple of kids clinging to her skirts by now. And if she wasn’t married, it would be due to her overprotective father keeping the men at bay.
He’d start work tomorrow at the upper Palmer mill. He could have lived in one of the small cabins above but had been happy they’d offered him this house for the summer. The trail up the mountain was steep, and not something he cared to hike while the early morning fog curled around the base of the cliffs. Good thing he’d brought his horse. Of course, he could always ride on one of the wagons making the trek, but his supervisor job would require him to put in more time than most of the men.
A glance at his pocket watch brought him up short. If he remembered correctly, church service began in just under a half hour. Not that he’d frequented it much in earlier years, but he might give it a try. If nothing else, he could see some familiar faces and secure an invitation to dinner—and possibly find out if Margaret still lived in the area.
He changed quickly and struck out for the church, confident the good people of Bridal Veil were still meeting in the same place. A bird’s happy melody put a spring in his step as he strode along.
The town had grown—new homes had cropped up not far from the river’s edge, and bright flowers bloomed in front of a number of porches. A strong east wind kicked up, blowing fircones along the path. The wind sighed through the fir and larch trees on the hillside nearby, and the tangy fragrance of fir needles rose on the warm air.
Other stragglers were crossing the threshold of the small wooden church when he entered the needle-strewn dirt yard. A handful of people looked around, but he didn’t recognize any faces. He stepped inside the wide-open set of double doors and paused, glancing over the congregation.
“Howdy, stranger. Glad you could join us.” The booming voice turned him around at the same time a meaty hand slapped his shoulder. “I’m Tom. Tom Mabry.”
Nathaniel shook the extended hand. “Nathaniel Cooper.” His arm pumped up and down until he wondered if his shoulder joint would give out.
Tom must have sensed he’d made his welcome apparent and loosened his grip. He jerked a bushy eyebrow toward the grouping of pews ahead. “Don’t stand on ceremony, son. Trot on down and grab you a seat.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.” Nathaniel slipped away just as the man’s hand poised for another welcoming slap. He spotted an empty pew not far from the back on the right and slipped in. Talking to strangers didn’t appeal to him at the moment, but watching the faces of those around the room did.
His gaze rested on the back of a woman’s head, only two rows in front and across the aisle. Her face was turned away as she talked to a young brown-haired man sitting alongside. A wide smile broke the solemnity of the man’s face, and his look of genuine relief was palpable. The light red curls tied at the nape of the woman’s neck swayed as she turned her head. Nathaniel jumped as though he’d been stung by a dozen bees. Margaret Garvey’s wide, beautiful eyes met his.
Margaret felt the blood drain from her face as she stared into the eyes of the last man she expected to see in this church, or anywhere else in town, for that matter. Nathaniel Cooper sat across the aisle. Alone. She gathered her thoughts, snapped shut her gaping mouth, and jerked her head back toward Andrew.
Just a moment before, she’d felt such a flood of peace as she’d made amends with Andrew for the small disagreement in front of Mr. Jenkins’ cabin the day before. Now, peace was the furthest thing from her mind. She gripped the edge of the hard wooden pew until her fingers turned numb. Why was Nathaniel in Bridal Veil? Her heart hammered, but not from fear or excitement. Hot anger filled her veins, and she struggled to stay in her seat. She wanted to fly at the man and vent her frustration over his callous treatment of her four years ago.
A hand touched her arm, and she jerked her attention back to Andrew. “I’m sorry, you said something?”
A worried pucker lined Andrew’s forehead. “Are you feeling well, Margaret? You seem…distraught.”
She waved her hand and tried to muster a laugh. “It’s nothing.” She picked up a hymnal and leafed through the pages. “It’s just a little
warm. I guess I’m still adjusting to the heat.”
Andrew settled against the high wooden back and tugged at his collar. “I quite agree. Maybe you’d like to take a walk at the end of the service before heading home?”
The organ struck a chord and Margaret smiled, then bent her head over the hymnal. “That sounds fine, Andrew. Thank you.” She would not give in to her emotions. She squared her shoulders. Andrew was twice the man that Nathaniel was, as well as handsome and trustworthy. She’d be proud to spend time with him. Nathaniel Cooper would not know he’d impacted her life one bit. Not today, or any day in the future.
Chapter Eleven
Nathaniel strode from the office at the upper mill toward the bridge spanning the narrow canyon. The ingenuity of the twisting, plummeting flume, precariously balanced on the side of the canyon that transported cut lumber down to the lower planer mill in Bridal Veil, never failed to impress him.
It was his first day on the job, but his mind wouldn’t focus. Seeing Margaret at church with a young man—presumably her husband—hadn’t made it easy. And he’d not received an invitation to dinner from anyone.
He stepped onto the wooden bridge and crossed over, intent on getting to the millpond where the logs were dumped after the train brought them down the mountain. The loud shriek of a train whistle approaching the bridge raised its voice above the constant whine of the saw in the nearby building as it sliced its way through the massive larch and fir logs. Amazing. The addition of the two large locomotives to the logging operation was staggering. They could haul an incredible load from the landing site miles up the mountain where the teams dragged the logs out of the woods.
Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon Page 6
