Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

Margaret bustled around pouring milk, serving cookies, and getting the two youngsters settled on the sofa in the living area. She poured a cup of coffee for Mr. Gibbs, placed a heaping plate of cookies within his reach, and sank onto a chair across the table. “Now, Mr. Gibbs, please tell me what’s going on.”

  He brushed a crumb from the side of his mouth and swallowed. “These are mighty good, ma’am, thank you.” He glanced over at the two children hungrily consuming their treat and dropped his voice. “They showed up at my house today. It was the strangest thing. The boy was in my fenced yard with Buck’s head lying in his lap, sweet as you please.”

  Margaret raised her brows, waiting for him to continue, not seeing anything too strange about the picture he’d painted thus far. “Who’s Buck?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Buck’s my dog, and you see, he don’t like strangers. No sir. I mean, no, ma’am.” He blushed and dropped his head, then raised it again with a sheepish grin. “He’d as like to bite a strange man as lick his hand. That boy is near as big as a man, even if his mind is more like a child’s. I think Buck sensed that, you know? Buck let Joel come through the gate and waller all over him. The girl—Samantha’s her name—was restin’ against a tree when I come, with her eyes closed and lookin’ all tuckered out. She jumped up when she seen me, as spooked as a young colt on prairie grass. But she has backbone, that one. She didn’t bolt—stood her ground even though it was plain she was scared all the way to her toes.”

  “Scared of what, Mr. Gibbs? You or the dog?”

  “I’m not rightly sure, ma’am. She wouldn’t tell me. Joel said their last name is McGavin, and they’ve been livin’ in a barn. I think they’ve been sneakin’ food from people’s kitchens when they’re at work. Joel speaks without thinkin’ and said more than his sister would like. I took them in and fed them, but scant more information came out. I think they’re on the run, but they won’t say who, or why. They been in town nigh on to two weeks and they’re dirty, tired, and sick of bread and cheese. They need someone to care for ’em.”

  She’d taken in all he’d shared without blinking, but at those last words she sat back in her chair. “May I ask why you brought them here?”

  He shrugged and ducked his head again. “Didn’t know where else to bring ’em.” A worried look crossed his face. “I don’t have a wife to take on the care of two young’uns, although I’ll be gettin’ married next spring. Not that I wouldn’t be willin’, but I dasn’t—the girl’s too old to be livin’ with a bachelor. I figured you bein’ a woman, and a teacher and all…”

  Margaret leaned forward. “I can’t keep two children, especially a big boy like Joel. People wouldn’t understand, me being single and all.”

  “I’m not suggestin’ you keep ’em permanent, Miss Garvey. Maybe just for a couple of days, until we can find out where they belong? I’m thinkin’ the girl might warm up to a woman and tell you what they’re runnin’ from. Or you might be able to find a family to take them in.”

  Margaret sat back hard in her chair. Her eyes took in the two huddled in the corner. They’d finished the cookies and milk, and the big boy was hunkered down with his head on his sister’s shoulder. Suddenly the girl raised her eyes, and the hopelessness and fear Margaret saw felt like a knife shoved into her rib cage. How could a child carry that kind of pain?

  “All right.” She pushed back her chair, suddenly certain of what she must do. She’d felt abandoned more than once in her life. First, when her mother died, then by Nathaniel, and she couldn’t tolerate the thought of being the cause of yet another rejection foisted on these helpless youngsters. “They can stay for now, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Mr. Gibbs’ face lit up and he started to rise, but Margaret held up her hand and waved him back down. “Please. I’m not finished.” She waited until he sank back into his chair. “I’ll need your help. I know nothing about the needs of a boy this age, especially one who’s—” she hesitated and dropped her voice—“special. Would you agree to come get him every day or two, to see to his…personal needs?” She dropped her gaze to her hands and rushed on. “And talk to him about anything you deem fitting?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can do that. I promised Joel he could come play with my dog, so I’m guessin’ he’ll be happy to oblige. Not sure the sister’s goin’ to let him go off with me willingly, though. She seems pretty protective.”

  Margaret nodded. “You may be right, but we’ll deal with that when the time comes.” She rose and stepped toward the door. “I won’t keep you. Have a good day, Mr. Gibbs.”

  Mr. Gibbs rose and reached for the hat he’d laid on the floor. “Guess I should be gettin’ along. Thank you, ma’am.” He nodded at the two silent youngsters. “I’ll be back to visit, and you can come see Buck soon.” Mr. Gibbs smiled reassuringly and clomped out the door.

  Margaret sank into her chair, draped her arm along its back, and stared at her two young charges. What had she gotten herself into?

  Margaret wiped the flour from her hands and slid the deep-dish apple pie into the oven. Samantha and Joel were outside exploring the area around the cabin while she finished supper preparations. She’d been longing to unpack a box of Papa’s papers and get his desk in order but hadn’t had sufficient time to give it proper attention. It would take almost an hour for the pie to bake. She leaned over the sink and looked out the window. It appeared that Samantha and Joel were occupied building a stick-and-cone fort under the branches of a drooping hemlock tree, so this might be the perfect time.

  She’d been dismayed that the ladies from church had packed the things from Papa’s desk before she’d had a chance to go through it, but then realized they may have wanted to save her the heartache right on the heels of his passing. In fact, she’d not been able to bring herself to look too closely in the box since arriving at her new home, but the deep grief had started to lift, and she felt able to face his personal notes without flinching.

  His heavy oak desk stood in a corner of her bedroom and the box lay alongside. She removed the blanket she’d draped over the top and sat down on the braid rug, tucking her skirt around her ankles. Account ledgers and three leather-bound journals were on top, and she moved those to the side. Somehow she didn’t think she wanted to read his journals right now—maybe some evening after Samantha and Joel were in bed she’d take the time to absorb what he’d recorded. A stack of letters and opened envelopes came next, and she scooped those to the side, then paused. It might be good to make sure that nothing had gone unanswered.

  The first stack brought a smile to her face—they were tied with a faded blue ribbon and looked as though they’d been handled more than the rest. Her mother’s letters that Papa had saved, written prior to their marriage. She placed those in her lap—they’d go into her chest of drawers. She flipped through the remaining stack until she reached the bottom. What was this? Her hand stilled over the clean envelope bearing her name. Papa left something for her? Her breathing quickened, and her fingers trembled. She should have gone through this box weeks ago.

  She tore off the end and shook out the folded paper inside. Her eyes scanned the date—just two weeks prior to his death. Why hadn’t he given it to her, and why write instead of speaking to her personally?

  My darling girl—if you’ve found this letter, then what I feared has come to pass. I’ve been feeling poorly for a while now but didn’t want to worry you. On my last trip to Portland I took time to see a doctor, and he informed me I may have a bad heart. I’ve been having some chest pain, but he doesn’t think it’s serious yet. I have an uneasy feeling that I may not be around to see you married and have been concerned about your future.

  I’m so pleased that Andrew Browning has been coming to visit and am hoping you might be pleased, as well. I’ve asked Andrew to look out for you, in the event something happens to me. I know he’s interested in you on his own behalf, or I’d not have asked him, so please don’t be angry. He’s a good man, Margaret, and he’d make a fine husband. I know you’
ve been upset about Nathaniel Cooper leaving town years ago, and I’m praying you’ve finally put it behind you. He wasn’t a good match—not being a believer, and a drifter, to boot. I don’t believe he’d ever have settled down in one place for long, and he’d hardened his heart where the gospel was concerned.

  Please give Andrew a chance? I’m begging you as a father who cares about his little girl—yes, I know you’re a woman now, but you’ll always be my baby. Don’t let an old memory from your childhood come between you and what could be God’s best for your life. Know that I love you, and I’m sorry for any pain that I may have caused you where Cooper was concerned, but I did what I thought best for you at the time.

  Your loving Papa

  Margaret felt tears slipping down her cheeks and blinked, not realizing she’d been crying. Papa had asked Andrew to look out for her? What—had he come right out and said Andrew should marry her, the way it implied? Her numb fingers refused to hold the single sheet of paper any longer, and it drifted to the floor and slid a few inches away. Had Andrew been coming around because Papa convinced him it was the right thing to do? And what did Papa mean—he’d done what he thought best at the time? She shook her head, barely able to take in the concept. Papa had gone too far this time. How could he interfere in such a way? It was bad enough that he’d stood against her when she’d been in love with Nathaniel, but to try and orchestrate her entire future? That was too much.

  She jumped to her feet and bent over to snatch up the letter. The pie must be close to browning, and Samantha and Joel needed checking on. This would have to wait for a quiet time when she could ponder it alone, without interruption. But one thing she knew for sure—she’d no longer take Andrew’s interest or seeming desire to court her at face value. He’d have to prove himself before she’d trust that his desire came from his own heart and not just out of a sense of duty to her dead father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was the long-awaited Friday. Andrew Browning had hurried home from work, scrubbed himself clean, and dressed in his best. Now he tucked in his shirttail and then tried to smooth down his hair. Why God saw fit to give him dimples and let him inherit his mother’s curls, he’d never understand. He’d shave his hair short if Margaret hadn’t said one time how lucky he was to have such a fine head of curls. Fine head of curls, indeed. But if she liked it, that was all that mattered. He couldn’t believe his good fortune that a girl like her would look at him twice, much less attend the ice-cream social with him this evening. He pulled out his pocket watch, took a look, and stuffed it back into his trousers. Time to get a move on or he’d be late.

  No need for a wagon today with the sun still shining and fluffy clouds dancing their way across a bright blue sky. That’s exactly what he felt like doing—dancing. He’d been intrigued by Margaret since moving to Bridal Veil two years ago but never had the nerve to approach her until he’d started working with her father. Mr. Garvey hadn’t seemed to mind him stopping by occasionally. Besides, they both loved to play chess, and the older man had invited him over the first time with an eagerness that implied a bit of loneliness. Their friendship had just started to form when Mr. Garvey had passed away close to two months ago. Andrew felt blessed that he’d gotten a chance to know Margaret’s father, and that the man hadn’t seemed averse to him courting his daughter.

  He ran down the three steps leading to his porch and bounded across the small front yard. A light breeze blew through the maple and cottonwood trees lining the path, casting a welcome shade. Rain had been scanty this summer, and the brush was beginning to get dry. Thank the Lord for the nearby Columbia River.

  His footsteps slowed as he came within sight of Margaret’s cabin, and he glanced down at his clothes. Dark plaid, long-sleeved cotton shirt and corduroy trousers were neat and clean even if he wasn’t the best hand with an iron. At least he wouldn’t embarrass her. Hopefully she’d be pleased that he’d dressed up a bit, as she was used to seeing him in his everyday working garb. He prayed he had a chance to win Margaret’s heart. She was everything he’d dreamed of in a woman—intelligent, beautiful, a sparkling sense of humor, and giving to a fault.

  A quick rap brought footsteps hurrying to the other side of her door. It swung partway open and Margaret stood there, worried eyes peering out of a flushed face. “Andrew. It’s good to see you, but I’m not certain I can come.” She didn’t step out of the way or invite him inside. Instead, she shot a glance over her shoulder, then closed the door several more inches.

  Andrew raised his brows. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. It’s just…” A boy’s loud cry behind her made her jump and turn away. “Joel. Are you all right?” She hurried inside, leaving the door ajar.

  Andrew stood on the porch, uncertain how to proceed. Soft voices drifted out from the small house, but Margaret didn’t return. He gripped the edge of the half open door and opened it another foot, then stepped across the threshold. A young man nearly his size sat on the floor gripping his knee and rocking back and forth. Margaret and a slender wisp of a girl with dark blond hair gathered back in a neat braid leaned over the boy, patting his back.

  Andrew closed the door and took a step toward the trio. “Margaret? Is something wrong?”

  Margaret’s head came up with a start. A blush flooded her cheeks, and her eyes darted from Andrew to the young man she’d called Joel, and back again. Just as quickly her expression cleared, and she stood and smiled. “Andrew I’d like you to meet Joel McGavin and his sister, Samantha. They’re staying with me for now.”

  Andrew leaned over and extended his hand to the boy sitting on the floor. “Nice to meet you.”

  Joel simply stared at his hand and smiled but didn’t move or reply.

  The young girl patted Joel’s head and met Andrew’s inquiring eyes. “He’s not used to shaking hands. I don’t think anyone’s ever offered to do that before.” She turned to Joel and gripped his hand. “Come on, stand up. Your knee is fine. You’re a big boy, Joel.”

  He allowed her to pull him to his feet and grinned at Andrew. “I’m not hurt anymore. I banged my knee, but I didn’t cry.”

  Andrew smiled at the boy held captive in a man-sized body. “I’ll bet your sister is proud of you.”

  Joel’s eyes sparkled, and he nodded eagerly. “Yep. Sammie loves me. Huh, Sammie?” He swiveled to the girl standing beside him.

  She let out a long breath as though she’d been holding it for Andrew’s answer. The girl looked young, barely in her teens. Her face glowed as though it had been recently scrubbed, and she wore a dress that was a little too big, but neat and clean. “Yes, I do. I love you just the way you are.” The grateful look she cast Andrew revealed the worry she must carry on an ongoing basis for her oversized but gentle brother. She held out her hand. “I’m Samantha, and I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

  Andrew met the hand, keeping his face carefully serious. “I’m Andrew Browning. Are you related to Miss Garvey?”

  Samantha shook her head and withdrew her hand after a quick squeeze. “No. We’re just passing through, trying to find our kin.”

  Margaret patted Samantha’s shoulder and motioned to Andrew. “Would you mind stepping outside for a minute?” She led him back out the door and drew it gently closed behind her. They stepped off the porch and down the path to a fallen log lying in a small clearing, braced with one end still sitting on the broken stump. White daisies with yellow centers grew near where the top of the tree had hit the ground, and Margaret settled onto a smooth part of the tree trunk near the flowers. “I’d like to explain and ask your advice. Would you sit for a moment?”

  “Certainly.” Andrew took a seat several feet away. “I’ve never seen those youngsters in town before. They said they’re searching for their family?”

  Margaret raised one shoulder. “I’m not sure what to think. Art Gibbs, a new teamster in town, brought them over a couple of days ago when he found them in his yard playing with his
dog. They were quite ragged and dirty before I gave them baths and found them some clothing. Joel let slip that they were hungry and had been living in a barn. Nothing was said about trying to find family until I started questioning them. Joel doesn’t say a lot, mostly due to Samantha making sure she answers first. But he’s said enough for me to get an idea of what’s going on.”

  Andrew nodded. “I’m guessing they’re runaways.”

  “I think they could be. Samantha is only willing to say their parents are dead, and that they’re trying to find a relative who might be living in Oregon. She won’t say where they’ve been living or how long since her parents died. I’m hoping to win her trust so she’ll open up and I can help.”

  Andrew’s eyebrows rose. “You’re planning on keeping them? You don’t have much room for two extra bodies in this cabin, and I can only guess what the schoolboard will say.”

  “I’ve thought of that as well.” Margaret paused and stared back toward her home.

  Andrew stroked his chin, unsure what to suggest. Margaret was a grown woman, after all. Joel appeared harmless enough, with a sweet, simple mind—but how many people in town would understand or agree with her taking in a boy who was nearly the size of a man—her being single and all? Of course, there was the sister as chaperone, but she was just a child, and tongues could still wag.

  He leaned toward her, not wanting to startle her. “Margaret?”

  She turned her head, a bemused expression in her eyes. “Sorry. Just thinking on what’s best.”

  “If there’s anything I can do?”

  She smiled and stood. “Thank you. It’s a help knowing you’re not pushing me to send them away. I don’t see how I can attend the icecream social with two strange children in my home.”

  “Bring them along.” Andrew spoke almost without thinking, but he suddenly knew it was the right thing. “Kids love ice cream, and I’ll bet they’d like to come. You can’t keep them cooped up in your house forever.”