He pressed his thumb against the front lip and felt for a hinge. Ah—a small metal catch encrusted with mud. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and scrubbed at the dirt, then gently lifted the lid. A tightly folded paper lay inside. Nothing else. Why would someone bury a box with nothing but a scrap of paper?
Now fully engaged, he plucked the paper out and set the box to the side on the ground. The paper wasn’t damp or blotted, so the box must have done its job. Slowly he unfolded the three-inch square missive until a larger paper lay before him.
He stared at his own handwriting. This can’t be. His gaze ran over it again, and he leaned back, tipping his face to the sky. Dear God, what does this mean? This was the note he’d left for Margaret under the tree.
He snatched at the box and wiped off more of the mud. And this was the very box they’d used to house their notes.
What was it doing here? Had Margaret found it and despised him so much she’d buried it in hopes of forgetting? He jumped to his feet and threw the note on the ground, watching it flutter on the light breeze until it landed, message pointing up to the sky. He started to walk away and paused. Maybe it would be best to take the note in the house and destroy it. The winds that blew in the Gorge could easily waft it over his fence and into a neighbor’s yard. He winced at the thought of someone else reading his plea to the woman who’d rejected his love.
Just as he bent to pick up the offensive note, a gust of wind plucked it from his hand and tumbled it across the grass. He took a long stride, bent over again—and froze. On the back was one simple word in a script he remembered, even after four years: YES.
Chapter Eighteen
Matilda Stedman couldn’t believe her eyes. The sun had been up for nigh on to two hours, and her lazy son was still lying abed. She crossed her arms over her bosom and huffed, “Enough lollygaggin’. I need your help. You’d think a son would care more about his mother, but not you.”
Wallace swung his legs toward the edge of the bed and simpered, “You know I love you, Ma. Just give me a minute ta get decent, and I’ll come out ta the kitchen for a cup of your good coffee and hear what ya got to say. There’s no one makes coffee like you.” He gave her his best smile.
She frowned. “I’ll make coffee, but don’t take your time gettin’ dressed.”
Once in the kitchen, she placed the coffeepot onto the round, steel plate on the top of her wood cookstove. Wallace had inherited his bad habits from his pa, so it wasn’t all the boy’s fault. Of course, at thirty years old she’d hoped he’d have a decent job and be married by now, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry on either account. Instead, he just had a part-time job loading boxes for Mr. Smith down at the dry goods store. And yesterday he’d gotten fed up and quit. Said the old man was always yelling at him for something that wasn’t his fault.
Just then Wallace sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed an earthenware mug from an open shelf near the stove. He poured himself some coffee, took a big gulp, and nearly spit it back into the mug. “This ain’t coffee.” He raised bleary eyes from his recent allnight binge. “What is this stuff? It tastes like water and dandelions. Ya trying to poison me?”
Matilda planted her fists on her hips and leaned forward. “It’s coffee and chicory, and I used a bit of dandelion greens to make it stretch. I don’t have no sugar left in the house, so I put a dollop of honey in.”
“Pretty stingy with the honey, if ya ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.” She grabbed the cup from his hands. “But I do want to ask you somethin’ else.” She leaned close and gripped his shoulder, then dropped her voice and hissed, “It’s about them kids.”
Nathaniel stared at the note, not sure he understood the implications of the neatly penned, single word. Yes. Margaret had said yes, and then buried it in the rose garden? He shook his head and lifted the note closer, hoping to gain a deeper understanding from the simple reply. Why hadn’t she left it in their trysting place as agreed? They’d be married and probably have a couple of kids by now, if she hadn’t gotten cold feet.
He stroked his mustache. Had she gotten frightened, or had something else interfered? Or, more to the point, someone else? He glanced back over his shoulder at the hole where the rose had once flourished and grown, remembering Margaret—impetuous but thoughtful, caring almost to a fault of others’ feelings and needs, and typically punctual. Strong-minded enough to stand up to her father, if she felt the need, and independent enough to consider running away with him the times they’d whispered about the possibility. Or so he’d thought. Would the Margaret he’d known write Yes, then bury the box in her backyard? He shook his head. No. It didn’t fit.
He turned and strode back to the house, all thoughts of working in the rosebed pushed aside. Somehow he had to get to the bottom of this, although in his gut he thought he already knew the answer.
Chapter Nineteen
Clean clothes flapped on the line that Julius had strung between two slender trees behind Margaret’s small, wood-sided cabin. The fir floor inside glistened from the scrub brush and hot, soapy water she’d used. She dragged a straight-backed chair across her threshold and onto the front porch. The sun beat through the boughs of the fir trees, and a tangy fragrance reached her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell that never grew old.
Who’d have thought a little over a week ago that a man would be found dead, possibly murdered, in Bridal Veil? Then Nathaniel Cooper had returned. Two very different problems, to be sure. She sighed and leaned her head against the high-backed chair and closed her eyes.
A twig snapped several yards from the porch and jerked her upright. A lanky woman carrying a wicker basket trooped up the path toward her.
“Gertrude. You gave me a start.” Margaret put her hand over her heart and smiled. “Out for a walk on this fine day?”
The woman drew to a halt, her long gray skirt flapping in the light wind. “Afternoon, Miss Garvey. I came to pick some wild blackcaps up against the hill behind your cabin—if you don’t mind my crossing your property?”
Margaret rose to her feet. “It is school property, and you’re certainly welcome to whatever you find.”
Gertrude nodded but didn’t smile. “Seen Mr. Ludlow, the head of the schoolboard, down at the store. Said he planned on stopping to see you today, and he seemed none too happy when he said it. I thought I’d best ask, in case he comes by whilst I’m picking.”
“Mr. Ludlow? Did he say why? He’s generally quite pleasant to me.”
Gertrude set her basket on the edge of the porch and shook her head. “Most times he is, but I declare, the man can be moody. Not sure how Mrs. Ludlow deals with him when he gets into a cranky frame of mind. ’Course, you’re a pretty young thing, and not attached. I hear Mr. Ludlow has a liking for the young ladies.”
Margaret frowned. “Gertrude Graham! That’s gossip, pure and simple. Mrs. Ludlow is a sweet woman, and I’m sure her husband adores her. He’s been a model of propriety around me.”
Gertrude shrugged and plucked her basket off the rough wood floor and swung it by its handle next to her cotton skirt. “I know what I saw with my own eyes, but that was awhile back, and I suppose he could a’changed. I don’t want to speak evil of a man who holds power over the kids at our school, me having a boy in your class, and all.” She raised pleading eyes to Margaret’s. “Please don’t mention I said anything about Mr. Ludlow?”
“Of course not. Good picking to you, Mrs. Graham.”
The woman lifted her hand in farewell. “Good day to you, Miss Garvey.” Mrs. Graham walked past the cabin and followed the trail toward the hillside beyond.
Margaret sank back into her chair, unsure what to think. She didn’t know Mr. or Mrs. Ludlow well, as the woman’s poor health didn’t allow her to attend church often, but she’d heard Mr. Ludlow doted on his ailing wife. He’d been the head of the schoolboard only this past year, so she hadn’t come in contact with him more than a handful of times. What could he want with her
on a Saturday, with school not in session? Apparently she’d find out soon enough.
She needed a few items from the store, and Mrs. Graham mentioned speaking to Mr. Ludlow there not long ago. Yes. A walk might suit, and if she met her boss on the way there, she’d learn what he needed. Of course, Mrs. Graham could have misunderstood. She had a reputation for gossip, and the hints she’d made about Mr. Ludlow’s character certainly fit into that category.
She stepped into her cabin and peeked in the small looking glass next to the door. If there was a chance of meeting her boss, it might be best to tame her curly hair a bit. She plucked a black silk ribbon from the top drawer of her dressing table and gathered her tresses at the nape of her neck. Her dark blue skirt and white shirtwaist blouse were clean and pressed this morning.
Margaret stepped around the corner of the cabin to the place where Sammie and Joel liked to play, and informed them she’d be back in a few minutes. After checking to make sure her home was tidy and in order, she proceeded down the steps and toward the store.
The high-pitched squeal of the planer mill let the town know that Bridal Veil Lumbering Company was in full swing. Funny how over the years she’d managed to block out most of the noise from the mill—until the path drew close to the big buildings that housed the workers and machinery, that is. She glanced at the lumberyard as she walked along, wondering if Andrew might be outside. She slowed her pace and peered toward the largest building that housed the big planer. No sign of him.
The strong stab of disappointment took her by surprise. Had her feelings of friendship for Andrew moved to something deeper? Margaret shook her head and pushed the thought away. It was too confusing right now, and she’d didn’t care to analyze what she felt.
Margaret’s heart sank as she came within sight of the store without meeting anyone. Gertrude Graham may have taken a scrap of information and stretched it to whole-cloth proportions, as she had the suggestion that Robert Ludlow could be unfaithful to his wife. Still, something was amiss—Margaret felt it. The thought of Samantha and Joel niggled at her mind and left a lump in her chest. It wasn’t a good sign that the head of the schoolboard hadn’t seemed pleased—not good at all.
Andrew pivoted at the sound of his name and waited for his boss to catch up as the man jogged across the lumberyard. “Yes, sir, Mr. Arlington?”
The short, stocky man drew to a halt and sucked in several breaths before he spoke. “Been chasin’ you clear across the yard, Browning.”
“Sorry, sir. I guess with the planer mill screaming in the building, I didn’t hear you call.” Andrew withdrew his hat and held it gripped in one fist. Arlington’s clouded face didn’t bode well for what might be coming.
The man jerked his head to one side. “No matter. You’re being moved.”
“Moved? What do you mean?”
“To the upper mill at Palmer. More exactly, back up to the woods to help fell timber.”
Andrew scratched his head. “But why? I’ve been at the planer mill for over a year.”
Arlington shrugged his brawny shoulders. “Beats me, I’m just the shift boss. I’m not too happy about it either, but someone higher than me made the decision. Guess they’re shorthanded, and we’re not. I imagine since you were a good faller, you were the sensible choice.” He raised a hand and started walking, then stopped and turned. “Report up there tomorrow morning to the new man, Nathaniel Cooper. Guess he’ll tell you which crew you’ll work on.”
“Any idea if this is permanent?”
“Not from what I’m told. Probably just until the snow flies, at most.”
Andrew watched his boss walk the rest of the way across the yard until he disappeared into the planer building, then clapped his hat back on his head. It was almost quitting time, and a good thing, too. After that news, he wasn’t sure he could keep his mind on his job. Falling timber again? There must be more to it than a simple shortage of workers. In his two years working for this company he’d not seen a man taken from a job where he’d proven himself demoted back to an old one.
He loved his job at the lower mill and hated the thought of returning back up the mountain. Until last year he’d lived in the small community of Palmer, but with the transfer to Bridal Veil he’d moved to the lower town. That’s what enabled him to start seeing Margaret. Wait a moment. Nathaniel Cooper would be his boss? Arlington said someone with more pull than him had requested the transfer.
Cooper had stated at the ice-cream social the other night that he and Margaret had known one another years before. Four years, if he remembered correctly. That would have made Margaret way too young to be interested in Cooper…or would it? Let’s see, she was what? Almost twenty-one now, so she’d have been close to seventeen. Some girls were married by that age, although he’d never seen the sense in it, himself. Was it possible Cooper was still interested in Margaret and hoped to remove the competition? Surely not. Andrew had promised Margaret’s father he’d watch over her and keep her from harm—and something about Cooper put his hackles up. Surely Margaret couldn’t be interested in the man?
But what did he know of a woman’s heart, her likes or dislikes? Margaret had seemed more distant lately. Not sullen, just quiet, withdrawn. That is, until the children appeared at her door. He tried to think back to the last time Margaret had been laughing and happy. Of course, her father’s passing had dampened that joy, but she’d teased and laughed the day he’d helped her move into her cabin. After that? He shook his head and stalked toward the office to fill out his timecard. He couldn’t be sure, but his heart told him it must have been around the same time that Nathaniel Cooper showed up in town.
What would Mr. Garvey have thought of Cooper? He’d never mentioned him, and Andrew had only moved to Bridal Veil two years ago. But if Margaret and Nathaniel had been friends, why hadn’t Mr. Garvey contacted him, rather than Andrew, to watch over his daughter? He narrowed his eyes and kept walking. Why indeed?
Chapter Twenty
Margaret drew the broom across the floor of her small home, whisking the last bits of dirt out the door. She’d decided to quit worrying about Mrs. Graham’s suggestion that Robert Ludlow was coming to call. She’d simply take care of the children the best she could and hope that no one objected to them staying awhile.
She glanced around the room, happy the area was tidy once more. The space that had seemed more than adequate when she’d moved in had grown more cramped. Not that she was complaining about Samantha and Joel. The two children had grown dear to her during the time they’d spent under her roof. Sleeping on the extra blankets in the corner of the main cabin hadn’t drawn a single complaint from either of them.
They’d done their part to keep things tidy as well. Even Joel, who wasn’t adept at small details, had helped scrub the floor and carry out buckets of dirty mop water. She lifted the ornate watch dangling from the chain around her neck and peered at the time. Mr. Gibbs, or Mr. Art as the children called him, would be here any moment to take Joel to his house to play. How the boy looked forward to this visit. Art had stopped by a couple of times in the evening to make sure Joel was doing all right, but Buck had stayed behind.
A rap at the door made her start. She pushed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and swung open the door. A stranger dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt stood beside Nathaniel Cooper, and neither of them was smiling. Nathaniel swept the hat off his head and gave a small bow. “Margaret. Uh…Miss Garvey.” He nodded to the silent man standing a half step behind. “This is Sheriff Bryant from Troutdale. May we come in?”
She stood frozen for a moment, her thoughts adrift in a sea of confusion, then she snapped to attention and gripped the edge of the door. “Why?”
Nathaniel’s brows drew down and the sheriff’s shot up. “We’ve been talking to people who knew Martin Jenkins. It’s the sheriff’s third trip to Bridal Veil, and he’s trying to wrap things up.”
Still she didn’t budge. Where were the children? She’d heard them playing behind t
he cabin not ten minutes ago when she’d released them from doing chores. Surely Joel would be watching for Art by now and would wonder who these strangers were. Had Samantha taken her brother and hidden him in the woods, or worse yet, decided to flee? She made up her mind and swung wide the door. “Forgive me for being rude. Come in, please. You took me by surprise, as I don’t know any details about Mr. Jenkins’ death.”
Sheriff Bryant removed his hat before crossing the threshold. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything, Miss Garvey. This shouldn’t take long.”
She ushered them in and pointed to the chairs pushed under her kitchen table. “Please, sit down.” The coffeepot sat at the back of the stove and she reached for two mugs. “Coffee?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No need, miss. Mr. Cooper gave me a cup before coming over, and we still have other places to visit. Won’t you sit for a minute?”
Margaret drew in a deep breath and let it out ever so slowly, while listening for voices outside and praying Art wouldn’t appear. If the sheriff didn’t know about the children or have any reason to check on them, all might be well. She sat, folded her hands in her lap, and avoided Nathaniel’s eyes. “How can I help you, Sheriff?”
He laid his hat on his knees and smiled. The effect was stunning. Once-serious blue eyes now twinkled under bushy brows, and weathered bronze cheeks creased upward. Margaret immediately relaxed. The man sitting across from her wasn’t a bad person.
Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon Page 12
