Love Finds You in Bridal Veil, Oregon

by Miralee Ferrell

  “Mr. Cooper tells me you stopped by Martin Jenkins’ cabin a couple of days prior to—” he glanced at his notes and looked up again—“Mr. Minion finding Jenkins’, ah…” He rubbed his face and gave a wry smile. “I apologize. I’m not used to talking to ladies about this type of thing.”

  “I understand. When Mr. Minion found Mr. Jenkins that dreadful day.”

  Relief crossed his face. “That’s right. You stopped by his house?”

  She nodded. “Yes, to drop off a pot of stew, but he wasn’t at home.”

  He leaned his forearms on the table. “And what time was that, do you remember?”

  “It was early. I intended to go to Mrs. Hearn’s home afterward to help with chores before the day warmed too much. I’d say about seven thirty in the morning, more or less. I spoke to Mr. Browning, who told me that Mr. Jenkins hadn’t answered the door.”

  “Do you know why Mr. Browning was there?”

  Margaret straightened in her chair and glanced at Nathaniel. He was keeping his gaze carefully trained on the sheriff, but a small muscle at the side of his mouth jerked. Ah, he was nervous. Was he the one who’d told the sheriff about Andrew visiting the Jenkins’ home? She narrowed her eyes, irritation pumping the blood through her body at an alarming rate. She drew in a sharp breath, hoping to still her racing heart. “Trying to find someone to fill in at the mill. Nothing more. Why?” She didn’t care that the last word was more of a demand than a question.

  The sheriff held up a pacifying hand. “Just trying to get a clear picture of everything that took place that day, miss. Mr. Browning’s a good friend of yours, is he?” A pair of astute blue eyes peered out from under the bushy brows.

  Her heart seemed to still, and she felt blood rush up her neck. “He’s a friend, as are many people in this town.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “And I’ll not see one of my friends accused of something he didn’t do.”

  “We’re not making accusations, Miss Garvey. Leastwise, not yet. One more question about Mr. Browning, if I may?”

  She nodded and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Did you see him come out of Jenkins’ door?”

  Margaret worked to stay calm. “No. He was knocking when I came around a corner and was just starting to step away as I drew closer.”

  He leaned forward. “So you can’t say for certain that he wasn’t in the house prior to your arrival?”

  “Why, I—” she all but spluttered, then stopped. What had she seen when she came within sight? Surely Andrew wouldn’t have been in the house? She gave herself a mental shake and prayed her sudden thought hadn’t shown in her eyes. She dropped her head for a moment, then lifted her chin. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t believe so. Besides, if he’d attacked someone, would he be so foolish as to walk out the front door in broad daylight?”

  Sheriff Bryant shrugged, glanced at Nathaniel, and looked back at her. “You were still there when Donnie Williams stopped and spoke to Mr. Browning?”

  She tried to relax. “I was.”

  “Did anything untoward happen during that time?”

  “He asked what Andrew—Mr. Browning—was doing there. Mr. Browning explained and asked if Donnie cared to work. He said no, and I went on my way. I was already running later than I’d planned.”

  He nodded and smiled, then pushed to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Garvey. You’ve been a wonderful help.” He tucked his hat under his arm. “We’ll be on our way now. Good day.”

  Nathaniel gazed at Margaret with a question in his eyes, but she turned her face away, irritation building again. “Good day, gentlemen. I hope you’ll meet with more success the rest of the day.”

  The sheriff stepped across the threshold and pushed his hat down over his brow. “I aim to, Miss Garvey. I aim to.”

  Ten minutes later Margaret dared to breathe again. She hadn’t wanted to venture out too soon for fear the men might have forgotten something and would appear at the door again. She bolted from the house and raced behind it, frantic to find the children. What if Samantha had heard Nathaniel introduce the sheriff and assumed he’d come to take them back to the place they’d run away from? She’d waited far too long. Fear drove her from tree to tree, and she called the children’s name in a low voice, ever conscious of the need for quiet.

  “Miss Garvey?” A man’s voice spoke from a yard or two away, and Margaret whirled around, her hand to her heart. Art Gibbs, Julius Winston, and Art’s dog, Buck, stood near the corner of her cabin. The two men watched her with troubled expressions. Art swept his hat off his head. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

  Julius took a long look at her face and frowned. “Miss Margaret, you look like yer about to wilt. Why, a snowball on a hot griddle don’t got nothin’ on you, no sir. What you so het up about? You lose somethin’?”

  Margaret gripped her hands to keep from wringing them. “Yes. The children.”

  Julius gawked, his mouth hanging open. “Children? School’s not in during the summer and you don’t got no children, Miss Margaret.” He scratched his head. “You watchin’ young’uns for one o’ the women in town?”

  Margaret rushed over to Art and gripped his hand. “Please, can you help me? The sheriff arrived with Mr. Cooper and asked questions about Martin Jenkins. If Sammie heard, then she might have thought he came to get them. I’m so afraid they’ve run away.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she brushed at the one that dared to spill over her lashes and onto her cheek.

  Art patted her hand that gripped his arm. “You’ve called them, and they haven’t answered?”

  “Yes, and Joel was so excited about playing with Buck today. I know Sammie would have had to force him to leave the cabin. At first I thought they might be hiding, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Julius snapped his mouth shut and rocked back on his heels. “Don’t reckon I know those two names, but I’ll help all I can to find the lost little tykes, if’n you say the word.”

  She cast him a grateful look and took a step back. “Thank you. I’d appreciate your help.”

  Art tugged on the rope he’d tied around Buck’s neck and drew him close. “You got something that belongs to Joel? A piece of clothing, a shoe, anything?”

  Margaret thought for a moment, then dashed to the cabin and back. “Here.” She thrust a soft-brimmed, floppy hat into his hand. “He only wears this occasionally. Will it help?”

  Art nodded and leaned over, sticking the cap under Buck’s nose. “Go find Joel, boy. You remember Joel. Go on, find him.”

  The dog let out a yip and bounded forward, nose to the ground, with Art clinging to the rope and trotting behind him. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder.

  Margaret picked up her skirt and dashed forward with Julius on her heels. Hope surged with each strike of her foot against the hard-packed earth. Buck liked Joel, and Joel loved the dog. Somehow God would help the dog to find the boy before they got too far away. She’d not heard any trains pass through the town in the last hour or so. Thank the good Lord for that. There were few buggies that traveled in and out of Bridal Veil, and the children couldn’t sneak onto a steamboat, so walking or the train would be their only option. More than likely they’d returned to their old hideout in the barn they’d used, but she’d never found out its location.

  Buck barked again, then dropped his nose back to the ground and forged ahead. They jogged past houses and wove through brush and trees, continuing west and away from the river. Margaret could hear Bridal Veil Falls in the distance as it cascaded into the pool and pummeled the rocks. Panic rose in her chest. It had never occurred to her to ask if Samantha or Joel could swim. What if they tried to cross the stream close to the waterfall and were injured? Please, God… Please don’t let anything happen to them.

  Julius drew abreast of her on a wide patch and gripped her elbow. “Miss Margaret,” he wheezed. “What’s goin’ on? Who we tryin’ to find?”

  She slowed a mite but kept Buck and Art in her sights. “A brot
her and sister—friends of mine who’ve been staying with me for a while. They wandered off while I spoke to Mr. Cooper and Sheriff Bryant.”

  “Is they little tots?”

  Margaret shook her head. “No. They’re thirteen and fourteen years old, but Joel, the brother, is a bit—slow. He can’t care for himself, and Sammie—Samantha—is a tiny mite of a thing. They’ve been worried someone might come looking for them.” She gripped his hand and looked in his eyes. “Can I trust you, Julius? To keep quiet about the children?”

  He nodded, a solemn cast to his normally cheerful face. “’Course you can, Miss Margaret—with yer life if need be.” He lifted his hand and drew an X on his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die, as I used to say when I was just a little pup.”

  “Thank you, Julius.” She gestured toward Art, who trotted behind Buck as the dog sniffed the trail ahead of them. “Let’s keep up, and I’ll tell you what’s been happening.” Over the next minutes she filled him in on the arrival of the children and the little she’d learned of their past. “I wish I knew more, but I’m guessing Sammie’s decided to run again.”

  Julius wagged his head, his long face growing even longer with sympathy. “Poor tykes. No ma or pa to watch out fer ’em. Tough spot to be in. You said the little boy’s a mite slow?”

  “Yes, but he’s not little by any means. He’s taller than I am, but gentle, and worships Sammie.”

  Julius scratched his chin. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground and see if there’s anything I can find out about their kin. I talk to a lot of the workers at the mill and other freighters from outside the area. Might be one of them knows somethin’.”

  “Just be careful that you don’t say too much. Sammie is terrified the people they lived with will hunt them down and make them return. Andrew and I think they’ve been mistreated.”

  “More’n likely. Happens all the time, I’m afeard. You can trust me to keep my trap shut, yessir.”

  Just then Art gave a shout and waved his arm. “I think Buck’s found something.”

  Julius and Margaret hurried forward and stopped beside Art and the excited dog snuffling around in the brush to the side of the trail. “Did he find the children?”

  “Not sure, but he’s plumb happy.” He leaned over and patted the dog’s head, then stuck Joel’s hat under Buck’s nose again. “Go on, boy. Find Joel.”

  The dog dashed forward, barking wildly, and ran down a short gully, then stopped and stared into the brush. When Margaret arrived, she could see nothing in the surrounding area and her heart sank. “There’s nothing here.”

  Buck tugged at the rope and whined. Art leaned over and slipped the rope from his neck. The dog leapt into the brush, yipping and wiggling all over, then disappeared until only his tail protruded.

  “Ah, Buck. You found me. What a good dog, Buck.” Joel’s voice echoed from the base of the hillside, and Margaret heard what sounded like a sob from Samantha. She dropped to her knees and peered through the brush. A cavern was carved into the hill, and the two children, with Buck planted firmly in Joel’s lap, were curled up inside.

  Art crawled around the brush and poked his head into the area behind. “Come on, kids. It’s time to come out. You’ve had Miss Margaret fit to be tied with worry.” He grasped Buck’s collar and spoke firmly to the dog, who backed out of the brush.

  Samantha and Joel scooted out on their bottoms, a gleeful look on Joel’s face and worry drawing lines on Samantha’s. They scrambled to their feet and stared at the three adults.

  Margaret stepped close and reached out a hand toward Samantha, desperately wanting to hug the girl. “Sammie? Honey, why did you run away?”

  Tears spilled over the girl’s lower lashes and rolled down her cheeks. “The sheriff is after us. He’s gonna send us back!” A wail broke from her throat, and she threw her arms around Margaret’s waist, burying her face in her chest. Smothered sobs mingled with tears that soaked through the front of Margaret’s cotton blouse.

  Julius leaned forward, a snowy white handkerchief clutched in his hand. “Here you go, little girl.” He tucked it into Sammie’s hand and stepped back, worry creasing his own face.

  Samantha lifted her head and looked at Julius, then raised the hanky and mopped her face. “Thank you.” She whispered the words.

  Margaret kept an arm around the trembling girl’s shoulders. “You can quit worrying, Sammie. The sheriff wasn’t at my house on your account. He came to ask me some questions about a man who died awhile back.”

  Sammie drew in a shuddering breath and exhaled. “I’m sorry we ran away and caused you grief.” A whimper broke the last word. “I was just so scared.”

  Art leaned over to stroke Buck’s head and beam at Joel, who knelt beside the dog. “Sammie, why did you come to this spot? Is this where you stayed before you came to my house? There’s no barn near here.”

  She shook her head and swiped at her eyes. “No.” A hiccup sounded. “This is where God brought me the day I ran away from those bad men. He told me I’d be safe here. I figured it was a good place to come back to.” She shrugged and dropped her gaze to where she scuffed a toe in the dirt. “But you found me, so I guess it’s not such a good place, after all.”

  Margaret gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze. “It was when you needed it, honey. But God didn’t tell you to come here this time.”

  A small voice within Margaret whispered to tell Samantha that God could be trusted—that she needed to ask Him for direction in every decision—but she couldn’t force the words out. So many things about her own past were unanswered where God was concerned. How could she tell Samantha or anyone else to fully trust Him, when she struggled to do it herself?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  After her scare, Margaret kept Sammie and Joel close to the house and didn’t let them venture out of her sight. Family had always been the most important thing in her life, and she wasn’t about to let anything happen to these children again. Sammie had sobbed well into the night after they’d returned to the cabin, and nothing Margaret said appeared to comfort the girl. Sammie appeared to understand that she and Joel weren’t in danger from the sheriff, but she couldn’t seem to find peace after her scare.

  The last twenty-four hours had brought a change, with Samantha perking up and Joel clamoring to play with Buck. Margaret had allowed them to walk to Art Gibbs’ home to play while Art was at work. They’d agreed that the children could play in the yard unattended, as long as they didn’t enter the house when Mr. Gibbs was gone.

  A sharp rap sounded at her door. Andrew and Art were both at work, and the children wouldn’t knock. Her heart picked up its pace, and she felt the blood thrumming in her neck. The sheriff? Had he heard about the children and come to investigate? A glance in the looking glass showed her appearance to be in order. She drew in a deep breath and swung open the door.

  The head of the schoolboard, Robert Ludlow, stood on her porch, hat in hand. “Miss Garvey. I hope I haven’t come at an inopportune time?”

  She hesitated, then beckoned outside where she’d placed a chair on the porch. “Not at all. Please, have a seat and I’ll bring another chair. Would you care for a cup of chilled tea?”

  “I would indeed, thank you.”

  She grasped one of her kitchen chairs and set it outside the door, then returned to pour two glasses full of the cool tea she’d just brought up from the cellar. “I’m sorry I don’t have any cookies or pie.” She handed him one glass and sat down in the chair nearby.

  He waved his hand and smiled. “Not to worry, Miss Garvey, this is wonderful.” He took a sip. “Very good. I’m sure you’re wondering what brought me here.”

  She nodded but didn’t comment. Her thoughts flashed back to the day Mrs. Graham had stopped by on her way to pick berries. How strange Mr. Ludlow’s visit had been delayed this long. Still, maybe it wasn’t urgent in nature.

  A blue jay swooped past the porch, squawking in protest at the lack of crumbs. The pesky creatures would prac
tically steal food from your hand if given the chance.

  Mr. Ludlow took another drink, then set his glass aside and folded his hands in his lap. “Ahem. Now then.” He peered at the house for a long moment, then turned his attention back to Margaret. “I’ll get right to the point. I understand you’ve allowed some vagrant children to move into the school’s cabin.”

  She sat up straight and raised her chin. “My cabin, Mr. Ludlow. At least for as long as I’m the teacher here.”

  He nodded. “Absolutely. You are correct, Miss Garvey. But it was given to you with the assumption you were single.”

  “I am single.”

  “Yes, but I mean single, as in living alone. We didn’t expect you’d be taking in strays.” A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched.

  “They aren’t strays. They’re simply two children who are… visiting.”

  He seemed to sense her hesitation and leaned forward, dark eyes pinning her. “Visiting. And for how long are they visiting, Miss Garvey?”

  She tried not to squirm in her chair, feeling much the same as she knew her students must feel when she called them to task for some type of misbehavior. “I’m not entirely certain.”

  “Do you have plans to keep them permanently, or do they have a home to return to?” The hands in his lap started to twitch.

  Margaret shrugged and stifled a sigh. “I’m not planning on adopting them, but beyond that, I’m not sure. Andrew—Mr. Browning—is trying to help me find their family. They’re orphans, but we’re hoping they might have other family we can call upon.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Orphans. How did they end up in Bridal Veil? Where did they come from? Why can’t they return?” The rapid-fire questions shot from his lips like pebbles from a slingshot.

  Margaret winced but kept her gaze steady on his. “I wish I could answer your questions, sir, but I can’t. We’re still trying to discover the truth. All I can tell you is that I hope to find a place for the children to live in the near future.”