More Than Meets the Eye

  I know you see everything, Lord. Help us to see, too. To keep those we love safe.

  No sooner had the prayer lifted from her heart than a motion caught her eye. Christie. Waving and pointing.

  Evangeline crooked her neck around to view the road from the east. A man on horseback approached. A stout fellow dressed in black. The schoolmaster? It couldn’t be. He had left town this morning. Logan and Zach would have returned to the house to warn Seth not to search the school if he hadn’t.

  Heart pounding, Evangeline crept out from under the branches. How Lawrence Benson had come to be here didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting Seth out of the building before he was discovered.

  With Christie’s frantic gestures urging her to hurry, Evangeline sprinted across the open yard to the back of the schoolhouse, keeping her body hunched to make herself as small as possible, not wanting to draw the attention of the man on the road.

  She reached the door and eased it open a few inches. “Seth!” If it was possible to yell and whisper at the same time, that was what Evangeline did. “Benson’s coming. We have to go. Now!”

  “Evie?” A very angry-looking Seth yanked the door inward. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  She glared at him. “Lecture me later.” She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Thankfully, her brother was an intelligent sort and settled for a severe scowl that warned of castigation to come as he allowed her to drag him outside. He pulled free of her grip and clicked the door closed behind them, then took the lead, clasping her hand and dashing north into the more wooded area.

  As they passed the privy, Christie darted out to meet them. “This way,” she urged. “There’s a path that leads to my old house. I’ll show you.”

  Seth jerked Evangeline’s arm to keep them behind the young woman leading their escape. “You brought Christie? How could you?” The betrayal and stark fear in her brother’s eyes shredded her heart.

  “This was her idea, Seth. She was worried about you and determined to come with or without me. Would you prefer I let her come alone?”

  He had no answer. Just made a frustrated rumbling in his throat and pushed her ahead of him on the path while he took up the rear. Evangeline hiked up her skirts and ran. They could hash out who was to blame later.

  Christie bounded through the wooded area like a doe, following a path only she could see. Evangeline stayed close, her breaths growing labored. Yet it was the sound of her brother wheezing behind her that spurred her to greater speed. When they hit a small clearing, she surged forward, overtaking her friend and drawing her to a halt.

  “What are you doing?” Christie tried to pull away. “We’re almost there.”

  “Seth.” The single word was all that was needed.

  Christie gasped and pivoted.

  Seth, pale yet fierce, stumbled to a halt behind them. “I’m fine,” he ground out between wheezes. “Keep going.”

  Christie wrapped an arm around him to support him.

  He shrugged her off. “I said I’m fine. Go!”

  She flinched at his jerky motion, but obeyed. As she moved past Evangeline, she leaned close. “Will he be all right?”

  Evangeline nodded. “He can speak, so it’s not too bad. If the house is close, he should make it.”

  Christie glanced once more at Seth, then resumed her flight, albeit at a slower pace. Evangeline jogged after her, keeping her ears tuned to her brother’s breathing. The rasping sounds grew deeper, heavier, but his footsteps kept pace. She thanked God for his provision and continued moving. The only thing Seth hated more than his asthma was having people treat him like an invalid because of it. He wouldn’t take kindly to her checking over her shoulder to make sure he was all right. However, when the house they sought finally came into view, everything inside her sagged with relief.

  Christie rushed to the door, opened it and checked inside, then waved the rest of them over. Evangeline scurried forward and held the door for Seth. Christie left her to manage the door, murmuring about getting some coffee on before darting deeper into the house.

  Once Seth was inside and the door closed, he hunched forward, braced his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. Evangeline recognized the posture. He was trying to calm his breathing before his lungs seized. She rubbed his back, his shoulders, trying to help the clenched muscles relax.

  “Christie’s making coffee,” she reassured him. “You’ll have some soon.” She inhaled and exhaled long, semi-steady breaths of her own, a challenge when she was winded as well. Zach often modeled deep breathing with Seth when he was in distress, so she tried to do the same.

  As Seth struggled to draw a full breath, he reached for his gun belt and drew his revolver from its holster. He shoved it at her, his eyes opening long enough to meet hers with imploring urgency. “In case . . . Earl . . . comes home.”

  Evangeline accepted the weapon without argument, tucking it in the waistband of her skirt at the small of her back. “Christie said he should be out at the still all day, prepping for tomorrow’s deliveries.”

  Seth managed a nod, but his eyes slid closed once again as he fought for air.

  Christie rushed back into the small, ramshackle room that served as both parlor and bedchamber, judging by the pallet in the far corner. “I have water on to boil and ran beans through the hand mill.” She looked at Seth, then back to Evangeline. “Can you add the grounds once the water boils? I need to grab that box we discussed earlier.”

  “Of course.”

  Christie’s eyes never left Seth as she crossed the room to the closed door that stood behind a lopsided chair with faded yellow upholstery. She paused, bit her lip, then pivoted abruptly and opened the door, slipping into the room beyond.

  Seth remained in the center of the room, slouched, eyes closed, all his energy focused on inhaling and exhaling. The wheezing had eased slightly, praise God, so Evangeline left him long enough to finish making the concoction that would aid his recovery.

  The hiss of water coming to a boil drew her to the stove, past the filth of food scraps and dirty dishes piled in the dry sink. Crinkling her nose, she tried not to breathe too deeply as she located the coffee mill on the counter along with a large tablespoon that appeared to have been given a quick wipe instead of a much needed scrub. Oh, well. It would get the job done, and right now, speed was more valuable than cleanliness.

  Bunching up skirt fabric in her hand to protect against the heat, she tipped open the lid of the dented tin coffeepot. Steam spewed out, but when it cleared, she saw a full boil. Taking it off the heat, she heaped in enough grounds to make several strong portions, stirred, then set it aside to brew.

  Cringing a bit, she pushed back the grease-spotted curtain of the only window in the room. Bits of broken machinery and tools littered the yard. A chicken coop sloping dangerously to one side stood to the left, a tired-looking wagon to the—wait. The wagon.

  Evangeline honed in on the vehicle. Buckboard. Weathered wood. Spring-mounted seat. No paint or trim. It was the wagon. The one that had carted Christie’s unconscious body to the river’s edge. The one driven by the would-be killer.

  Here. On this property. It had to belong to Earl.

  Could Logan have been mistaken? Could Earl, not the schoolmaster, have been the one trying to kill Christie?

  The curtain fell from Evangeline’s suddenly trembling fingers. The gun she’d shoved into the waistband of her skirt pressed into her spine. She should have tried harder to convince Christie to wait in town. Coming here was a mistake. They might be standing in the lair of the very man who wanted her dead.

  Unwilling to wait any longer on the coffee, Evangeline found a bucket of drinking water by the back door and used the ladle to bring a dipperful to the coffeepot. She opened the lid, wet her fingers, and sprinkled the cool water into the brew, waiting a few seconds for the grounds to sink before filling the mug Christie had left on the small kitchen table. The burn marks and knife cuts littering the table’s su
rface demonstrated a level of negligence and violence that only heightened Evangeline’s worries.

  Carrying the hot drink, she hurried back to the main room, approached her brother, and gently touched his shoulder. “Here, Seth. Drink.”

  Slowly, he straightened, reaching for the mug as he unfolded. He staggered over to the faded yellow armchair and sat, bringing the coffee cup to his mouth.

  “I saw the wagon,” she blurted, needing to tell someone of her discovery.

  Seth took a healthy swig of the hot brew, but his gaze zeroed in on hers from above the mug’s rim.

  “From the kitchen window,” she said, turning to point to the room she had just vacated. “It’s here. The one Christie’s attacker used to cart her to the river. Do you think—?”

  The front door slammed open and banged against the inner wall. “I knew you’d come crawling back here, gal. Been watchin’ for ya.” Earl limped through the door, spittle spraying his unruly beard under the force of his words. “Ungrateful wretch. Leaving me to do your work. You’ll feel the back of my hand before you fill your belly with any of my . . .” His words faded, and his brow crinkled. He squinted at Evangeline. “You’re not Christie.”

  Evangeline willed her hands to cease their trembling as she reached for the revolver. “No,” she said as she pulled the gun from behind her back. She pointed it at Earl and cocked the hammer. “But I’m a friend of hers, and I won’t let you or anyone else hurt her ever again.” Behind her, she heard Seth stand.

  Earl’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun, then narrowed as he discounted the woman wielding it. “You’re tresspassin’.” He took a step forward and gestured viciously back toward the door. “Get out!”

  Seth stepped forward, jaw set, nostrils flared. No one would think he was still recovering from an asthma attack, not when he looked that mean. Pride and confidence in her brother steadied Evangeline’s hand.

  Earl’s attention swung to Seth. He halted his advance but not his bluster. “You, too,” he demanded. “Out!”

  “No, Earl,” a quiet voice said from behind Evangeline. “We aren’t leaving until I get what I came for.”

  Earl staggered back a step. “Christie. You’re . . . you’re talkin’.” His Adam’s apple plunged up and down as he gaped. “But I thought . . . I thought . . .”

  She advanced into the room, chin high. “You thought I was an imbecile. I know. But I’m not. I’m deaf. That’s all, just deaf. My mind is as strong as yours. Stronger.”

  Earl glowered. “Why, you disrespectful little—”

  Seth shifted into his path. “I’d watch what you say if I were you, mister.”

  Shaking his head and muttering something Evangeline couldn’t understand, Christie’s stepfather retreated.

  “Where’s Archie?” Christie’s voice grew stronger as she faced down her tormentor. “I want him, Earl. Want to raise him, take care of him. You owe my mother—you owe me—that much.”

  “I don’t owe you nothin’, you ungrateful—” His attention caught on the lockbox in Christie’s hands. “Oh, I see how it is. You came to rob me.” He gestured to the room at large. “Thieves, the lot of you. Breaking into a man’s house, stealing his valuables. I’ll bring you all up on charges.”

  Evangeline squared her shoulders. “Not before we bring you up on charges of our own. Attempted murder, for starters.”

  “What the devil you talkin’ about, woman? I ain’t never kilt nobody.”

  “Not for lack of trying.” Evangeline advanced a step. “I saw the buckboard in your yard. The very same buckboard I witnessed at the river the day someone tried to drown your stepdaughter. She was wrapped in a blanket as if she were some kind of animal. Dumped. Shoved under the water with the kick of a man’s boot. That man deserves to rot in prison.”

  “Well, it weren’t me!” Earl roared. “I might have smacked her around a time or two, but I never tried to kill her. What would be the sense in that? I need her to make my deliveries. My bum leg can’t handle the mileage.”

  “Then someone used your wagon,” Evangeline pressed.

  “But no one’s driven that thing since . . .” Earl’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why, that slimy snake! Sabotagin’ my business. I’m gonna chop Benson down at the knees for this.”

  Evangeline’s stomach flip-flopped. The evidence they needed to prosecute Benson. Right here. Growling and stomping about like a riled bear. Earl was the key. He could testify against the schoolmaster. And judging by his demeanor, he’d be more than willing.

  She looked at Seth, understanding and agreement passing between them. Seth moved forward, intent on taming the bear, but before he could get within reach, a loud explosion boomed, shaking the walls of the cabin.

  Earl yelped. “My still!”

  Without warning, and moving much faster than a man with a gimpy leg should be able, he sprinted out the door.

  With a roll of his eyes, Seth downed the last of his coffee, traded his mug for Evangeline’s revolver, and gave chase.

  34

  Logan urged Shamgar into a full gallop as they hit a patch of flatland. The eight-mile trek to Cooper that had taken a little over an hour on the way in needed to be cut in half. Even then, they might be too late to help Seth. All they could do was pray. And ride like a gale-force wind.

  Shamgar responded well to his rider’s demands. The ex-cavalry mount had been trained for long-distance speed. Hamilton’s mount, on the other hand, struggled to keep up.

  They hit a rugged section of terrain, forcing the pace to slow as they picked their way over eroded ground and miniature arroyos. Logan turned in his saddle to judge Hamilton’s progress. He had fallen well behind. His horse was heavily lathered, its head drooping.

  “Go on,” Hamilton shouted to him. “If I push Jack much more, I’ll risk running him into the ground.”

  “You sure?” It felt wrong to leave him behind.

  Hamilton’s gaze met his, and even across the distance that separated them, Logan could feel his intensity. “Help my brother.”

  The words cut through every barrier remaining between the two men. This Logan understood. This drive to protect one’s family. To rescue those who depended on him. He for his mother, Hamilton for his adoptive siblings.

  “I will.” The vow echoed in the air. Firm. Resolute.

  Logan set his jaw, faced forward, and touched his heels to Shamgar’s flanks. “Time to run, old boy. Seth needs the cavalry.”

  Together they raced over hills and through trees—a regiment of one.

  Gradually, the landmarks became more familiar. They were closing in on Ben Franklin. Maybe a little under two miles—

  Boom!

  The sound of distant cannon fire concussed the air. Shamgar didn’t so much as flinch, but Logan jerked his head up so quickly, he nearly unseated himself.

  What on earth?

  Slowing Shamgar just enough to take stock of his surroundings, Logan searched the horizon for any clue as to what had transpired. It hadn’t really been cannon fire, he knew, but something had definitely exploded.

  There. A trail of smoke barely visible above the trees. North to northwest. Near the Ben Franklin schoolhouse.

  His pulse thumping as loudly in his ears as Shamgar’s hooves, Logan leaned over his horse’s back and surged forward, praying for Seth with every stride.

  “Wait!” Christie cried as the man who had the answers she sought ran away from her. She darted over to Evangeline and grabbed her arm. “We have to go after them!”

  Evangeline didn’t waste time arguing. Seth wasn’t in any condition to chase down Earl on his own. He needed more time to recover before exerting himself again. “Let me grab the rest of the coffee first. Seth might need it.”

  Christie nodded. “I’ll stash the lockbox back under the bed. I know where Earl keeps the still, so we won’t be far behind.”

  Coffeepot in one hand and mug in the other, Evangeline ran as smoothly as she could, keeping her arm upraised and the pot’s spo
ut aimed away from her body in case any liquid sloshed out. Christie kept pace with her, though Evangeline didn’t really need her guidance. The thick gray smoke billowing to the east pointed the way like an Old Testament pillar of cloud. Yet this cloud was far from holy. Even from a distance, she could smell the caustic odor of burnt corn mash.

  Seth would never be able to breathe in there.

  She had to get to him and take over the role of protector, whether he liked it or not. Just like when she’d warned him in the schoolhouse about Benson—dear heavens! Benson!

  Evangeline threw her mug arm out across Christie’s stomach. The young woman exhaled a muffled oomph and stumbled to a halt.

  “What is it?”

  “A trap.” Evangeline peered ahead, into air thick with smoke. Smoke that would obscure the man who wished her friend dead. She scanned the area around them and spotted a stand of pecan trees. “There. Come on.”

  Not taking the time to explain, Evangeline herded Christie like a recalcitrant ewe toward the grove, getting behind her and pushing her shoulder against the young woman’s back.

  Once behind the trees, Evangeline set down the coffee supplies and took her friend by the arms. “Benson wants you dead. We know he’s here. We saw him. There’s a good chance he saw us as well. He’s probably the one who blew the still, hoping to draw us out. Lying in wait just like he did at the homestead.”

  Christie’s green eyes flashed with panic. “Seth!”

  “I’ll go after him, but you’ve got to stay here. Hidden. It’s the only way.” Christie shook her head, but Evangeline tightened her grip on the young woman’s arms, unwilling to let her think with anything other than cold logic. “Benson’s not after me or Seth. But if you go in there, he’ll get exactly what he’s been wanting—another chance to kill you with no witnesses.”

  “But Seth—”

  “I’ll send him to you,” Evangeline interrupted. “Be ready with the coffee. If he’s in that smoke, his lungs will be seizing. He needs to know exactly where to find you. I’ll tell him to look for this copse of trees. Once he’s here, get that coffee into him, then get him as far from the smoke as possible. Can you do that?”