Page 81 of More Than Meets the Eye

“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 surface demonstrated a level of negligence and violence that only heightened Evangeline’s worries.