Page 10 of Cloaked in Beauty

Thank you, God.

Her body sagged, danger no longer spearing through her middle like a tent pole. Leaping across the small creek, she began working her way back to the house. Rusty, of course, was already there. By the time she reached the small clearing surrounding the cabin, Rusty was barking and scratching at the back door, excited from his adventure. Grandmother emerged, shooing him out of her path as she came out. Holding up a hand to shade her eyes, she scanned the clearing.

“Letty?”

“I’m here.” She waved as she hurried across the clearing, thankful for her grandmother’s preference for the brisk walk. Letty’s breathing had nearly returned to normal by the time she reached the cabin.

“Heavens, child. What happened? You look like a twister sucked you in and spit you out the other side. Are you all right?” Grandmother took her arm and scanned her from head to toe.

The small gray-haired woman might look like the usual doting grandma with her reading glasses perched low on her nose, apron tied over her rounded midsection, and sweet concern dripping from her voice, but the woman kept a loaded shotgun by the front door and carried a derringer in her pocket any time she went to town. The good people of Queen City, Texas, had no idea the lengths to which Iris Hood would go to protect her secrets—secrets centered around a granddaughter no one realized existed.

“There were two men on the ridge. On horseback.”

Grandmother reached inside the open doorway and grabbed hold of the shotgun. “Get in the house.” She braced her feet apart and scanned the tree line for encroachers.

Letty placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. They’re gone. I scared them away.”

The sharp jerk of Grandmother’s chin accompanied by a severely arched brow aimed in her direction indicated her guardian was less than pleased by that bit of news.

“They weren’t after me,” Letty hurried to explain. “They were after Rusty. I heard them talking about how the only good wolf is a dead wolf. I think they were lumbermen from the camp in the valley.”

Instead of calming her grandmother, Letty’s explanation only seemed to deepen her displeasure. “Inside. Now.”

Letty scrambled to obey. Her grandmother rarely used that tone, the one that carried a devastating mix of command and disappointment. Tears moistened Letty’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She wasn’t a child any longer, and she wouldn’t be made to feel like one. She knew Grandmother loved her and only wanted to keep her safe, but they were partners in that endeavor now, and truth be told, Letty felt compelled to do a little protecting of her own. Grandmother tried to hide it from her, but Letty had seen the way she tired more easily of late and occasionally had trouble catching her breath. The stress of being in a constant state of vigilance over the last fifteen years had taken a toll.

Thankfully, Grandmother followed her inside. “You, too, Mr. Troublemaker.” She waved at Rusty and held the door open in invitation. The wolf gave a happy little yip before weaving between the two women and finding his favorite rug to settle on, the one typically only available to him when the weather turned icy.

Grandmother shrugged at Letty’s questioning look. “I’ve enough to worry about without that wolf of yours getting caught on the wrong side of a bullet.”

Letty bit back a smile. She might hold herself aloof, but Grandmother had almost as big a soft spot for Rusty as Letty did.

Once inside, Grandmother closed and latched the front door, then propped the shotgun back in its place against the doorjamb. Heaving a sigh, Grandmother crossed to her rocker and dropped into the cushioned seat. “I knew those loggers were getting too close. But with your birthday around the corner, I thought we could hold out a bit longer. Exposing you to a move this close to the end seemed the bigger risk. Your mama will send someone to fetch us as soon as we send that birthday letter you helped me write. Better for us to wait it out, though we should probably curtail your excursions for the next few weeks.”

Letty’s gaze drifted to the slender mantel above the hearth where her parents’ wedding photograph held the place of honor. “Are you sure Mama will find us? What if she doesn’t figure out our clues?” Or worse, what if she enjoyed her freedom and didn’t want her daughter back in her life?

Grandmother leaned back in her chair and started it rocking. “Nothing is more important to your mama than getting her girl back. Trust me. She’ll figure it out.” She quirked a grin in Letty’s direction. “Aren’t you the one always reading those fairy-tale stories? We’ll leave plenty of breadcrumbs for your mama to follow. She’ll send someone for you. Don’t worry. We just have to be patient.”

Letty pressed her lips together, not wanting to argue, but she was far from comforted by the breadcrumb analogy. After all, Hansel and Gretel’s crumbs had been consumed by birds, leaving the children lost in the forest and vulnerable to the wicked schemes of those who sought to harm them.

4

ATLANTA, TEXAS

Philip stepped down from the T&P Depot, jaw set against the discouragement that threatened to seep between the cracks of his resolve. Three weeks. More than half of his search time spent, and he was no closer to finding the Radcliffe heiress than when he’d started. His Pinkerton credentials had allowed him to question all depot personnel at each stop along the route to Little Rock. Methodically working his way north from Houston, he’d questioned railroad staff, store clerks, land office employees, anyone who might have interacted with Flora Anderson or her granddaughter. He’d been optimistic that the photographs Mrs. Radcliffe had provided would give him an advantage Harper hadn’t had three years ago, but so far, he’d come up just as empty as the detectives who’d come before him.

Hoping to allay the fears of anyone sympathetic to Mrs. Anderson’s plight, Philip told each person he interviewed that he’d been hired by Mrs. Leah Radcliffe, not Drake Radcliffe. Yet he wasn’t so naïve to think a verbal assurance was enough. The person aiding Mrs. Anderson had proven to be clever and was unlikely to take the word of a Pinkerton at face value. So Philip had watched for any hint of deception, such as pursed lips, lines in the forehead, or a change in breathing when the subject viewed the daguerreotype. In all of the forty-nine towns he’d visited, however, no one had demonstrated anything other than impatience. He hadn’t expected much from the stations close to Houston, but the more distance he traveled, the more success he’d anticipated. Only ten stops remained before he hit the state line in Texarkana. If Mrs. Radcliffe was correct and her mother had stayed in Texas, his search area would soon collapse in on itself.

Blowing out a breath, Philip strode past the cotton platform and headed for the livery where he’d stabled his horse when he got into town last night. Not wanting to wait on the train schedule, he’d been riding between stops along the route. Most towns were less than ten miles apart. Many were less than five. Made it possible to visit two to three places per day, though the monotonous repetition of asking the same questions and getting the same negative responses had worn some of the shine off his optimism.

Philip shook the slump out of his posture and lifted his chin as he crossed the road, the midmorning sun warm on his back. Focus, Carmichael. God rewards perseverance, not slackin’ off. He’d felt the Lord’s call to this mission the moment he’d met Leah Radcliffe. She was depending on him to find her daughter. Counting on him to keep the young woman safe. He didn’t have the luxury of giving in to weariness or discouragement. God didn’t call a man to a task only to stand back and let him fail. He’d provide what was needed when the time was right. Philip just had to keep walking and working until that time came.

A man carrying a peddler’s case exited the general store next to the livery and held up a hand in greeting.

“We meet again, Pinkerton.”

Philip avoided eye contact but waved to the overly affable fellow he’d crossed paths with more than once over the last fortnight. “Davis.” He kept walking, having learned the hard way how the salesman loved to chatter.

The paunchy fellow with wire spectacles and overgrown sideburns had waylaid him back in Lufkin for nearly half an hour, trying to sell him a shaving brush and pestering him with annoyingly personal questions. Philip finally surrendered to the onslaught and overpaid for a lather brush he could have gotten at the mercantile for half the price.