Page 30 of Cloaked in Beauty

Once they reached the clearing, they got to work setting up camp. For an inexperienced traveler, Letty had a knack for seeing what needed to be done and stepping in to take charge. When he tended the horses, she collected firewood. Then she turned to sorting his supplies while he cleared off an area for the fire and got it lit so it would have time to burn down to coals.

After an hour, they had the camp set up and plates of fried potatoes and onions in their laps with a delicious skillet corn bread that Letty had concocted. A few of the hoecakes had gotten a little blackened on one side, but even so, they far surpassed the hardtack he usually ate while on the trail. She’d tossed the worst ones to Rusty, who’d scarfed them down as if he were starving, even though Philip had witnessed him feasting on a raccoon not twenty minutes earlier when he’d done a quick scout of the surrounding area.

Being busy seemed to have lifted Letty’s spirits. She’d even laughed when he’d nearly fallen on his rear thanks to Rusty’s ill-timed appearance. The wily wolf had sneaked up behind him as he was backing toward the stream while giving Letty instructions about coal placement for best cooking results. The backside of Philip’s knees collided with unbudging canine, and he toppled. Only a quick, completely awkward lurching step to his right had kept him from taking a roll in the pine needles. Not exactly the picture of confident masculinity a fella wished to portray in front of a pretty lady, but her amusement softened the blow to his pride. Rusty’s amusement, on the other hand, prickled like a stinging nettle. Philip was certain he’d heard the beast snickering, but the prankster ran off before Philip could verify.

The sun had set thirty minutes ago, and stars were beginning to dot the darkening sky, adding a touch of elegance to the rustic setting. Philip had found a fallen log during his brief scouting sojourn and dragged it into camp to serve as a bench of sorts. It wobbled worse than a wagon with a lopsided wheel, but it gave them a place to sit other than the ground. Letty didn’t strike him as the sort of woman who would be finicky about accommodations in the middle of the wilderness, but it made him feel like more of a gentleman to provide a seat.

Careful to keep his weight steady so as not to send her end of the log launching upward, Philip propped his plate on his knees and reached for the coffee he’d left sitting on the ground to his left.

“So how did you end up with the name Letty Hood?” He slanted a glance her way as he lifted his cup to his mouth.

She met his gaze for a heartbeat before dropping her attention back to her plate. “You’ll think it silly.”

He swallowed, then twisted slightly so he could see her better, hoping to convey the sincerity of his interest. “I doubt that.” He lowered his cup. “Names are important. Yet most folks have no say in the one they’re tagged with. You and your grandma, on the other hand, got to choose your new monikers. Neither one of you strikes me as the type to make such a decision without giving it serious thought.”

A shy smile stretched across her face as she finally turned to look at him. “You must remember, I was only five at the time. Too young to give anything serious thought.”

“So your grandma picked the name?”

She shook her head, her gaze shifting to the glow of the coals in the fire pit. “She helped, but she left the choice up to me. She wanted to make sure I would be able to remember whatever name we ended up using.”

Her spoon came to rest on her plate as her eyes took on a faraway gleam. “I still remember sitting on her lap as she closed the storybook she’d been reading to me and told me we were going to play a long game of pretend. She was going to change her name from Flora to Iris, her favorite flower. She asked if I wanted a flower name, too, like Rose or Lily. But I didn’t want to be a flower. I wanted to be Letty, the name my mother and father had called me when it was just the three of us. Before Daddy died and the fire scared Mama into sending me away.”

She blinked and then surprised him by turning a grin his way. “Hood, however, came from a much happier place. From my favorite story. My father bought me an illustrated copy of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ for my fourth birthday. He read it to me every night and even purchased a miniature red cloak for me so we could reenact the adventure. He would crawl about on all fours and howl like a wolf, making me giggle as he chased me around the nursery.” She laughed softly. “For months, I thought the story ended with the wolf and the little girl becoming friends. That’s the way he told it, you see. It wasn’t until Mother read the story to me one night when Father was away, that I learned that the wolf actually gobbled up the girl and her grandmother and would have killed them if the huntsman hadn’t come along. I was horrified. I much preferred the story the way my daddy told it. In his version, the kind, steadfast heart of the little girl convinced the wolf to change his ways, and the two became fast friends. When I told Mama how the story was supposed to end, she got all teary-eyed and declared I was absolutely right. It wasn’t until years later, when Grandmother told me the tale of my parents’ courtship, that I understood my mother’s reaction.”

Philip set his cup aside and leaned forward. “You have me intrigued.”

Letty spooned up the last bite of her potato hash and chewed, but her eyes danced with an infectious eagerness that funneled anticipation through his midsection. She lowered her plate to the ground and scooted it toward Rusty, who made short work of the half-eaten hoecake she’d left behind.

Letty rubbed her hands together. “It’s my favorite story.”

She beamed a smile at him, which sent an odd ache through his chest. The weariness fell away from her countenance, leaving her radiating childlike enthusiasm and innocence. It captivated him and even knocked off a bit of the calcified cynicism from the edges of his heart.

“‘Once upon a time there were two brothers,’” she began, “‘the dragon and the wolf. The older brother Drake, the dragon, possessed a driving ambition and an insatiable craving for domination, while his younger brother Lowell, known and feared by all as the wolf, utilized his cunning mind and hunter’s instincts to ferret out their opponents’ weaknesses and capitalize on opportunities other investors couldn’t even see.’”

Drake and Lowell Radcliffe. Philip set aside his plate and rubbed his palm down the leg of his trousers. He’d heard the history. How the two used to be business partners. How Lowell had been just as ruthless as Drake until he’d found God and grown a conscience. The Radcliffe brothers had a falling-out after that. Philip had assumed it had been a squabble over money or a disagreement over how to manage their businesses, but it seemed God wasn’t the only thing Lowell Radcliffe had found.

“‘Everything the brothers touched turned to gold,’” Letty said, her voice oozing fairy-tale charm. “‘They grew powerful and were feared by rich and poor alike. The dragon fed on this fear until he believed himself invincible. The wolf, on the other hand, grew tired of superficial respect, of people seeking his company only to see what they could gain. He possessed wealth and power in abundance, but he lacked meaning.

“‘One day, he caught a glimpse of a young woman orating atop the courthouse steps. Her beauty slowed his pace, but it was her passion that brought him to a halt. Her words resonated with purpose and substance, the very things his life lacked. He stood enthralled as she railed against the practice of child labor, citing stories of malnourishment, injuries, and disease brought on by deplorable working conditions. Children belonged in schools, not factories.

“‘The wolf recognized himself as the villain in her story, yet he lingered until the crowd dispersed, determined to speak with her. The fair crusader faced the beast and challenged him with her ideals, urging him to stop defining success by ledger lines and choose instead a measuring stick that judged employee satisfaction and loyalty.

“‘The two took to corresponding after that—he daring her to study economics, and she daring him to tour the floors of his own factories and get to know the children who worked there. They debated philosophy and religion. She read Immanuel Kant. He read Ecclesiastes. The intellectual debates, while stirring, didn’t win the wolf’s heart. It was the woman’s genuine kindness, offered in equal measure to people from all walks of life, that opened his eyes to a higher calling.

“‘The more time the wolf spent with the lady, the more his soul began to soften. People became more important than dollars. Hope became more important than security. Serving a higher purpose became more important than serving himself. The woman fell deeply in love with the wolf as she watched him transform from a conscienceless beast to a man of compassion and integrity.

“‘The dragon despised her for dulling his brother’s fangs and demanded he and the wolf split their holdings so his domesticated brother’s new business model wouldn’t destroy everything they had built. But without the wolf’s shrewd insights, the dragon’s greed went unchecked, and his profits suffered.

“‘The wolf and the lady, on the other hand, created a new legacy built on loyalty. Word spread about the wolf’s newfound sense of fairness, and noble men who once deemed him untrustworthy began to seek his partnership in matters of business.

“‘The wolf had found his purpose. To love his Lord and his lady, to honor people above profits, and to bring joy instead of fear to as many people as possible. To his daughter most of all.’”

A nostalgic smile softened Letty’s features as the story came to a close. Only it wasn’t truly over. There was no happily-ever-after for the wolf and his lady. For the dragon had killed his brother and turned his wrath on the lady and her child. Yet as Philip watched Letty stare dreamily into the fire, it became clear that she chose to dwell on the parts of the story that brought her joy and helped her remember her parents as romantic heroes. Perhaps doing so helped her cope with their loss.

Philip had been trained to concentrate on the bad, not the good. To strip away the pretenses of liars, criminals, and cheats. Made it hard to trust the occasional good he did find in people. Maybe he needed to rewrite a few of his own stories to frame them with a little more hope and happiness.

He cast a sidelong look at the young woman sitting next to him as she stroked the head of her own tamed wolf.