Wishing on Buttercups Page 16

  He averted his face. “She left a lot of debts, and the creditors are coming after me. I don’t know what to do.” He met her eyes. “I want to have a future together, Beth, but I can’t drag you into a life of worry or poverty. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  Her stomach clenched at the anxiety coloring his voice. All this time she had been judging him, feeling hurt and betrayed, thinking he’d abandoned her, and Brent was suffering too. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help.” Sudden disquiet swept over her. Aunt Wilma hadn’t trusted him and hinted at money problems. Had she known about the debt he owed and feared a life of poverty for Beth if they married? Or had he come to Wilma and asked for help and she had turned him away? Neither alternative seemed quite fair nor like her generous, free-handed aunt.

  He reached for her hand. “Thank you, but there’s nothing you can do. I simply wanted you to know where things stand.”

  “I have a little money,” she admitted. “I don’t know if it would be enough, but …”

  Brent hesitated, then gently squeezed her fingers. “I don’t think I could accept your money. I’ll have to figure this out on my own.”

  “But Brent …”

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we, dear? Move on to something more pleasant? Or maybe we should finish that walk we started. I don’t want to waste another minute in your company thinking about distressful subjects such as debt and bills.” He mustered a bright smile. “I’m sure it will work out. I should not have burdened you with my problems.”

  Beth allowed him to draw her to her feet, but all the while her thoughts swirled. Brent was in trouble, and she had misjudged him. Aunt Wilma wouldn’t lend a hand, even though Beth was certain she had the wherewithal to do so. Even if Beth no longer loved him, somehow she must find a way to help.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Isabelle’s hands shook as she stirred the pot of stew simmering on the stove. Steven had only been home for five days, and his boss was already talking about sending him back to Baker City. Mines were booming there, and the bank wanted to make as many loans as possible before the winter snow set in.

  Steven stepped up beside her and gently took the ladle from her hand. “Go sit down, Ma. I can care for this as well as you. You shouldn’t have tried to fix a big meal. Stew was plenty without the biscuits and pie.”

  She perched on the hard chair he’d pulled close. “I’m fine. A little tired is all.” Isabelle forced a smile. “How many more trips do you think Mr. Smothers will require you to take? Surely once you return from this next one, it will be the last until spring.”

  He twisted his mouth to the side. “I doubt it will be the last, but I know it won’t continue into the spring.” Steven’s gaze darted away from hers and focused on the wall behind her.

  Fear settled in. “What is it, Son? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “It’s nothing. Or, at least, I don’t think it will amount to anything to worry about.”

  “Steven, I do not have the energy to play guessing games. Out with it.”

  He dropped the ladle against the inside of the pot and sank into a nearby chair. “All right. Knowing you, you’ll worry more if I don’t tell you.”

  “Well then?”

  “The bank is opening a new branch in Baker City in less than two months.”

  Isabelle brightened. “Why, that’s good news, not bad. If they have a branch there, they won’t have to keep sending you. So this might be your last trip. I’m glad. Why were you afraid to tell me that?” Foreboding smote her. “They aren’t going to let you go because they have a man doing the same job over there, are they? That wouldn’t be fair.”

  “No, my job is safe. In fact, it looks like I’ll be getting a promotion.” His eyes clouded, and he averted his gaze again.

  The joy that had sprung up quickly withered. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “I would be if they hadn’t put a condition on it.” He pivoted toward her. “They won’t have a position for me at this bank once they open the new branch office, and they want me to transfer to Baker City. It means we have to move. I can take this one last trip and then move to Baker City … or find another job. They’ll let me have a week or so off so we can find a place to live.”

  Isabelle stared at her son, unable to take in what he’d said. She placed her hand against her cheek. “You want me to leave my home? My friends? I’ve lived here for years.” She tightened her fingers into a fist. “That’s too much to ask. Everyone knows where I live. What if Bess comes asking?” Her voice rose to a high pitch, and her entire body shook. “What if she’s trying to find me? She wouldn’t know where to look.”

  Steven jumped from his chair and put his arm around her shoulders. “Calm down. Take deep breaths. We’ll work it out. Don’t worry. I’ll quit my job and find something else.” He almost lifted her from the chair. “You need to lie down and rest. Supper can wait.”

  She allowed him to half carry her to the bed and didn’t protest as he placed her against the pillow. Weariness swamped her until she felt like a boat adrift, sinking beneath storm-tossed waves. “I can’t let you give up your job, Steven. That’s not fair to you either.” A tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t have the energy to brush it aside. “Not fair to either of us.” She averted her eyes, saddened at her weakness and the agony reflected on his face. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I haven’t been a good mother to you. All these years grieving for what might have been and making you stay put, caring for a sick old woman.”

  “You haven’t made me do anything, Ma. It’s an honor to care for you, and we’ll find a way to make this work. Rest now and try to put everything else out of your mind.”

  Isabelle turned onto her side and pulled the blanket up under her chin. If only she could follow his advice and wipe her memory clean. Rest. She barely knew what the word meant anymore. It had been seventeen long years since she’d experienced a day of true peace, and somehow she didn’t think it would happen anytime soon.

  Wilma paced her room, unsure what she should do. She hadn’t felt such a combination of joy and sadness in a long time—not since her husband had died. That event would have destroyed her had it not been for the incredible joy Beth had brought into her life. And now Caleb Marshall’s arrival stirred a sense of delight that made her bounce out of bed each morning. They’d spent the past three days catching up on old memories and renewing their friendship, but she’d held back from discussing the real reason he’d come to town.

  Her letter had brought him; she had no doubt of that. So many times since writing and begging him to help learn more about Beth’s past she’d wished she’d let well enough alone. The girl had started to settle lately. She was even getting out more often—going to town and not burying herself in her room, hunched over that desk. It had to be Jeffery, although they didn’t talk to one another at mealtimes or act as though they were interested. It must be a ploy. They didn’t want anyone to inquire until they’d spent more time together and came to some type of agreement.

  And digging up the ghosts of Beth’s past might not be the best thing. If only she hadn’t asked Caleb to see what he could discover. But if she hadn’t, would he have come? Her heart lurched at the thought. She was glad he had arrived. She hadn’t realized how bland her life had become. Regretting her decision wasn’t to be tolerated. Trusting God with the outcome would be best.

  It was time she faced what he’d come to tell her. Trust required action, and sitting in her room wallowing in fear was certainly the opposite of trust. God was big enough to take care of Beth, no matter the outcome. She grabbed the knob and wrenched open the door, then hurried down the stairs. Caleb sat in the parlor, his silver-crowned head bent over a newspaper. “Caleb? Would you have time for a cup of tea?”

  He raised warm eyes. “With you? Absolutely.”

  Her heart fluttered. “I thought we might go to town, if that’s a
ll right.”

  For an instant his forehead creased; then he relaxed. “Certainly. I’ll go to my room and fetch my coat and hat.”

  Caleb hastened across the room, stepping aside and nodding as Frances entered the parlor. “Mrs. Cooper, how nice to see you.”

  “Dr. Marshall, I was hoping to speak with you about a medical concern, if you could spare a moment?”

  Caleb shot a glance at Wilma, and she briefly closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Frances, but why did she have to pick right now to swoop in with her questions? “I’d be glad to help, Mrs. Cooper, but might I ask if we could talk later? I have an appointment with this lovely lady.” He held out his arm, and Wilma slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  A knowing look crossed Frances’s face, and she smirked. “Of course not. I certainly would not want to stand in the way of you courting my dear friend.”

  Wilma’s mouth gaped, and her words came out in a stutter. “Wh … wh … what are you talking about, Frances Cooper? How dare you insinuate …”

  Frances didn’t so much as blink. “I did not insinuate anything. I am merely speaking what is obvious to anyone who is not blind and possibly some who are. There is no reason for you to get in a huff about it either. Dr. Marshall seems to be a gentleman, is well educated, and appears to care for you. It is not as though you are a young girl in the first blush of spring, Wilma. I would think you would be happy to be courted and not make a fuss just because a friend points it out.”

  Caleb actually chuckled. “Frances Cooper, I do believe we might end up becoming friends. I like you, although I’m sorry you’ve embarrassed Wilma. And yes, I care for her and have every intention of courting her if she’ll allow it.”

  Frances gave a decisive nod. “She would be a fool to say no, and if she does, you can rest assured I will have something to say to her about it.”

  Wilma pulled from Caleb’s grasp, her entire body shaking. “I’ll thank you both not to discuss me as though I’m not here. I believe I’m too tired for that walk right now, Caleb, and since Mrs. Cooper wanted to talk to you about her health, this might be the perfect time.” She marched primly out of the room, Caleb’s weak protests almost drowned out by Frances’s loud snort of disapproval.

  Regret and guilt instantly pricked at Wilma’s heart. She cared for Caleb but had never thought seriously about courting. He’d been her husband’s friend and had never before hinted at a romantic relationship. The disappointment blanching his face before she turned away shouted his surprise and distress, and she hated that she’d hurt him. But why would Caleb proclaim his feelings so publicly and in front of Frances Cooper, of all people? Wilma was mortified—and she’d never hear the end of it from Frances.

  Jeffery smoothed out the letter on his desk again and read it for the third time in as many days. The single page from his publisher brought both pain and rejoicing—for completely different reasons—but both of them centered on Beth. He had so wanted to share the contents with her, but every time he’d checked her old haunts in the house or outdoors she had been missing. He had an idea where she’d disappeared to for the past several days. He ground his teeth. That man must still be luring her to town.

  Could she possibly be falling in love with Wentworth? The thought made his heart drop like a lump of coal in his chest. He didn’t know when she’d carved such a deep crack in the wall he’d built or why. No, that wasn’t being honest. He knew exactly why. She was lovely in every way that mattered. He longed to get better acquainted and chafed at the distance that had grown between them since Brent Wentworth arrived in town.

  He straightened and set the letter aside. Did Mrs. Roberts know of the man’s attentions toward her niece, and did she approve? If so, wouldn’t she insist on acting as a chaperone? From all he’d seen of Mrs. Roberts, she appeared to care greatly about propriety. That might be cause for deeper reflection, especially if Beth continued to absent herself from the house.

  And what about her work? Had she turned in all her illustrations, or had she abandoned her drawing while spending so much time with Wentworth? He plucked the letter off the wood surface again and held it up to the light, perusing the words once more. Yes, it clearly stated they’d hired E. Corwin as the illustrator, and the first installment was to release in the magazine a week from today.

  His palms moistened. What would Beth—and the others—think when they saw his story in print? Would they approve of what he’d done?

  Jeffery slipped the letter back into the envelope and placed it in his jacket pocket. Sitting in this room and moaning over not having Beth in his life wouldn’t solve anything. Resolve straightened his spine. Beth would see him and talk to him, whether or not Wentworth liked it. She had the right to celebrate this news as much as he.

  Jeffery strode to the door, his heart lifting at his decision. He made it all the way to the top of the staircase leading to the parlor when another thought struck him with greater force. He knew Beth was the illustrator, so it only stood to reason the publisher—also her employer—would have sent her the same letter. She hadn’t sought him out to share her joy or excitement. His steps slowed, and he halted. She already knew, and she didn’t care. There was no other explanation possible.

  Footfalls paused outside Beth’s room, then went back the way they’d come. Aunt Wilma? How strange. If she remembered correctly, her aunt planned a trip to town with Dr. Marshall—Dr. Caleb as he’d asked to be called—and couldn’t have returned yet. She had been due to leave a scant thirty minutes ago, and she wouldn’t have broken her appointment.

  Beth read the letter again, then dropped it on her bed. She’d considered talking to Jeffery more than once since it arrived, but he’d been distant ever since he’d bumped into her and Brent in town. Besides, he’d surely have received the same type of missive as she, and he hadn’t put out an effort to discuss the subject. Aunt Wilma was her priority, not Jeffery.

  She opened her door and stepped into the hall, grateful her aunt’s room was close by. More than likely Jeffery was hunkered over his desk working on his next book. A pang of guilt smote her—she’d turned in three of her four illustrations, but the last one was due soon. Would Jeffery be happy with the work she had accomplished so far?

  Beth tapped at the adjacent room. “Auntie? Are you in there?”

  “I’m resting for a while, dear.” The quavering voice barely penetrated the door.

  “Is something wrong? I thought you were going to tea with Dr. Caleb. May I come in?”

  “No. I’m fine. You go along, and I’ll join you later.” The words were subdued.

  Beth wanted to swing the door wide and see what was wrong, but she hesitated, hating to impose. Her aunt had been busy since the doctor arrived, so it was possible fatigue had set in. “All right. I’ll check on you in an hour or so.”

  She moved away. Brent wanted to meet again today, but Beth hadn’t felt it wise. Aunt Wilma had been so wrapped up in renewing her relationship with her old friend that she’d not noticed Beth’s absences. But something else held her back. Brent had mentioned his debts again. If nothing else than because she once cared for him, she wanted to help, but this last mention bothered her. She craved time apart to think things through. Maybe a brisk walk out to her hill might be in order.

  With a purposeful stride she headed down the hall and rounded the corner toward the stairs.

  Jeffery came to an abrupt halt and gripped her shoulders. “Pardon me. One more step and I’m afraid I’d have toppled us both.”

  Beth’s skin tingled under the fabric where his hands lay, and she drew away. “Jeffery. I didn’t hear you come down.”

  He twisted his mouth in a wry grin. “That’s because I stopped not long ago and stood there considering whether I should knock on your door and ask you to join me, but I went back to my room. I reached the conclusion that going to the parlor might be a better choice. I star
ted out with that in mind when you rounded the corner.”

  Beth’s spirits rose. “You wanted me to join you? Is anything the matter?”

  “Not at all. We haven’t spoken in some time as you’ve seemed … occupied lately.” His intent gaze didn’t leave hers.

  Beth felt a flush steal up her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Jeffery. For everything.”

  He held up his hand. “It’s all right. I have no right to interfere in your business or your life.”

  Beth glanced around the hall, hoping no one else was nearby, then nodded toward the stairway. “Should we go down to the parlor? Aunt Wilma is resting in her room, and I’d hate to have our voices disturb her.”

  “Certainly.” Jeffery waited for her to precede him.

  Beth stopped on the landing at the bottom and turned toward him. “You misunderstood. I was mortified by the way Brent treated you when we met in town. I informed him that you are my friend, and I didn’t appreciate his behavior.”

  Jeffery lifted a brow. “Truly? I must say I’m a bit mystified by that assessment.”

  “In what way?” Beth peeked into the kitchen as they passed, but no one was about. Relief flooded her at the hush over the house. Katherine and Mrs. Cooper must have gone to town or to one of their quilting meetings.

  Jeffery showed her to a chair in the parlor, then seated himself nearby. “We’ve spoken little since our time on the hillside. I had hoped we might grow to be friends—if not …” He halted briefly, then continued. “I cannot say we’ve had ample opportunity to get acquainted to the degree that anything … could develop.” He sat back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Would you?”

  Beth felt as though she’d stepped from a warm bath into a cold lake. It wasn’t that Jeffery was putting all the blame on her for their lack of friendship … that wasn’t the case at all. No, it was her own heart convicting her of pulling away from something she thought she’d wanted. How could she be so conflicted? Jeffery was a kind man, talented, intelligent, and handsome. But Brent—well, Brent had stolen her heart in the past, and now that she understood his situation she wanted to help if she could. But it wouldn’t be kind to mention his circumstances to anyone else. “I suppose not. I am sorry, Jeffery. It’s my fault.”