Wishing on Buttercups Read online

  “Please, will you excuse me? I find I’m quite tired and not feeling well.” She scooted her chair away from the table and stood.

  Katherine’s brow creased. “Would you like someone to walk you to your room?”

  Beth felt a movement and saw Jeffery turn her way. “No. Thank you. An early evening will put me to rights, and I’ll be fine tomorrow.” She avoided his gaze. “I’ll say good night now.”

  A chorus of well wishes followed her into the hall. Beth forced herself to walk slowly. No sense in letting them suspect her desire to get out from under Mr. Tucker’s probing stare. How dare he write a story about the people who lived here? She didn’t care if it was fiction and he didn’t use their names. It would be nearly impossible to pen a novel set in a place he lived and not incorporate traits of the people around him.

  She gripped the banister on the way up the stairs, then slipped into her room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. Jeffery had been observing their actions for months, she realized. He’d probably made notes of their conversations. How he must have laughed at the antics of Aunt Wilma and Mrs. Cooper as they quarreled like a couple of chattering squirrels. From now on she’d make herself scarce. It would not do to let that man get close.

  A rap at the door, followed by the rattle of the knob, catapulted Beth forward onto her bed.

  Aunt Wilma swept into the room and quite deliberately shut the door. She stepped close and placed her palm against Beth’s forehead, then drew back, lips pursed. “You don’t appear feverish, and your appetite was fine through supper. Are you truly ill, or did your desire to leave have something to do with Mr. Tucker revealing his unique plan for his story?””

  Beth cringed. She knew Aunt Wilma loved her, but her brusque manner could be abrasive. She didn’t want to lie but didn’t care to be frank about her reasons either. At least not all of them. “I suppose I didn’t care to listen. I felt Mr. Tucker had taken advantage of our proximity to attain information about our lives.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure that is not the case. But when you chose to leave, I felt obligated to follow, so I didn’t get to hear all the details. There is nothing distressful about a story set in a boardinghouse, and I see no reason why you or Frances should take offense.” She walked to the high-backed chair in the corner and settled into it, as though that put an end to the subject. “It has been a long day and my feet hurt. So. You are feeling fine. Your decision to leave was based solely on not wanting to listen to Mr. Tucker?”

  “Not entirely. I am tired, and my stomach is a little upset.” At least it had been when he’d made his announcement. It had tightened to the point she thought everything she’d eaten might be pushed right back up.

  “Then you’d best lie back and rest. No sense in taking chances.” Aunt Wilma beckoned toward the bed. “I still don’t understand why all the fuss. I think Mr. Tucker has a perfectly splendid idea.”

  Beth blew a light breath between her parted lips as she settled against the pillow. “I am not comfortable with him watching our every move so he can put it in his book. I don’t see anything splendid about it. What if he keeps digging and …”

  “You worry too much, my dear.” Aunt Wilma rose from the chair with a sigh. “Get some rest, and I’ll check on you before I go to bed.” Her face broke into a smile. “I’m going to the parlor to chat with Mr. Tucker and ferret out what fascinating things he has decided to include.” Leaning over the bed, she stroked the hair off Beth’s forehead. “Physical marks and family connections mean nothing, my dear. God looks at the heart, not the outward appearance. Never forget that.” She pressed a warm kiss on Beth’s forehead and headed toward the door.

  “Maybe not.” Beth whispered the words, not wanting Aunt Wilma to return and take up the debate. Her aunt meant well, but she didn’t understand. Beth burrowed deeper into her pillow. God might love her, but she didn’t know a single man who could look at her scars without cringing.

  Wilma Roberts plopped in a horsehair chair near Frances Cooper and dropped her voice. She’d been worrying over her niece’s strange behavior for the past four days and would burst if she didn’t talk with Frances about it. “I’m not sure this is the best place to talk. What if someone comes in? Beth would never forgive me if she returns from her walk and hears me discussing her with you.”

  Frances lifted her chin and glared. “Exactly what do you mean, ‘with you’? Does she have something against me that I am not aware of? I do hope you have not turned the girl against me, Wilma.”

  Wilma waved her hand in the air. “I did not mean it that way. You are forever twisting my words. I meant it would distress her to discover me discussing her with anyone, as I’m sure you understood.”

  “Nonsense. I take what people say, not what they hint at. Be more concise so you do not hurt a person’s feelings.”

  Wilma rolled her eyes. She didn’t care a whit if Frances noticed. At times like this she couldn’t remember why she had worked so hard to befriend this woman. “I wasn’t aware you had feelings, Frances.” She worried her lip a minute. “Oh dear. That was unkind, and I didn’t mean it at all.”

  The rigid planes of Frances’s face slowly relaxed. “You are forgiven. I suppose I should not have snapped at you either.” She gave a wry chuckle. “It is a lot of work trying to be the right kind of person, don’t you think?”

  “Most assuredly.” Wilma nodded. Gratitude filled her as she remembered the early days of her friendship with Frances. Back then, they had both stormed out of the room and refused to speak for days, but God had done a work in their hearts that continued to amaze her. Frances still had times when she rubbed people the wrong way and snipped at everyone around her, but they didn’t occur as often or last as long. “Now, getting back to Beth …”

  “Do you know exactly what the trouble is?” Frances set her teacup on the cherry wood end table.

  “I’m not certain, but I am concerned it might have to do with a young man she believed herself to be in love with in Topeka.”

  “I believe you mentioned something about a lost love.” Frances fiddled with the handkerchief in her lap. “It may have been when I was questioning you about Beth’s prospects.”

  Wilma chortled, trying not to take too much pleasure in her friend’s discomfort. “Ah, you mean the time you tried to convince me to move out and find accommodations at the Arlington Hotel?”

  “I was hoping you might not remember that.” Frances turned her face away.

  Guilt pricked at Wilma. “Now I must apologize for my rude behavior. I was only jesting, Frances. I didn’t mean to bring up an unpleasant memory.”

  “Let’s forget about it, shall we?” Frances squared her shoulders and sniffed. “I think we have both apologized more than enough for one day. I, for one, am quite weary of it. Now, what were you saying about the young man and Beth?”

  Wilma glanced over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard footsteps on the stairs, but it would pay to be cautious. “Four days ago she received a letter. I saw her slipping upstairs with it sticking out of her handbag. I accosted her and asked if Brent had written to her.”

  Frances nodded approvingly. “You were correct to do so, in my opinion. Young people can so easily get in trouble if left to their own devices.”

  “Exactly.” It felt good to have a friend who understood and agreed, especially one who had raised two girls and was involved in her granddaughters’ lives as well. “She claimed it wasn’t from that rapscallion, and I needn’t worry about it. I want to trust her, but back in Topeka she sneaked out one time to meet him without my permission. Which makes me worry all the more.”

  Frances sat a little straighter. “Did you pursue the subject?”

  “She refused to speak more of it and stalked up to her room.”

  “Well, I never!” Frances exclaimed. “That certainly does not sound like the placid young woman we have come to know.
”

  “That concerned me too. I’ve been keeping an eye on her since, to no avail. When she left the supper table in a huff the other day, I followed her to her room. But I may as well have been talking to the wall for all she’d volunteer. At least not beyond stating she did not care to be the subject of Mr. Tucker’s book.”

  A smug expression settled on Frances’s face. “I stand up with Beth on that account. She is showing wisdom beyond her years in disapproving of that nonsense. I hope some of what I said to Mr. Tucker influenced her.” She held up her hand and frowned. “Do not get all high and mighty with me, Wilma. I remember Beth excusing herself from the table, not leaving in a huff. I think you were miffed because she agreed with me, rather than you.”

  Wilma gritted her teeth and held in the words she’d like to say. She forced herself to relax, not wanting another argument to mar this time with Frances. Besides, if she were completely honest with herself …

  “All right. I’ll admit I didn’t understand why she was upset when I thought his plan quite splendid.” She thought for a moment. “Or maybe I do.”

  Frances laced her fingers in her lap and leaned forward. “And?”

  Wilma frowned, not realizing she had spoken the last few words out loud. “I am sorry, Frances. I have spoken out of turn. I was reminded of something that might be troubling Beth, but I’m unable to discuss it.”

  Frances snorted and stood. “I declare, Wilma Roberts, you do beat all. You invite me for a cup of tea and a cozy chat, then refuse to tell me a thing. My patience has been stretched to the limit and beyond. I am going to my room to rest.”

  Wilma raised her hands in the air. “Frances, wait. I didn’t mean to be such a goose, but …” What was there to say? She couldn’t reveal Beth’s concerns over her past or her desire to keep her work a secret, no matter what she thought.

  “But what?” Frances stared at her.

  “Nothing.” Wilma allowed her arms to drop to her sides. “Nothing at all. I hope you rest well.”

  “Humph. That is not at all likely.” Frances limped from the room.

  Wilma’s heart sank. Her friend’s gout must be acting up again. Frances’s body was hurting, and now she’d added to that pain by making her feel she couldn’t be trusted, but there was no help for it. Beth’s secrets were her own to reveal, no matter how much Wilma longed to share the burden of the girl’s past with someone else.

  But one of these days her niece might want answers, and if anyone could aid Wilma’s investigation, it would be Doctor Caleb Marshall. Besides her brother, Arthur, Caleb was the only person who knew the details of Beth’s childhood. Wilma gave a quick nod, her mind made up. It was time to write a letter and see if Caleb would be willing to help her unearth some old secrets.

  Chapter Four

  “Beth, wait for me, if you please?” Jeffery lengthened his stride. He was certain she’d noticed him follow her down the front stairs, but she’d walked on as though he were invisible. Not that he had anything vital to discuss, and he would readily admit that strolling behind her was pleasant, but it had been almost a week since they’d agreed to a tentative friendship and from all appearances she’d avoided him ever since. He sucked in a breath. “Miss Roberts.”

  She came to an abrupt halt and pivoted with a flash of irritation that she quickly hid. “Yes, Mr. Tucker?”

  He hurried forward. “It’s a lovely day for a walk, and it’s been some time since we chatted. Do you mind if I accompany you?”

  “I suppose not.” Her cool tone didn’t quite match the tentative smile that followed.

  “Were you headed to town or out for a morning constitutional?”

  She looked toward the house a block or so behind them. “I have no particular destination and don’t plan to stay out long.”

  “Ah, I see.” He didn’t, but maybe with a little gentle probing he might. “You have not been down to the parlor in the evening lately, and I recall you weren’t feeling well when you left the table last week. Are you quite recovered now?”

  She started forward. “Yes. Quite. Thank you.”

  He didn’t want to appear dense or too inquisitive, but neither did he care to let a lengthy silence ensue. He kept step with her brisk pace. “You and your aunt have been in Baker City for a few months now. Are you planning to locate here permanently, or will you be returning to your home before winter?”

  Beth halted and stared at him, brows raised. “Why do you ask?”

  He hunched a shoulder. “I was simply making conversation, but please do not feel obligated to share your personal information. I did not intend to pry.” He sensed her relief at his declaration and chastised himself for choosing yet another subject that made her uncomfortable.

  “I appreciate that, thank you. Please forgive me, but it is not something I care to discuss.” Her blue eyes locked with his for a moment before she resumed walking, her long green skirt swaying with the movement of her hips.

  Jeffery surged forward, averting his gaze from her alluring figure to a passing wagon. Why did his heart gallop whenever this young woman was around? “Is your friend ill?”

  She turned her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you mean.”

  His mind clouded in confusion. Was it possible he had made yet another mistake? Surely not. “Elizabeth Corwin.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she increased her pace as though she’d suddenly remembered an important engagement.

  He rubbed his jaw. Possibly she hadn’t heard him, but unease niggled at him. Should he change the subject again or continue to pursue this one? He hurried forward and tried again. “You picked up her mail last week when I spoke to you at the post office. I assumed she might be indisposed, and you were collecting it.”

  This time she halted so abruptly he nearly stumbled into her. “Mr. Tucker, you said you were not trying to pry, but it certainly does not appear that way. Miss Corwin is someone I do not choose to discuss.” She tugged at the sleeve of her dress, straightening the fabric. “I hope you will forgive me, but I don’t care to be questioned about my personal business or friends so you can use the information for your novel. I must be going.” She hastened toward the path leading to the bridge crossing the Powder River.

  He hurried after her and touched her arm. “I won’t bother you further, but I must know. Is that why you persist in addressing me as ‘Mr. Tucker’ when we decided on less formality?”

  She gave a brief nod. “I suppose in part, though I must admit I’m not entirely comfortable using your Christian name. I am sorry for appearing brusque, but in all honesty I wish you’d find some other subject than our boardinghouse for your novel. I am not happy about you digging into our lives and asking questions, even if you do need material. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She picked up the hem of her skirt and stepped onto the walkway alongside the bridge, moving away from him at a rapid pace.

  He waited, hoping she would reconsider and turn back. If anything, she increased her speed. Jeffery stared at her retreating back, baffled by her response. What did his book have to do with anything? It had never occurred to him that a work of fiction could affect her life one way or the other.

  Jeffery wanted to race after Beth—no, Miss Roberts, as she’d made clear she preferred—and convince her of his good intentions. His mind returned to his last pointed question concerning Elizabeth Corwin and Beth’s pained response. Somehow he’d hurt her again, and he didn’t have an inkling of how or why. When she’d stopped and looked into his face, her expression exuded confusion and fear. His heart twisted. Somehow he must find a way to win her confidence and trust.

  Beth held her chin up as she continued to town. Her heels thudded on the wooden planks of the bridge, giving emphasis to the pounding of her heart. Her illusion that she might find a friend in Jeffery Tucker was simply that: an illusion. That had become apparent the moment he admitted to shaping a story after their live
s. The knots in her stomach had yet to untangle since the day he’d escorted her to supper. If only she hadn’t allowed herself to envision a relationship with him. But no matter how badly she might want to take the chance, she’d found out the hard way that men couldn’t always be trusted.

  And asking about Elizabeth Corwin. Oh my. Beth’s hand went to her throat. Thankfully it appeared he didn’t suspect anything was amiss. Her stomach coiled tighter. She wasn’t sure how she would continue to avoid his questions. Would he persist in trying to discover who Elizabeth might be, and if so, how would she answer?

  Would it be so bad letting the world know she was the magazine illustrator whose reputation was slowly garnering wider acclaim? People often wrote under pseudonyms, and no one seemed bothered by it, so it shouldn’t shock anyone to discover the truth about her. Aunt Wilma knew, and although she didn’t put much stock in a woman having a career, she was tolerant of what she’d labeled “Beth’s little hobby.” Of course, her solution to Beth’s life was to marry her off and make her dependent on a man. “That should be enough,” Aunt Wilma lectured, “to fulfill any woman.” Truth be told, most people felt the same way.

  But Beth longed to succeed at what she loved most—being creative. Most men wouldn’t tolerate that in a wife. They’d want her cooking, cleaning, and raising babies full time, not staring off into another place, allowing her imagination to simmer until it finally boiled over and produced another glowing image on her tablet.

  Not that having her own family didn’t pull at her heart, but she couldn’t imagine it happening for her. She wasn’t certain a man existed who would love her for herself. A memory of Brent flashed, followed by a vision of Jeffery’s warm, inquisitive eyes. She shivered. Would she even be a good wife or mother when the time came?