Wishing on Buttercups

by Miralee Ferrell

  Beth shivered. “No thank you. I changed my mind. I’m going outside.” Sudden resentment swelled a knot in her throat. No sense in staying and giving him a chance to call yet more attention to her disfigurement. She needed to gather her composure. Turning, she limped out of the room and down the hall as fast as her knee would allow.

  Jeffery stared from Mrs. Roberts to Mrs. Cooper. What had happened? He’d given Beth what he thought was a compliment and offered to pour her a cup of coffee. All the color had drained from her face and then she’d scurried out the door like a woman possessed. “I hope you ladies will excuse me. I think I should check on Miss Roberts. I am afraid she might not be well.”

  Mrs. Roberts rose with a grunt. “No, Mr. Tucker, you will not. That’s my job. I daresay she won’t want to see you right now. At least not until she’s had a moment.” She sent him an unreadable look and plodded out of the room, head wagging.

  He turned to Mrs. Cooper, who sat quite still, clutching her teacup. “What did I do to upset her? Mrs. Roberts appears to know, but she did not choose to enlighten me. I fear I am at a loss.”

  “I have no idea, young man. I certainly did not hear or see anything offensive, but it appears I am not in Miss Roberts’s confidence either.” She frowned and set her cup on the saucer with a clatter. “Or, it appears, in her aunt’s.”

  Beth stumbled over the threshold leading out the back door, tears blinding her. She hated the weakness and brushed them away, but she couldn’t as easily dispel the sorrow that had assaulted her when she’d heard Jeffery’s words. He’d seen the scars on her wrist, but she’d never believed he’d call attention to them in such a heartless fashion. She’d even started warming toward him since he’d carried her home, but now all she felt was bruised. All the old taunts from childhood rushed back, sending her emotions reeling.

  Had she overreacted by leaving the kitchen so abruptly? They probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t stomped from the room. Well, not exactly stomped with this injured knee, but she’d certainly done her best to clomp and would have if it hadn’t hurt so much.

  Beth headed toward a low-hanging tree in the back of the house, lifting her chin as she trudged across the packed dirt that was edged with a scattering of late-summer flowers. She must not let this bother her so much. Burying herself in her work would help her heal. As soon as possible, she’d purchase another tablet. Aunt Wilma had informed her last night that she’d hunted the brush with no results. The only good thing that had happened that day was being held in Jeffery’s arms.

  Beth steeled herself against the memory. She’d vowed not to allow another man access to her heart, and she’d keep that promise, no matter how kind he appeared. Jeffery Tucker might be handsome, virile, and charming, but Beth wasn’t taking any chances this time around. Men couldn’t be trusted. She had been burned by more than fire in the past, and emotional pain could be more devastating than anything the physical world could hand out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wilma slipped out the front door as quietly as a woman her size could do. She gave a wry smile. Her husband, George, had treasured her generous figure, saying it provided lots to love and he wouldn’t have her any other way. He’d been one of the most kindhearted men she’d ever known, but she would have loved him for that sentiment, if for no other reason. Not everyone understood or appreciated a woman of her stature, but she’d made peace with herself years ago.

  There was no sense in hating what she’d not been able to change, and knowing that both George and God loved her without condition gave her a deep-seated peace. She emitted a low chuckle. She’d be happy to shed a few pounds, but somehow it never seemed to happen.

  If only Beth could see herself in the same light—loved and accepted by God, exactly the way she was, without the need to prove herself. Her niece had been so damaged as a child she’d lost all self-confidence. Wilma prayed that the peace she had found in the Lord could be transmitted to her girl.

  The porch appeared empty, and she glanced down the path. Ah. Beth had rounded the bend and disappeared under the branches of a shade tree. The girl always returned to nature when hurt or angry. How long had she stood there listening? Could she have heard their silly banter about Mr. Tucker’s book? Oh dear. Beth might be miffed at her and Frances for suggesting a romance based on Mr. Tucker’s carrying her home. She couldn’t imagine what else it might be.

  Wilma hurried down the path, thankful the sun wasn’t high enough to cast its warmth on her heavy sateen gown. Changing to a lighter frock before afternoon might be wise.

  She slowed when she reached the tree and peered under the boughs, wondering what she’d find. Her niece crying or sitting dejectedly on the grass?

  Beth whirled as Wilma approached. “Oh. It’s you. I thought he might have tried to follow me.”

  Wilma placed her hand over her rapidly beating heart. “My goodness, dear child, there’s no need to raise your voice. Whatever is the matter with you? I assumed you were upset with Frances and me, but it appears your ire is directed at Mr. Tucker.” She shook her head. Young people these days were so difficult to understand.

  Beth dropped her arms next to her sides. “I was at first. I couldn’t believe you would conspire with Mrs. Cooper about Mr. Tucker and me having a romance—even if it was for his book. I almost went back upstairs but decided not to give in to mortification.” She gave a tight smile. “Besides, I wanted a cup of coffee.”

  Wilma nodded, but her thoughts were still muddled. “Then why did you leave? All Mr. Tucker did was offer to pour you a cup.”

  “That is not all, Auntie. Didn’t you hear what he said?”

  Wilma scrunched her brows in an effort to remember his exact words. “No. I suppose I must not have, if your reaction is any gauge. Certainly nothing worthy of such irritation.”

  “Nothing worthy!” Beth gritted the words. “He said, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.’ It was quite clear what he was referring to.”

  “I have no idea what you’re going on about, dear. I see nothing but consideration for your welfare in that statement.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t see through his comment. But then again, you aren’t aware that he saw a scar on my wrist not long ago.”

  Wilma absently rubbed her cheek. “So you believe he accidentally referred to the scar that he glimpsed?”

  “Aunt Wilma! Forgive me, but are you purposely trying to misunderstand? It’s quite apparent that Mr. Tucker was not-so-subtly reminding me of my infirmity. He pretends to be one thing on the surface but is quite another beneath his kind facade. Why, look at the book he’s writing. He admitted it’s about a group of people living in a boardinghouse.” She sighed. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise us when he gets overly inquisitive or says something unpleasant.”

  Wilma grasped Beth’s hand. “That’s nonsense.” She pushed up the heavy sleeve that extended well over the girl’s wrist. “Tell me what you see.” Her grip tightened as Beth struggled to pull free. “Stop that. You may be a grown woman, but I am still your elder, and I expect you to listen. Now, tell me.”

  Beth’s face paled, and she turned away from the wrist her aunt held up for inspection. “I don’t have to look. I’ve seen it every day for as long as I can remember. It matches the rest of my body.”

  “But what do you see?”

  Beth gave a hard jerk and took a step back. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was barely audible. “Can’t you see how hard this is?”

  Wilma wrapped her arms around her niece’s shoulders and drew her close. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you understand what others see—and don’t see—in you.”

  Beth pulled back. “By reminding me of my shame? How does that help?”

  A shock went through Wilma at the confusion and anger brimming in Beth’s eyes. “By trying to show you that people see you a
s a lovely young woman. By showing you that the scars you are so terrified others will see barely exist. Why, they are so pale and faded as to be indiscernible. I’m simply trying to assure you that your personality and inner beauty are what matter most, not the trappings of external beauty.”

  Beth winced. “I know I’m not beautiful, Aunt Wilma, but it’s not kind to remind me in such a straightforward fashion.”

  Wilma shook her head. “That is not at all what I meant. I can’t believe you think of yourself as unattractive.”

  “How could I not, since apparently my family tossed me away like unwanted rubbish? You say the scars have faded, but I say they have not. They are still as glaring and ugly as ever.” Without another word, Beth stalked away, head held high.

  Over the next couple of days Beth managed to avoid Mr. Tucker except for mealtimes, when she kept her focus on her plate and left the table as soon as courtesy allowed. She and Aunt Wilma had achieved a tentative peace, and her aunt had been careful not to revisit the subject of her physical appearance. Mrs. Cooper hadn’t broached the subject of Mr. Tucker’s book, and the atmosphere at the table had been friendly but subdued.

  She sank into the comfortable damask-covered divan in the parlor and picked up her book, content in the knowledge that her aunt and Mrs. Cooper were out for a stroll and she had the house to herself. A knock sounded at the front door. Beth started and almost dropped her copy of Little Women.

  A voice penetrated the peace of the nearly empty house. “I say, is anyone about?” A deep, masculine tone rang across the foyer and into the parlor. “This is a boardinghouse, is it not?”

  Beth set her book aside and rose. “Hello. I’ll try to help you if I can.” She walked across the parlor and stepped into the foyer.

  A well-dressed young man sporting a top hat, waistcoat, and a silver-tipped walking stick stood inside the door, a large valise on the floor beside him. His short-cropped black hair barely showed under the hat, and a frown marred his handsome face. “Are you the proprietor? I require a room.”

  “No, I’m not. Mrs. Jacobs usually takes care of new boarders, but she’s out. I believe Mr. Jacobs is here. He’s been doing a bit of work on the house lately.”

  The man stiffened. “Is something wrong with this establishment?”

  Beth was barely able to keep from laughing. The man was positively stuffy. “I think he’s been scraping some of the wood trim outside getting ready to paint before the weather turns cold. Not all the siding, you understand, only the trim.” She stopped herself before she began to babble. “If you’d care to sit in the parlor, I’ll see if I can find him.”

  He scooped up his valise and tucked it under his arm. “That’s quite all right. I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.” He appraised her, and a smile warmed his features. “You live here? Do you recommend it?”

  “Yes, I do. To both questions.” Beth hastened down the hall. The man was unusually handsome but a bit brusque, and his scrutiny had probed more deeply than she liked.

  She scurried to the back door. Mr. Jacobs perched near the top rung of a ladder propped against the back of the house. After acquainting him with the prospective lodger, she tiptoed into the parlor, plucked her book off the divan, and slipped upstairs to her room.

  Jeffery settled into his place at the supper table and evaluated the stranger—hair slicked into place, smooth-shaven cheeks, and clothes more fitting to a high-society dinner party than an Oregon boardinghouse. Jeffery shouldn’t be one to criticize, as he rarely wore informal clothing himself, but the double-breasted topcoat, silk vest, gold pocket watch and fob, pinstriped trousers, and silk top hat were items not often seen at Mrs. Jacobs’s boardinghouse. And the gloves the man drew off before taking his seat were quite another affair.

  Micah Jacobs waited for the table to quiet, then offered a prayer. When he was finished, he lifted his head and nodded to the gentleman at the far end. “I would like to present Mr. Isaac Lansing, who will be staying with us for a few days.”

  A chorus of greetings welcomed the man, who merely nodded and reached for the plate of bread close to his water glass. Light chatter flowed from person to person as the meal progressed, but Mr. Lansing seemed unusually quiet, other than an occasional brief reply when addressed. Jeffery narrowed his eyes, unsure what to make of the man. Handsomely dressed and evidently well educated, the man could fit in upper-level society, but his firm mouth and the stern lines of his face didn’t exude an air of friendliness.

  Mrs. Cooper stabbed a second piece of fried chicken and plopped it onto her plate. “So, Mr. Lansing, what brings you to town?”

  “Business, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Roberts brightened. “What kind of business, if I may ask?”

  He gave her a long, steady look. “I am in town dealing with mining concerns. I have little time to socialize, and I don’t expect to be here often. I keep to myself and mind my own business, and expect others to do the same.”

  Frances Cooper scowled and wiped her hands on a napkin. “No need to get uppity, sir. You are more than welcome to keep to yourself, but I assure you, no one was trying to intrude on your affairs.”

  “I do not care to discuss my private business, but I regret if I have offended you.” The man ladled a generous helping of potatoes onto his plate. After taking several bites he turned to Beth with a winning smile. “You are the young lady I met in the parlor earlier today. I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me. I am charmed to meet you, Miss …?”

  “Roberts. Beth Roberts. You are quite welcome, Mr. Lansing. It was no trouble at all.”

  Jeffery stared at Lansing, not caring one whit for the man’s wheedling tone or flirtatious manner. “How long will you be in town, Mr. Lansing? Mr. Jacobs mentioned you would be staying several days. Will you be returning to your home when you leave? I assume from your accent you’re from the East.”

  “You assume correctly, but I haven’t decided what I will do yet. Much depends on my business here in Baker City, and if I am able to find a pleasant way to pass the time when not employed.” He leaned toward Beth. “Tell me; is there anything of refinement offered in this town? I don’t imagine I will be working from dawn until dark every day, and I might enjoy taking in some entertainment. I wonder if you would consider accompanying me some evening.”

  Mrs. Roberts snorted and dropped her fork on her plate. “I thought you weren’t here to socialize and wanted to keep to yourself. My niece has no interest in traipsing around town with a stranger.”

  He turned cool gray eyes her direction. “I’m sorry. I assume the lady is old enough to speak for herself.”

  A gasp sounded from Mrs. Cooper, and Katherine Jacobs touched her hand. “Shh, Mama. Let Mrs. Roberts handle this. It’s not our concern.”

  Micah Jacobs shook his head. “It is my concern, as it’s my table, and Katherine’s as well. I am afraid your tone wasn’t appreciated, sir.”

  Mrs. Roberts scooted back her chair and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs, but Katherine is correct. This is my affair, although I appreciate your kindness.” She leveled a hard glare on the stranger. “You are mistaken, sir. Though my niece is able to speak for herself, what she does without a chaperone is most assuredly my business. Beth, have you finished eating?”

  Beth’s eyes flickered to Mr. Lansing, and Jeffery thought he caught a glint of … what? Surely not apology. “Yes, Aunt Wilma.”

  “Let us take our leave. I would like to lie down, if you’d be so kind as to accompany me to my room.”

  The two women walked toward the dining room entrance, and Jeffery worked to choke back his irritation. Had he truly seen regret, or had he misinterpreted her expression? Beth had found reason to race from the room the last time they’d been together, after he’d done nothing more than offer her a cup of coffee, but it seemed her aunt had to practically drag her away from a man who stooped to flirtatious ways and rude treat
ment.

  He pushed back from the table. Beth glanced back, and for a second her gaze met his. His heart jolted as a memory of holding her in his arms surfaced. He shook his head. She wasn’t his to hold. It was time he put his mind on his work, where it belonged.

  Chapter Twelve

  La Grande, Oregon

  Isabelle Mason hung the last set of sheets on the line and wiped her damp hands on her apron. “I surely do miss my boy. He’s been gone over a week.… No, I guess it’s almost a fortnight, come to think of it.”

  Her old friend and confidante, Karen Luther, wagged her head and tsked. “Seems a shame his boss saw fit to make Steven traipse across the country to look at some dark old mines. Foolish, if you ask me. Why does the bank care what them miners are doing, anyway?” She plucked the empty basket off the ground and headed for Isabelle’s cabin, which was situated among the trees.

  Isabelle smiled and followed the short figure as she waddled around the corner of the chicken coop. “It’s not clear across the country, Karen. Baker City is in Oregon, after all.”

  Karen pushed open the door with her foot and dropped the basket on the floor near the kitchen stove. “There’s plenty of banks in La Grande. Why’d they decide to send him out of town?”

  Isabelle waved to the table. “Have a seat. The water is hot. Don’t know about you, but I’ve been on my feet too long today, and they ache. Arms, too.”

  Karen gripped Isabelle’s upper arms and propelled her to a chair. “No, ma’am, you aren’t waiting on me. I might not be much account, but I’m stronger than an ox and smarter, too.” She grinned and reached for two mugs placed on a rough-hewn sideboard. “You done more than your share of work, and I don’t aim to let you do more.” She placed the mugs on the table and poured the fragrant tea out of the pot. “Where’s your neighbor? I thought she was supposed to be helping while Steven is gone.”