Wishing on Buttercups

by Miralee Ferrell

  Her lips tightened, and she nodded. “Yes.”

  “So you’re picking it up for her? E. Corwin?”

  “Yes. No.” Beth looked at the tablet again, then gripped her hands together on top of the table. “I think I’d better explain.”

  “That would be most appreciated. I confess you have me a bit confused.”

  “I am Elizabeth Corwin.” Beth didn’t miss the flicker of disbelief that crossed his face. “Actually, that’s my pen name. You understand that, being an author. When I started submitting my illustrations, I decided not to use my real name …” She hesitated a moment, then plunged on. “For personal reasons.”

  “I see.” He flipped open the sketch pad to the first page, then turned another, and another. “So all of these are your work?”

  “Yes.” Beth couldn’t believe her good fortune in recovering her precious tablet, nor could she dismiss her unease at disclosing her private dealings. What would Jeffery think? He hadn’t said anything about her work, but it was apparent he’d reviewed her sketches.

  “How many have you sold?” He lifted his hand before she could answer. “I apologize—that is none of my business, and you are certainly under no obligation to reply. I will tell you that these …”—he tapped his finger against the tablet—“are quite good. Extraordinary, in fact.”

  A brief exhilaration swam through her, then she stiffened. “Are you saying that to be polite?”

  “Not at all. I don’t give compliments that aren’t deserved. At least not to this extent.” He lifted the pad and peered at a drawing, then set the tablet down and closed it. “You’re quite talented. Why, if I may be so bold to ask, do you hide that fact?”

  How to answer without lying or saying too much? Beth worried the dilemma around for a moment. Jeffery had been nothing but kind. She couldn’t repay him with a half-truth, but she didn’t know or trust him well enough to open her heart. “I hope you won’t be angry with me, but it’s not something I care to discuss. At least not at the present.”

  “I completely understand.” He beckoned to the waiter. “It’s not the most private setting. Let’s order coffee, or tea if you prefer, and a bite to eat, then we can leave and find someplace where you can explain to your heart’s content.”

  Beth struggled to maintain her composure. He’d misunderstood.

  “There you are, Miss Roberts.” The tap-tap of a walking stick accompanied a male voice close to Beth’s right. Isaac Lansing stopped next to the table. “I’d like to speak with you, if you please.”

  Jeffery started to rise, and Lansing held up his hand. “Please. I’d like a moment with Miss Roberts. We’re in a public place, and I mean no harm.”

  After what had happened to the man, Beth didn’t see how she could deny his request. She’d felt horrid for laughing at his misadventure and hadn’t been able to adequately apologize. Possibly he’d had a change of heart about his own behavior since the unfortunate incident. “Certainly, Mr. Lansing.” She turned to Jeffery. “I’ll only be a moment. Do you mind?”

  Jeffery eyed Isaac Lansing. “As long as you keep in mind, Lansing, that Miss Roberts is a lady and treat her as such.”

  Beth smiled her appreciation and took a step away from the table. “How may I help you?”

  Without warning the man’s genial countenance changed, and his voice became a harsh whisper. “You played me for a fool, flirting with me, then laughing when that clumsy man dumped the paint can on my head.” He grasped Beth’s wrist. “No woman can do that to me and get away with it.”

  Wilma walked as fast as her legs would allow, wishing the boardinghouse weren’t situated on the edge of town. What if she was too late, and the rascal convinced Beth to run away with him? Surely he wouldn’t be so bold, and she couldn’t imagine her niece leaving without her belongings or saying good-bye. She placed her hand over her pounding heart and gasped for breath. Please, God, keep her safe from that unscrupulous man.

  Wilma peered in the window of each establishment she passed. Where could that niece of hers have gone? She paused in front of the Arlington Hotel and shuddered. Surely not. Beth had better sense than to go near a man’s room. Or, at least, she prayed she did. She glanced in the front door, hesitated, then stepped inside, peering around the expansive lobby. A double doorway off to the right stood open. Voices and the clinking of plates and silverware drifted out. Of course. She relaxed a little. This would be a likely place for a rendezvous.

  Wilma marched into the room, pausing just long enough to sweep the room with her eyes. Satisfaction filled her. Beth stood beside a table, and a neatly dressed man stood close beside her, gripping her arm. Was the beast even now trying to drag her into his lair? He certainly wore the same type of clothing Wentworth had sported. Beth pulled back, and a soft cry left her lips.

  Wilma’s heart leaped into her throat as the man moved closer. Her darling girl was trying to get away. Wilma charged across the intervening yards. Out of the corner of her eye she saw another man jump up from a table. Had the rascal brought along riffraff in hopes of dragging Beth off, should she not go willingly?

  A cry of rage broke from Wilma’s lips, and she lifted her parasol, bringing the thick ivory handle down on the man’s head. He released his grip on Beth’s wrist and started to turn. Someone who was not Brent Wentworth looked at her briefly before he fell to the floor in a heap. Wilma panted, her parasol raised and ready to strike again.

  Beth sprang forward and grabbed the weapon, removing it from Wilma’s hand. “Auntie, I’m all right. But did you need to strike Mr. Lansing quite so hard?”

  Beth stared at the man slumped on the floor, then lifted unbelieving eyes to her aunt. Jeffery stood beside the older woman and carefully lowered her shaking body into a chair. He appeared in no hurry to assist the fallen Mr. Lansing. Had she heard Jeffery whisper something in her aunt’s ear that sounded suspiciously like, “Good job, ma’am”?

  Of all the strange things that could be added to an already-distressful day. Beth shook her head in disbelief. Every head in the busy room had swiveled their way. Voices buzzed, and Beth wanted to sink through the floor. What could her aunt have been thinking? Mr. Lansing had been rude and inappropriate, but had he really deserved such an attack?

  Lansing slowly sat up.

  Jeffery bent over him and said in a low voice, “Get out of here before I call the sheriff.”

  Beth knelt beside her aunt and stroked her hand. Why hadn’t she spoken? Beth wrapped her arm around the older woman’s shoulders. It was so unlike Aunt Wilma to say nothing and allow someone else to take charge. Was she having heart palpitations after her hasty action?

  Lansing floundered to his knees, rubbing a spot on his head. He glared at Jeffery, then rested a baleful expression on Aunt Wilma. “Before you call the sheriff? Ha. That’s what I plan to do as soon as my head stops spinning.” He pointed a shaking finger at the seated woman. “She attempted to kill me. I’ll have her arrested and thrown in jail. Where’s her club? Or was it the butt of a rifle?” He grabbed the edge of the table and hoisted himself to his feet. “Who’s in charge here? I demand you hold her while I procure the law.”

  A short, wiry man hovered nearby, his face contorted. “Please, sir. I am the manager of the restaurant. Surely there’s been a simple misunderstanding. The lady appears quite calm now. Why don’t I call a doctor to see to your head? May I bring you some coffee or water?”

  Lansing waved the manager away. “What I want is the sheriff.” Extracting a handkerchief, he pressed it against his forehead. “She split my head open.” He held out the cloth, showing a patch of blood. “Bring me some brandy.”

  Jeffery nodded at the manager. “Thank you for your kind offer, but no. He doesn’t require anything. He’ll be leaving soon.”

  “I will do no such thing.” Lansing whirled on Jeffery, then grimaced. He pointed his finger at Wilma. “She’s a menace to so
ciety. I’m sure I must have damage to my brain.”

  Jeffery snorted a laugh. “That and much more, if you ask me.”

  Wilma’s back stiffened. “Help me up, Beth. I won’t continue to sit here and be insulted by that—that—that uncouth individual.”

  Beth placed her hand under her aunt’s arm and assisted her, unsure what to do next. Isaac Lansing blamed her for the incident at the boardinghouse, and more than that, he believed she’d intentionally flirted, then shunned his attentions.

  Wilma stepped close to the man, raising a shaking fist. “I saw you accost my niece. If I had my way, you’d still be on the floor, not standing here issuing threats.”

  He held up his hands. “Put your weapon away, lady. I’ll have you locked up for attempted murder with a lethal weapon if you take another step.”

  She stopped, then pointed at Jeffery. “Show him my lethal weapon, Mr. Tucker.”

  Jeffery gently removed the parasol from Beth’s grasp and unfurled it. Snickers erupted around the room.

  Lansing rapped his fist on the table. “I don’t believe it. You’ve hidden the club you struck me with. I did nothing to your niece.”

  “No, sir, I have no weapon on my person.” She drew herself up, her back ramrod straight. “Young man, you have suffered nothing but a minuscule scrape. Every person in this room saw you manhandle my niece. I heard her cry out and saw her pull away. If I were a man, I’d horsewhip you and drive you from town. It’s the least you deserve.”

  Heads nodded, and a murmur arose.

  “That’s right, I saw him.” A man at a nearby table spoke up.

  She addressed a group of miners. “What do you say, gentlemen? Shall we escort the man out of town?”

  Beth gripped her aunt’s arm and drew her back. “That won’t be necessary. I’m not injured.” Laughter mingled with panic in her throat at the eager expressions on some of the men’s faces. “Truly. Everything is over now.”

  Jeffery handed the parasol to Wilma, then moved so close Lansing was forced to step back. “You will apologize to the lady for touching her without her consent.” He balled his fists. “Or next time you’ll have me to deal with, and I won’t be using a parasol.”

  The man stuttered a couple of incoherent words, his face contorting in fear.

  Jeffery crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Not good enough.”

  Lansing drew in a deep breath. “I apologize for my rude behavior, Miss Roberts. It will not happen again.” He walked stiffly toward the door, stopping only to scoop up his hat.

  Jeffery touched Beth’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, uncertain what to say.

  Jeffery eyed the door, then drew the two women back to the table. “I didn’t realize there was a problem until you cried out. I’m sorry I didn’t react more quickly. I should have been the one to lay that scoundrel out on the floor.”

  Beth’s heart swelled. “Thank you, Jeffery.” She tried to smile, but the smile felt limp. “I think Aunt Wilma and I should get home.”

  “Let me call a buggy.”

  Wilma shook her head. “It’s a lovely day, and I am in no hurry to get there. We will walk.”

  “Then I’ll walk with you and make sure you arrive safely.”

  “No, young man, you will not. I need some time with my niece, and you need to keep an eye on Mr. Lansing. In fact, it might not be a bad idea if you let the sheriff know what happened.”

  Beth touched her aunt’s arm. “Are you sure? I think Jeffery is right, and we should hire a buggy. I imagine you’re quite worn-out with all the excitement.”

  “Fiddlesticks. I am not in my dotage. It will do us both good to walk.” She held out her hand to Jeffery. “I will take my parasol, thank you.” A smile crept to the corners of her mouth. “I think I have proven I’m capable of caring for myself. We appreciate your help, Mr. Tucker, and your offer to accompany us home. We will see you later at supper.”

  Jeffery nodded. “Beth. Take care of yourself.”

  Beth felt his gaze on her as she and Aunt Wilma exited the room. She was thankful Jeffery planned to check on Lansing and talk to the sheriff, but his company would have been nice on the way home. She and her aunt trod the street in silence until Beth could stand it no longer. “What brought you to town in the first place, Auntie, and why did you strike Mr. Lansing? Were you truly afraid for my safety?”

  The older woman snapped open the parasol, keeping the edge between herself and Beth. “Humph. Well, now. That’s difficult to say.”

  Beth gripped Wilma’s arm and drew her to a stop at the edge of town. “Please explain what’s going on.”

  A wagon rolled by and sprayed water as it passed through a puddle, barely missing their skirts. Beth tugged her aunt deeper into a grassy field and led her toward a fallen log. “Why don’t you sit and tell me about it?”

  “No, dear. You are wearing your good dress and are liable to get pitch on the fabric.”

  “I have a newspaper.” Beth unfolded it and spread some sheets on the log. “I insist you sit, Auntie. I must know what’s bothering you.”

  Wilma gave a resigned sigh and lowered herself onto the seat Beth had prepared. “All right. I suppose there’s no avoiding it. To be blunt, I thought Mr. Lansing was Brent Wentworth come to take you away.”

  Beth felt as though someone had thrown ice water in her face and left her gasping for breath. She willed her voice to remain calm, then sat beside her aunt. “I must say I’m shocked. I can’t imagine what would make you think that.”

  “I saw you sneak out of the house.”

  “Sneak?” Beth thought back over her actions earlier in the day. She couldn’t deny she’d hoped no one would notice her leave as her errand had left her quaking, but sneaking seemed a bit strong.

  “Maybe not, but you certainly did tiptoe and slip quietly out the door. And your clothing—” She appraised Beth from head to foot with a frown.

  A tad bit of irritation rose. Her aunt was taking this too far. Beth tipped back her head, struggling to gain control of her emotions as she noted the clouds skittering along in the brisk breeze. A swallow soared overhead and lit on the branch of a tree swathed in green and yellow. She brought her gaze back to her aunt. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s decent and modest.”

  “Certainly it is. In fact, you are quite stunning. I assumed you must be meeting someone you hoped to impress. You’ve socialized with very few people since we arrived. With the amount of time you spend in your room working, and no eligible men having called, that left one conclusion.”

  “Brent.” Beth breathed his name and tried to force back the memories. Tender scenes in the garden behind her home, his declaration of unending love … and one not so lovely—his disappearance without saying a word. “You assumed he followed us out here?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Wilma clasped her hands in her lap.

  Beth’s heart contracted. Her aunt was too silent. “You surely didn’t think I’d run away with him?” The truth hit her. “You don’t trust me.” She stood in one fluid motion.

  “I am so sorry, dear one. I do trust you, although I must admit to a certain amount of concern where that man is involved. It is Wentworth I don’t have faith in.”

  “But why? You’ve never given me any details, except he wasn’t good for me. He walked away without a word. After he’d told me he loved me.” Beth stared at her aunt for several long heartbeats. “Did you chase him off?”

  Wilma shook her head, her eyes moist. “I can’t discuss that. Someday, but not now.”

  “That is not fair.” Beth clenched her hands. “I cared for him, more than any man I’ve ever met.”

  “You didn’t know the real man, Beth. You’ll find someone else who is so much better than that rascal.”

  “You keep calling him that, but you won’t give me a g
ood reason for it.” She took a couple of steps, then turned. “We’re very close to the house, and I’d like a few minutes alone. Will you be all right walking the rest of the way?”

  Wilma nodded and got to her feet.

  Beth waited until her aunt was a short distance ahead, then gathered the newspaper. Remorse swept her. She shouldn’t let Aunt Wilma go too far without her. Truly, she couldn’t fault her aunt for her concern. Truth be told, if Brent had arrived in town and sent word he wanted to meet her, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

  A memory of Jeffery flashed … standing over Isaac Lansing and telling him to leave or the man would answer to him. Then another of Jeffery’s kind offer to accompany them home and his obvious concern for her well-being. If only they hadn’t been interrupted. They’d enjoyed a nice visit after they’d realized their appointment was with each other. It was the first time she’d told anyone else the truth about her pen name as Elizabeth Corwin, and it felt good to trust him—almost as though there was hope they might become more than friends.

  Beth released a soft groan. Her tablet. In all the excitement at the restaurant she’d left it on the table. She sank back onto the log and put her face in her hands. So much to think about. Brent. Jeffery. Aunt Wilma’s suspicion and reluctance to tell her the truth. Would life ever get easier? She needed to collect her tablet. Sticking with her drawing and avoiding men altogether was certainly simpler than trying to figure out her past—or her future.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wilma spread the missive flat on the bureau in her room and adjusted her spectacles, thankful for the strong morning light filtering through the window. She hated keeping anything from Beth, especially after upsetting the girl yesterday with her suspicions about Brent. But this was one document she didn’t care to have anyone see—at least, not yet.

  Her heart pounded as she bent over and read the letter from her old friend, Dr. Caleb Marshall. Disappointment struck her. She had hoped Caleb might visit Baker City, but it appeared that wasn’t the case. She huffed a sigh and scanned the letter from start to finish, taking time to absorb every word.