Wishing on Buttercups

by Miralee Ferrell

  She laughed and waved him away. “Yes, Ina’s been here, and Karen has been clucking over me like a broody hen. Quit fretting and change your clothes. A bite to eat does sound good. There’s cold sliced beef in the spring house and fresh bread and butter there as well.” She pushed up on her elbow. “Before you go, would you hand me a pencil and my journal?”

  He looked askance at her, then seemed to relent. “All right. Let me put another pillow behind you so you can sit up. But you stay on that bed until I get back. Promise?”

  “Yes, Son. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll catch up on my writing while I wait.” Isabelle held out her hand, eager to work on her project. She had never shared her journals with anyone, not even Karen or Steven. Somewhere inside she knew Steven wouldn’t understand. Karen might, but these were too precious, too private, to disclose.

  She opened the book and a yellow flower fell out, drifting to the floor. Leaning over the bed, she carefully plucked up the dried buttercup and placed it back in its hiding place. Only one of the little treasures she kept as a reminder. Her pencil labored over the paper, and sweat formed on her brow. One more page. She had to get it all down—her emotions, desires, dreams—everything Steven’s sister would want to know about someday when she presented the journals to her. Bessie would come back home; she knew it. And she planned to live until she did.

  Beth waited until Jeffery moved to a discreet distance, then walked the opposite direction. The last thing she wanted was Aunt Wilma looking out a window and racing out with her parasol. Footsteps crunched on the gravel walkway announcing Brent’s decision to follow.

  She stayed within sight of the house and drew to a stop next to a tree. Pivoting, she crossed her arms and stared at the man she thought she’d never see again. “What do you want?”

  His lips quirked to the side. “The last time we met you were a quiet little thing. I admit to finding this new Beth Roberts more attractive than the old one. Did you fall in love with the stuffed shirt who walked you home?”

  She slapped him. Hard.

  Brent’s head jerked back, and he stroked his reddened cheek with his fingertips. He studied her through the thick, dark lashes she used to love. “My comments were uncalled for. I owe you an apology.”

  Beth snorted. “You owe me much more than that. Earlier you said what you did was unforgivable. I agree. You also said you would explain. Do it.”

  He reached out, and she took a step back.

  “Don’t touch me, Brent. I don’t trust you, and it’s doubtful I ever will again.”

  Brent sucked in a harsh breath. “Fine. I had that coming.” He managed an ingratiating smile. “I’m sorry for teasing. You used to like it.”

  “That wasn’t teasing; it was rude.” A shiver ran down her spine. “But maybe I never saw that before now.”

  The smile faded. “Now, Beth, honey, don’t be that way. I said I was sorry, and I meant it.” He touched her hand, gently tugging her toward him. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

  Beth jerked away, and anger sent her blood pounding through her veins. “Don’t do that again. You said you had something urgent to tell me.” A sense of freedom soared over her spirit. Brent’s touch had done little to move her. Not many months ago she would have listened to his protest with a willing heart and open mind. Maybe she was growing a backbone, along with some common sense, at last.

  “Won’t you come with me? I don’t care to talk outside in the open. Someone might overhear.”

  She lifted her chin. “What do you have to say that can’t be said right here?”

  He stripped a branch off the tree and tapped it against his trouser-clad leg. “Let’s say I’d rather not take a chance of being spied upon.”

  “Why?” The word came out flat and harsh, but Beth didn’t care. She was tired of playing games. He’d toyed with her heart in the past, and she didn’t plan to let it happen again.

  “Because I have … things of a personal nature I need to share, and I don’t have time right now. I waited a long time for you to get back, and I’m going to be late for an appointment in town. Please, Beth. I know I don’t have the right to ask, and you have no reason to trust me. But for old time’s sake, won’t you come and have dinner? We can go to a quiet little restaurant, if that’s what you prefer.”

  Beth considered his request. There’d been a time she’d have gone anywhere with this man without thinking twice about it, but that was a lifetime ago. She’d longed to see Brent again, and more than once had prayed his leaving had been a mistake, but now? Warring emotions tugged her back and forth, twisting her heart and mind into knots. What if she’d misjudged, and he had a valid reason for leaving? Tiny warning bells jingled deep in her belly. “I can’t go anywhere with you now. Aunt Wilma would ask questions, and I don’t care to deceive her.”

  He leaned against the trunk of the tree with a slight smile. “Do you ever go to town alone for any reason?”

  “Certainly. I often go to the post office to pick up the mail.”

  “Will you be there tomorrow?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Tell me when, and I’ll meet you. Surely you can take time for a cup of tea, can’t you? There can’t be any harm in spending a few minutes with an old friend.” He straightened. “I’ll head back to my hotel as soon as you promise.”

  Beth slowly nodded. “I suppose I might. Lately I’ve enjoyed stopping in a shop or two while in town, so Aunt Wilma won’t worry if I don’t come directly home.”

  “Good. You’ll be glad you decided to trust me.”

  Beth stepped away from his extended hand. “I said nothing about trusting you, Brent. I’m meeting you and giving you the opportunity to unburden yourself, that’s all.”

  His smile grew more confident, and he allowed his arm to drop to his side. “You won’t be sorry, my dear girl. You can count on that.”

  Wilma stepped away from the window and sank into the overstuffed sofa in the parlor, trying to still her shaking hands. Nothing had moved outside for at least ten minutes. Had he spirited Beth away or convinced her to leave with him? Maybe she should check. Her dear girl could be in danger.

  She pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her neck. Stop it, Wilma. You raised the girl well. You must stop it, or you’ll have indigestion and be awake half the night. Look what happened the last time she thought she’d seen Brent Wentworth—she clubbed a man over the head and could have landed in jail.

  Frances hobbled into the room. “Would you care for some company?” She peered over her spectacles and moved a little closer. “Your face is quite pale. Whatever seems to be the problem?”

  Wilma patted the cushion beside her on the sofa and grimaced. “I do not particularly like my own company at the moment. Please sit.”

  Her friend settled her small frame and sighed. “It feels wonderful to be off my feet. Now tell me what is troubling you, and do not attempt to steer me off course this time with any more folderol. I can tell when a person is in distress.”

  “I believe I’m seeing things. Do you think it’s possible I might be losing my mind, Frances?”

  The older woman snorted. “That is a bunch of poppycock. Why, you are one of the most sensible persons I know. Besides myself, of course.” A smile stretched across her features, and she patted Wilma’s hand. “Whatever led you to ask such an outrageous question?”

  “I saw Beth talking to someone outside. I thought …” She paused, hating how suspicious she’d become.

  Frances leaned forward. “What? Go on, now, finish your sentence.”

  Wilma glanced at the window. “I came downstairs from taking a nap and wondered if Beth was back from her walk. I looked out the window and saw her talking to a man. It was impossible to see who he was, shaded by the tree boughs, but there was something about the way he stood …” She shook her head. “I am sure I was mistaken. Again.” />
  “Again? Whatever do you mean?”

  “The distressful business with Mr. Lansing at the Arlington Hotel restaurant. I am certain I told you about that.”

  “Only that Mr. Lansing accosted Beth and you gave him his just deserts. The man should have been horsewhipped and ridden out of town on a rail. You let him off quite easily. But what do you mean about being mistaken?”

  Wilma lowered her voice. “I struck the man for two reasons. The main one being I thought he was manhandling my niece, but I also believed he was someone else.”

  “Why are you whispering, Wilma? I cannot see why this is such a huge mystery. For goodness’ sake, spit it out.”

  “There is no need to get snippy.” Wilma frowned and sat back against the sofa cushion. “I thought Mr. Lansing was Beth’s old beau, Brent Wentworth.”

  “All right. But I am not sure why you would strike the man, even if he was.”

  “He is vile.” She clamped her lips together, trying to hold in her anger. “The man wooed Beth when we lived in Topeka, and he took me in as well. I thought he was wonderful and trusted him—beyond what I should have—and lived to rue the day.”

  Frances touched Wilma’s arm, and her expression softened. “He hurt you?”

  “Yes. I … can’t tell you how, Frances. It is simply too embarrassing.” She covered her face with her hands and choked, then lifted her head and met Frances’s gaze. “I threatened to set the law on him if he continued pursuing Beth. I suppose I should have anyway, but I knew how much it would hurt my girl, so I let him go. But the condition to my not turning him in to the authorities was that he must not contact her again—not in person or by post. So far he has kept that promise, but now …” She shuddered. “I am not so sure.”

  “You think that is who Beth is talking to outside?”

  Wilma hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I see him everywhere. I don’t know why my mind keeps conjuring him when he must still be in Topeka. I got a letter from a friend earlier this summer who assured me of that fact.”

  “If it sets your mind at rest, she returned with Mr. Tucker not long ago. They were standing outside talking. I am guessing it was Mr. Tucker you saw.”

  Wilma wilted against the couch. “Oh. My. Thank you, Frances.” Her hand crept over her heart and rested there. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to know that. Beth went for a walk by herself, and I had no idea Mr. Tucker intercepted her.”

  “You must promise to quit worrying yourself so about that rapscallion from Kansas. If he knows you will set the law on him, I cannot imagine he is going to come out here and confront Beth. Put him out of your mind.” Frances waved her hand in the air. “Besides, this is the second time Mr. Tucker has been seen walking with Beth.” A broad smile spread over her face. “Or, should I say, one time walking and another carrying her home in his arms. I might hazard a guess the man is interested in your niece.”

  Wilma smirked. “Mr. Tucker—hmm.” There might be a way to get Beth to forget that worthless man from back East. She tilted her head toward Frances. “I might have an idea, and I need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Jeffery placed his pencil on his writing desk and arched his back, every muscle protesting. How many sleepless nights could a man endure and hope to get any work done? Less than twenty-four hours had passed since he’d left Beth to talk with the man who had confronted her. He still couldn’t dispel the disquiet that rose when she’d agreed to speak to Brent Wentworth.

  Something about Wentworth didn’t sit right. His gut told him the man couldn’t be trusted—least of all with a woman like Beth. Jeffery stood and prowled his room. Should he take some type of action on her behalf? He pulled to a stop. More than anything he wanted to, but did he have that right? He sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. When had Beth become so important to him?

  He uttered a short laugh. Who was he trying to fool? Beth Roberts had burrowed herself into his heart even before he’d carried her in his arms. Discovering her intelligence and unique talent as an illustrator only made her that much more alluring. But every time he attempted to gain her confidence or show an interest, a wall appeared between them. She skittered away faster than leaves driven by a fall wind. Was he so unsuitable as a companion or totally undesirable as a suitor?

  Be that as it may, he had more important concerns at the moment. He’d walk into town today and ask around—maybe see if he could discover where Wentworth was staying and ascertain why the man was in town.

  If anything, Beth had seemed nervous since that man arrived and somewhat withdrawn. That hadn’t been the case before Wentworth appeared. In fact, quite the opposite.

  Jeffery strolled through the parlor and tipped his head at Mrs. Roberts and Mrs. Cooper, who were sitting with teacups in hand. Both ladies smiled in a way that raised alarm bells. “Ladies, I hope you are having an enjoyable day.”

  “Quite, thank you,” Frances replied graciously. “I am afraid this is becoming almost a daily ritual, having late-afternoon tea together. And where might you be off to, Mr. Tucker? Joining our Beth on another walk, perhaps?”

  “No, ma’am. I wasn’t aware she was out for a walk. I assumed she was in her room.” Jeffery’s thoughts scrambled back to the luncheon. He had thought for certain she’d indicated a plan to retire and rest, but he must be mistaken. It might be better to play along with these ladies, if they were intent on continuing their matchmaking. “I would be delighted to join her, if possible.”

  Mrs. Roberts’s eyes gleamed. “She was resting for a while after the noon meal, but she went to the post office to check the mail a short while ago. She indicated she might stay in town to shop. I would have accompanied her, but Frances had already asked me to tea.” She frowned. “I do hope that wasn’t unwise, but she was quite adamant that she would be circumspect.”

  A knot lodged in the pit of Jeffery’s stomach. “I’m sure she will, ma’am. I’m headed to town myself. Would you like me to give her a message if I happen upon her?”

  Mrs. Roberts shot a sly glance at Mrs. Cooper. “How kind of you to offer. No message, but if you see her, perhaps you could accompany her home? I would feel much better if I knew a gentleman of your fine reputation was escorting her.”

  Mrs. Cooper nodded. “Wonderful idea, Wilma. I imagine Beth would be quite grateful to have Mr. Tucker walk her home.”

  So Brent Wentworth was in town, and Beth was also there, alone. All he could do was hope the young woman didn’t run into the rascal while shopping. He tipped his hat as he moved swiftly toward the door. “I’ll be on my way then, ladies. Good day.”

  He pressed his hat onto his head and hurried down the path, lengthening his stride. Clouds had gathered, the sky had blackened, and Jeffery smelled a hint of moisture in the air. The area sorely needed rain after the long, dry summer, but he hoped it would wait until he arrived back home with Beth on his arm. He crossed the bridge over the Powder River, his heels thudding against the planks.

  At the edge of town, he stepped onto the boardwalk lining the main street. Wagons rolled past at a leisurely pace, kicking up small puffs of dust under their wheels. Pedestrians lined the boardwalks and streets, most of them miners in town after their shift released. A smattering of women and men dressed in business attire made up the balance, giving the town a rather congested feel.

  Where to begin? There were several shops that women liked to frequent, as well as hotels, and more than one restaurant. Surely Beth wouldn’t take early supper away from home when Katherine planned such exceptional meals for her boarders, but he couldn’t be certain. Since Mrs. Roberts indicated Beth had come to pick up the mail, he hurried toward Harvey’s Mercantile and opened the solid wood door that led directly into the diminutive section housing the post office. Disappointment hit him hard as he scanned the lobby. He’d counted on finding Beth. Only a handful of patrons stood in line
for their mail or hovered in corners poring over letters. His own conscience smote him. He hadn’t answered the letter from his father as he’d intended. What must his mother think? Father was probably roaring with indignation by now.

  Striding to the door, he stepped out onto the covered walk. Raindrops splatted against the dusty street. Women hastened toward doorways while the roughly clad miners ignored the slight inconvenience and went on their way. Jeffery peered at the clusters of people, praying he’d spot the dark-haired young woman he sought. Why hadn’t he thought to ask her aunt what she’d chosen to wear?

  He strode along the boardwalk, passing Collier’s Hardware with barely a glance. His steps slowed at the doorway to Snider’s General Store, and he entered, making his way to the counter where an older man wearing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles finished a transaction with a customer, carefully placing her items into a wooden crate.

  The store owner nodded at Jeffery. “Be with you in a minute, Mr. Tucker.” He turned to a young boy waiting nearby. “Jimmy, take this box and cart it on over to Mrs. Williams’s house. She has a little more shopping to do at the butcher shop.” He pivoted back toward the woman. “Will it be all right if Jimmy leaves the box on your porch, or do you want him to put it inside the door?”

  She smiled warmly at the boy. “Inside would be nice, if you don’t mind. There have been a number of stray dogs running loose in town lately, and I’d hate to have one make off with my eggs.”

  “Good enough, then. Thank you, ma’am.” He dipped his head at the lady and waved at the boy. “Off with you now, and be quick. I may have another order by the time you get back.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jimmy’s grin made the freckles dance on his cheeks. “Sure will, Mr. Snider.”

  The older man swung toward Jeffery. “Now, how can I help you, Mr. Tucker?”