Wishing on Buttercups

by Miralee Ferrell

  Enough, Tucker. Jeffery shut the door behind him and headed toward the parlor. Laughter and the buzz of voices drew him forward. It had been so long since he’d heard his father laugh.

  Frances Cooper looked up as he entered. “Young man, you have a delightful father. I hope you are aware of how blessed you are.”

  Jeffery halted, and his gaze went to Beth, sitting on the far end of the sofa, before swinging to the older woman. “Good evening, Mrs. Cooper. I hope you’re feeling better tonight.” He was not getting drawn into a discussion about the merits of his father’s personality. “Mrs. Roberts, Beth, you both look lovely, as always.”

  Beth met his gaze. “Thank you, Jeffery. Your father was telling us he’s taking you to supper.” Her voice sounded breathless, and a tiny smile emerged.

  “Would you care to join us?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

  His father leveled him with an unpleasant glare, but Jeffery squared his shoulders. “I would love for the two of you to get better acquainted.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. And the truth was, he would like his father to see how much he cared for Beth. No longer was it only the need to learn the stories of the townspeople that kept him from returning home. It was this woman he’d come to care for the past few months. Maybe if his father got better acquainted with Beth, he’d understand.

  Frances exchanged a knowing look with Wilma.

  His father inclined his head, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “I’d be most pleased to have you accompany us, Miss Roberts.”

  Beth looked from one to the other. Finally, her tense stance relaxed. “Thank you. That would be very nice. As long as I’m not interfering.”

  Jeffery stepped over beside her. “Not in the least. We haven’t had a chance to talk in days, and I would love your company.” He prayed the warm look he gave her would convey more than his desire for her companionship at this one meal.

  Jeffery pulled out Beth’s chair and seated her, hoping his father would recognize his desire to stay in Baker City. Not that he’d leave regardless, but he hated the idea of more hurt occurring within their family. If only Father could come to terms with the idea that not everyone wanted to sail through life on someone else’s money or follow in their footsteps.

  Beth leaned toward his father with a smile and replied to something he’d asked. Jeffery’s heart stirred. He wanted to court her, but more than that, he longed to earn her trust. Yet something seemed to prevent her from opening up to him that he didn’t understand. A certain reticence in her behavior and a withdrawal when he got too close. He’d searched his memory for anything he’d said that might have created a rift, but he couldn’t come up with a single thing.

  Other than the conversation in the kitchen concerning his relationship with God.

  Jeffery leaned back in his chair. Could that be the problem? Beth had shared her confusion over certain aspects of religion, but she’d stated she had a true friendship with God. That wasn’t something he’d attempted to develop and lately he’d wondered if he’d missed out on an important facet of life. From what Beth had said, that was highly likely. He’d have to study on it some more, and in the meantime, he’d take a closer look at his Bible and perhaps strike up a conversation with God.

  Beth placed the napkin back in her lap and smiled at Jeffery. “Thank you for inviting me. It was a wonderful meal.” The atmosphere had been comfortable since they arrived at the restaurant, but it was apparent now that Mr. Tucker was chafing to talk to his son alone.

  Jeffery glanced at his father, then back at her. “I’m glad you agreed to accompany us.”

  Mark Tucker shifted in his chair. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better host.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, but our time together this evening has been most enjoyable. I’m truly happy you came, Miss Roberts.”

  “Thank you. But I wish you’d call me Beth.”

  He smiled and nodded. “All right then, I will. You mentioned that you and your aunt are from back East?”

  She nodded. “Yes, from Topeka, Kansas.”

  “Have you lived there all your life?”

  She hesitated. “Most of it, sir.” Her mind scrambled, trying to find a way to open a new topic before this one got out of hand. “How about you? Were you raised in Cincinnati?”

  He propped his forearms on the table. “I was. The Tucker family has lived in Ohio for two generations—three counting our children—but my grandfather emigrated from Virginia. Our ancestors arrived in this country about fifty years after the Mayflower landed. We have a heritage that Jeffery can be proud of passing along to his children someday.” He straightened and trained his gaze intently on her. “What of your family?”

  Beth swung her eyes to Jeffery, uncertain how to reply.

  Jeffery pushed back his chair and rose, holding out his hand to Beth. “It’s getting late. Were you ready to return home?”

  She gave him a smile that she hoped conveyed the relief rippling through her. “I am a little tired, although I’ve had a delightful time.” Transferring her attention to Mr. Tucker, she attempted to soften the abrupt departure. “I imagine you’d appreciate some time alone with your son before the evening ends.”

  He dipped his head and got to his feet. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Beth, but you are correct. I don’t feel I’ve had enough opportunity to talk with Jeffery since I arrived.”

  Jeffery took her cape from the back of her chair and settled it around her. Beth briefly closed her eyes, savoring the touch of his hands.

  Stepping back, Jeffery turned to his father. “We’ll be glad for the buggy with the chill in the air.” He offered his arm to Beth and guided her outside.

  Mark Tucker untied the horse while Jeffery walked Beth to the buggy and extended his hand. “Allow me?”

  Beth placed her gloved fingers into his and stepped up. The toe of her slipper caught in the hem of her wide gown, and her other hand grasped at the air as she attempted to find the handle.

  Strong hands encircled her waist and steadied her. Jeffery stood close behind her but didn’t loosen his hold. Beth could feel the pound of his heart as he drew her against his chest and waited. “All right now?”

  She nodded, trying to quiet her breathing. “I think so.” Moving her head a little, her cheek touched his, and a jolt ran through her. Her hands shook as she reached for the buggy’s handhold again. “I’m glad you were there.”

  “So am I.” Slowly he released his grip from her waist. “If you’re sure.” He waited for her to get settled in the backseat, then swung up beside his father.

  Beth was thankful for the darkness that shielded her rosy cheeks. If only Jeffery had chosen to occupy the seat beside her. It was only a half-mile to the house, but if the state of her emotions were any indication, the journey would have been quite fulfilling.

  The next morning Beth leaned her head against the overstuffed chair in the parlor, reliving the evening before.

  She knew exactly why she’d gone—Jeffery had asked her. The longing in his expression had been so intense she couldn’t say no, even with his father glowering his disapproval. And when Jeffery had stepped to her side and looked down at her, she had almost melted at his nearness. Beth relaxed, remembering the strong touch of his hands as he’d kept her from falling.

  “Beth?”

  She sat upright and blinked. Jeffery leaned against the door frame of the parlor. Had thinking about him made him materialize? “Hello. Is your father with you?”

  “No, he’s working on some correspondence. Writing to Mother, I assume.”

  Beth smiled up at him. “I had a wonderful time last night, and I’m so glad you asked me to come.” She hesitated before plunging into what had been on her mind since awakening that morning. “I hope you don’t object to my asking, but are you g
oing home with your father? He made it quite clear last night that he expects you to.”

  Jeffery indicated the sofa across from her chair. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Please do.”

  He frowned. “I’m afraid I will continue to be a disappointment to my parents.”

  “I’m sure you aren’t a disappointment, Jeffery.”

  He offered a rueful grin. “Oh, but I am. I have been so for several years, and when I refuse to accompany him home, it will only intensify.” Leaning forward, he held her eyes. “I do not care to leave Baker City.”

  Beth’s breath caught, and her heart tripped before settling into a faster rate. “I know you are working on your second book, and I’m so sorry we’ve not had a chance to discuss it.” She bent her head.

  Jeffery scooted forward to the edge of the sofa cushion, his knees only inches from hers. “That is not why I’m choosing to stay, Beth. I hope you know that.”

  “I’m not sure …” She shivered at his nearness, and she didn’t know whether to move back in her chair or inch closer toward him. Her heart pulled her toward him, but she settled for staying exactly where she was.

  “I think you are.” A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. “We haven’t discussed that I kissed you. I must admit, I am not sorry at all. In fact, if I had it to do over again …” Jeffery took her hand in his. “Surely you know by now that I care for you. We haven’t had a lot of time to get properly acquainted, and I’ll confess I took unfair liberties when I kissed you, but I couldn’t help myself.” He squeezed her hand. “If I stay here in Baker City, would you allow me to court you?”

  “If you stay?” Visions of Brent’s desertion so many months ago loomed, and she drew back in the chair, her hand slipping free of his. Almost immediately she longed to grasp it again.

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to imply I might leave,” he explained. “I plan to stay, regardless of your decision. I know that you’ve been hurt by Wentworth. I’m not sure what he promised you, but I understand he lied to you and cheated your aunt. I am not that kind of man.” His tender gaze held hers. “Won’t you give me a chance?”

  Beth hesitated. If she said yes, and Jeffery later discovered her terrible scars, would he flee in revulsion and horror? The only reason Brent returned was the hope of gaining access to her aunt’s money. He’d said as much himself. And he had scorned her womanhood and cast aspersions on her past.

  Jeffery wasn’t that type of man. If she said no and walked away, would she ever be certain she’d made the right decision?

  She drew in a quick breath. “All right. I’ll trust you, but let’s move slowly, all right?”

  He nodded, his eyes shining with hope. “I’m praying you’ll learn to believe in me before too long.”

  October 15, 1880, La Grande, Oregon

  The creak of the wooden door signaled Steven’s arrival, and Isabelle eased up from her chair. She held the magazine carefully extended before her, unwilling to crumple the pages she’d been staring at for what seemed like hours.

  Steven shrugged out of his coat and hat and hung them on a peg behind the door. “It’s getting mighty cold. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get snow early this year. Maybe we need to think of moving sooner.” He turned and studied her. “Is something wrong?”

  A strangled cry broke from Isabelle’s throat. “Look.” She thrust the magazine into his hands, open to the page that continued to haunt her.

  He glanced down, then raised his eyes. “It’s a story about a boardinghouse. What is it you want me to see?”

  “The illustration.” She pointed a shaking hand to the picture near the top of the page.

  “It’s very nice, but I don’t understand …”

  “Look at the name of the person who drew it, Steven.” Isabelle held her breath, almost afraid to breathe in case the name should disappear. Had she imagined the connection? Was it possible the past had finally caught up to her?

  He stared at the illustration but only saw the initials E.C., so he flipped to the front of the magazine and purused the scant information about the story and the illustrator. “Elizabeth Corwin.” He stepped over to the window and placed the page squarely in the dim light filtering through the heavy clouds. “I’m still not sure what you’re upset about.”

  Isabelle moved to his side and peered over his arm. “Surely you remember that name.”

  “Yes, I know Corwin was your maiden name, but we don’t know any family members called Elizabeth Corwin. Do you think it might be a relative we haven’t met?”

  She plucked the magazine from his hands. “Could it … do you think it possible, Steven?” Her shaking hands could barely hold the magazine as hope and fear collided, leaving her weak.

  He jerked as if hit with a branding iron. “Now, Ma, don’t get your hopes up. How many times have you thought you’d found her, only to be disappointed? If Bess is alive, why would she use Grandmother’s name?” He shook his head. “It seems highly unlikely this person is Bess. It’s possible she’s a distant relative … or not related at all.” Steven gently took the magazine and flipped to the first page. “It says here it’s published in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Do you know of any family back East?”

  Isabelle struggled to keep the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. She couldn’t be disappointed again. All day she’d been staring at this story and imagining her little girl all grown up and drawing these pictures. Bess had liked to draw when she was a wee thing, always scribbling on any scrap of paper or making pictures in the dirt. “Do you think we could contact the publisher or talk to the man who wrote the story? He might know who she is or where she lives.”

  Steven shrugged. “I don’t know if the magazine would give a stranger that kind of information.” He flipped the pages until he located the story again. “It says the author is Jeffery Tucker, but no address or other information is given.”

  She sank into her rocker and pushed with her toes, the creak of the old wood a comfort to her ears.

  Her son suddenly stilled. “I met this man.” He lifted his head. “On my last trip to Baker City.” Steven jabbed at the page. “And it says right here he’s working out West writing the story but originally comes from Cincinnati. And the picture of this valley and town could easily be Baker City.”

  Isabelle slumped against the wooden spindles and started to sob. “You’ve got to go back.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Please, Son. And you must take me with you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  October 18, 1880

  Jeffery fiddled with his spoon and glanced around the restaurant, wondering if the man would put in an appearance. Why had Steven Harding sent word asking to meet him away from the boardinghouse? What could he possibly want? He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the face. Ten after four. A glimpse out the window showed the October sky was already growing dim with heavy clouds, and the sun sank over the mountains toward the western horizon.

  Hard to believe it was already the eighteenth of October, and his father had yet to depart. If he didn’t leave soon, he could be trapped by an early snowfall, if what he heard from the old-timers was true. Most years, winter didn’t set in until the middle of November, although the Wallowa Mountains could get a coat well before then. He’d noticed a dusting of white on the Elkhorn Mountains while walking to town today and brought a heavy neck scarf to tuck into his woolen coat.

  He pushed back his chair. It appeared Harding wasn’t going to appear. Just as well—dusk would arrive in a little over an hour.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Tucker, for keeping you waiting.” Steven Harding strode the last several paces to the table and held out his hand. “I had to stop by the bank, and they kept me longer than I expected.”

  Jeffery rose and took the man’s hand, appreciating the firm grip. “I’m glad I waited, then. Would you care for something to drink? It’s quiet this ti
me of day.”

  Steven seated himself and nodded. “A strong cup of black coffee sounds perfect.” He twisted around and caught the server’s eye.

  She hurried over, coffeepot in hand, and filled his cup. “Anything for you to eat, sir?”

  “This is fine for now, thank you.” Steven took a sip and closed his eyes.

  Jeffery chuckled. “Your first time to sit today, I take it. You can always tell a tired man by the way he appreciates his coffee.”

  “It has indeed been a long day.” Steven took another drink and set his cup down, cradling it with his hands. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked to meet.”

  “I am.” Jeffery saw no need to waste time. The man was tired, and he had no desire to linger after dark.

  “All right then. I’ll lay it out for you. I didn’t care to bother Mrs. Jacobs, and I didn’t spend much time with anyone else for the short amount of time I was at your boardinghouse.” He drummed his fingers on the table, then his body tensed. “I’ll get right to the point. I want you to tell me everything you know about a Miss Elizabeth Corwin.”

  Jeffery sat back and stared. “I beg your pardon?” Anger caused his muscles to tighten. Was this another good-for-nothing like Brent Wentworth, out to discover a young woman he could take advantage of? He hadn’t gotten that impression on their first meeting, but this type of question was highly unusual. He suddenly jerked up short. Harding had asked about Elizabeth Corwin, not Beth Roberts—he apparently didn’t know they were one and the same—and Jeffery had no intention of disclosing that fact. “Why do you ask?”

  Steven shrugged. “I saw your name in a magazine alongside hers.”

  Jeffery nodded and relaxed his clenched jaw. “She’s the illustrator for my book that’s running in The Women’s Eastern Magazine. But, to be blunt, I don’t care for your question.”