Wishing on Buttercups

by Miralee Ferrell

  Jeffery gave her a tender smile. “And thank the good Lord for that wonderful fact.”

  She pulled back, stung by his words, but somehow comforted by his tone. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  He sobered and squeezed her hand that he’d managed to retain. “I meant that you are not like other women, or I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you. You are not silly or obnoxious or flirtatious, or any of the other half-dozen things that often irritate me about young women. You are beautiful in form as well as actions, intelligent, kind, well-spoken, talented—the list goes on. I do not see what those scars have to do with my feelings for you.”

  More than anything Beth wanted to believe his words—longed to trust that he wouldn’t change his mind when he truly saw what her dress kept hidden—but the hurt of the years went too deep. Brent’s betrayal still lingered in her thoughts, even while she worked to push it away. “But you can’t know that, Jeffery. What if you were to see more and be repulsed? I don’t think I could stand that.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It would destroy me.”

  Sympathy mixed with tender love warmed his expression. He scooted closer to her side and stroked her wrist, his fingers running over the ridge of skin on the inner surface. “Does it hurt?”

  She shivered at his touch. “Not anymore. It hasn’t for years.”

  He gently picked up her arm and leaned over, placing his lips against the scar. “Nothing about you could ever repulse me.” He kissed her again, allowing his lips to linger a little longer. “I don’t care if your entire body is covered with scars ten times worse than this one. A hundred times worse. It does not matter to me. You are what matters. The woman who resides inside and who shines out for the entire world to see. That is who I fell in love with, and who I will continue to love, regardless of the condition of your skin. That is nothing to me and never will be.” He raised his face to hers and drew her close. “Do you believe me, Beth? And do you love me?”

  Tremors of pure joy ran over her skin, and she leaned toward him. “Yes, I love you so much, Jeffery.”

  He dipped his head as though to kiss her but stopped. “But do you believe me? Do you trust me?”

  Everything within her seemed to slow as she searched for the answer.

  Trust.

  God had asked her to trust Him in those still times of the night.

  To wait.

  She hadn’t understood what she was waiting for at the time, but now she knew. For this moment, this man, this declaration of love. The hope for her future. And, more than that, the opportunity to open her heart and be vulnerable—to trust another person fully and completely—without reservation or fear.

  God had given her this gift. There would be no more wishing on buttercups, wondering if the man of her dreams would love her, or love her not. Through God’s grace and in so many ways, Jeffery had proven that he did.

  And now she would make the choice that would change her life forever. “Yes, I believe you. And I trust you more than any person in the world.”

  He bent his head and brushed her lips with a sweet, soft kiss. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “I cannot think of anything that would bring me more delight. I love you, Jeffery, with all that is within me.”

  His face broke into a deeply satisfied smile, and he lowered his head once again.

  She clung to him this time, drinking in his love like nectar from a flower. She’d waited for this man all of her life … a man who looked beyond the scars of the past, a man who had shown a steadfast love and helped her to trust again … and she would never let this man go.

  … a little more …

  When a delightful concert comes to an end,

  the orchestra might offer an encore.

  When a fine meal comes to an end,

  it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

  When a great story comes to an end,

  we think you may want to linger.

  And so, we offer ...

  AfterWords—just a little something more after you

  have finished a David C Cook novel.

  We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Turn the page for ...

  • Author’s Note

  • Great Questions for Individual Reflection and/or Group Discussion

  • A Sneak Peek at Book Three: Dreaming on Daisies

  • About the Author

  • Other Books by Miralee Ferrell

  Author’s Note

  Why I Wrote This Story

  A question many authors are asked is, “What prompted you to write this particular book?” I had to think about it for a while to truly decipher what drove me this time. I discovered it was more than one thing—in fact, one issue came to light that I hadn’t realized until recently.

  Naturally I hoped to find a story line that would entertain readers, and I wanted to continue with the characters created in Blowing on Dandelions. But each book needs a theme. I don’t ever want to write a simple romance without something that drives it. In this case, it was a young woman who’d been damaged—not only physically, but emotionally, due to the scars from her childhood.

  As I thought about that, I realized many of us carry hurts and scars from words spoken or actions taken that we had little or no control over. I had a wonderful childhood with caring, supportive parents, and I grew up having a best friend, Kit, from the time I was three. At first I wasn’t sure I could relate to Beth and her inner turmoil; then memories started to surface. My third-grade teacher, disgusted that I couldn’t write cursive (I’d transferred from a school that taught it starting in grade two), openly ridiculed me before the class and other teachers. Her actions colored my self-perception that entire year and the next, and my eagerness to learn and belief in myself declined.

  Later, as a committed Christian attending a public high school, I didn’t fit in with any of the popular kids. I didn’t endure the bullying that so many do now, but I was often on the outside looking in. Thankfully my personality is such that it didn’t affect me to a deep degree, but nevertheless, I understand the angst so many teens endure at the hands of their peers.

  Later, as an adult, I endured an unintentional wound from a friend who allowed me to believe something within my personality was unattractive enough to sever our friendship—that blow set me back emotionally to the point that, for a while, I struggled to even attend church, certain others must see the same flaws.

  My hope in writing this book is to show that God is able to take even the wallflowers of this world and cause them to blossom. No matter what we’ve been through in our past, He is able to heal the deepest hurt. Our Lord accepts us where we are, for who we are, scars and all. He looks beyond our overweight bodies, our acne-scarred skin, and all our other “deformities” we think or know we might have, and sees what’s inside—the lovely person He created us to be.

  I used my daughter, Marnee, as my role model in my first historical romance—and she’s another of my “treasures.” Now it’s my son’s turn. I dedicated this book to my son, Steven, even though he’s a different personality type than the character by that name. Steven is a US Marine who served in Iraq, a husband, and a brand-new father, but he’s also the epitome of an excellent son. I named a character after him because my Steven has a similar trait—he’s tenderhearted and compassionate toward his family. He was always the one who noticed if I was upset and was the quickest to apologize or show compassion. I’m so proud he’s my son.

  Within the confines of Wishing on Buttercups, there are a couple of true threads. One is the Oregon Trail, which lies within a mile of the outskirts of Baker City, Oregon. Many trains passed along that route, although by the time of my story it had dwindled to only a trickle. Baker City was on the edge of being a booming mining town and would see rapid growth over the
next few years, and many historical buildings built during that time period still stand today.

  When possible, I try to weave either a historical or family event into my plot, and the episode with Micah losing his grip on the paint can and it toppling onto Isaac Lansing’s hat is a perfect example. When my father was a child, my grandfather accidentally lost his grip on a can of paint while working on a roof. It bounced over the eaves and landed upside down on the head (and hat) of a neighbor who caused trouble every time he showed up at the farm. My grandfather exploded in laughter, and quite understandably, the neighbor left in a huff. No lawsuit or action was brought against my grandfather, but the neighbor found fewer reasons to come around from that time forward.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this second book in the Love Blossoms in Oregon series and will join me again in book three, Dreaming on Daisies, Steven and Leah’s story. The first chapter is included beginning on page 395. I hope they’ll whet your appetite and keep you reading!

  Miralee Ferrell

  Great Questions

  for Individual Reflection and/or Group Discussion

  1.What was Beth’s dream? What was Jeffery’s dream? What is your dream?

  2.When Beth receives a letter from a publisher about her illustrations, she experiences the fulfilling of a dream. When have you experienced the first-time fulfillment or renewal of a dream? How did you get to that point in your life? How did it feel when you accomplished that dream?

  3.Jeffery looked to his family—especially his father—for approval. Whose approval is important to you, and why? How have you handled that longing for approval?

  4.Have you, like Beth, ever felt scarred and unlovable? Afraid to love for fear of being hurt? If so, when … and why? How have those feelings influenced your life now?

  5.In Chapter Three, Wilma Roberts tells Beth, “Physical marks and family connections mean nothing, my dear. God looks at the heart, not the outward appearance. Never forget that.” Do you agree with that statement? Why or why not?

  6.When has a person seen you—with all your scars—as worthy and lovable? Tell the story. How did that moment change your perception of yourself?

  7.In Chapter Four, Jeffery approaches Beth with good intentions, but she views his efforts differently. When have you found yourself at odds with someone because you didn’t understand each other’s communication? What happened as a result? Looking at the situation now, what would you do differently if the situation arose again?

  8.In Chapter Eleven, Wilma tries to help Beth understand what others see—and don’t see—in her. What do you think others see—and don’t see—in you? How can viewing yourself that way encourage you to change … for the good?

  9.Isabelle feels regret and guilt for a situation in the past that wasn’t within her control. How has that affected her life from that point forward? How did it affect her relationship with her surviving son?

  10.Have you felt regret or guilt over a past situation? If so, how might you take a step forward today into a healthier frame of mind, instead of staying mired in the past?

  11.Frances Cooper and Wilma Roberts have a unique, hard-won relationship. They don’t always agree, and they often rub each other the wrong way. But they also play the role of loyal friend and truth teller in each other’s lives. What benefits do you see in their lives as a result? What person(s) or group serves as loyal friend and truth teller in your life? How has that person’s or group’s insight influenced you to become a better person?

  12.How does Jeffery view his father? How do others view Mark Tucker? Why do we sometimes view the ones we love so differently than others do?

  13.In what way(s) does Beth’s insecurity about her past and family, as well as her prior relationship with Brent, cause her not to trust others? Is it easy for you to trust others? Why or why not?

  14.Beth Roberts carries a heavy burden of secrets. How does trying to protect those secrets cause her problems? What secrets are you carrying that weigh you down? How might you lighten the burden of, or bring to light, those secrets so you can live in freedom both now and in the future?

  15.Beth’s favorite flower is the buttercup. After spending so many years “wishing on buttercups,” what dreams of hers come true by the end of the book? Of your own dream(s) that you listed for the first question, how might you move from “wishing on buttercups” to actually holding that dream and drinking in its beauty and scent, as Beth did at the end of the story?

  A Sneak Peek at Book Three:

  Dreaming on Daisies

  Miralee Ferrell

  Chapter One

  One mile outside Baker City, Oregon

  Mid March, 1881

  Leah Carlson kicked a wicker chair out of her way and stormed off the porch, angrier than she’d been in years. Well, years might be a stretch, but at least weeks. Or perhaps several days. Maybe riding to town and finding Pa would be a good idea. She glared at the ground, her mood not improved by the thick mud clinging to the bottom of her boots, and scraped the mud off on a horseshoe nailed to the bottom step. March, her least favorite month, always felt somewhere between winter and spring with none of the benefits of either.

  She trooped up the steps and righted the chair. Not the chair’s fault Pa had gotten drunk again and stayed all night in town. Buddy, their aging ranch hand, had seen Pa go into the saloon when he’d headed home from the mercantile last night. At first he hadn’t told her in hopes that his boss would return at a decent hour, but that hadn’t happened.

  Leah wrapped her coat closer around her shoulders. Now most of the chores would fall on her, Millie, and Buddy, Millie’s husband. With Buddy’s back giving him fits, she couldn’t ask him to do the heavy work, although his pride would force him to try. Why did Pa keep falling off the wagon whenever hope set in that he’d finally beat that horrible habit?

  Empty promises, that’s all she ever got. Promises he’d change. Promises he’d do better. Promises he’d broken ever since Ma died nine years ago. And lately it had only gotten worse. She’d gone from a child at the tender age of fourteen to a caretaker and ranch foreman almost overnight, and to this day she still felt robbed.

  At least the ranch was safe as long as she worked hard to pay the bills—as long as Pa didn’t try to use it as collateral for his drinking debts. But something needed to change. Maintaining this place was too much for her and Buddy alone. Pa had to stop drinking. Of course, he appeared to think everything was fine and even bragged in town about his successful cattle and horse business.

  She plopped down into the righted chair. Over the years she’d done her best to cover for him, but he’d had enough “episodes” lately that she knew people were talking. All she could do was keep up appearances and find at least one more hired hand—the sooner the better. Digging up some extra cash and increasing her herd of horses by a couple dozen wouldn’t hurt, either.

  Dragging Pa home and shaking some sense into his noggin sounded very tantalizing. But knowing her father, he would ignore her efforts or embarrass her in public. No, accosting Pa in town wouldn’t work. Somehow she had to beat him at his own game and bring him to his senses. She had no idea how, but she’d find a way, if it was the last thing she did.

  The front door creaked on rusty hinges, and Millie poked her head outside. “Girl, you goin’ to sit there all day starin’ at nothin’ or come in and get ready for that weddin’ you’ve talked about for the past two months?”

  Leah bolted upright and jumped to her feet. “Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe I forgot Beth’s wedding.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “How much time do I have to get decent?”

  Millie gestured at her mud-caked boots and stained trousers. “Not near enough, from what I can see. Guess you could stay at home. It’s not like you’re close friends with either the bride or the groom.”

  Leah shook her head. “I promised Katherine Jacobs I’d help with
the refreshments since they’re entertaining a few close friends at the boardinghouse after the ceremony. Besides, Beth has attended our quilting group occasionally since Christmas, and we’ve become friends.” She stepped past Millie and headed for the stairs leading to her room. “If Pa comes home while I’m gone, see if you can make him stick around, will you, please?”

  Millie grunted. “Can’t nobody make that man do nothin’ he don’t want to, girl. You should know that by now, especially if he’s been drinkin’. But I’ll try.” She waved her hands as Leah paused. “Get on with you. Nothin’ you can do here, anyhow. It’s about time you had some fun before you’re old and gray like me. Who knows? Maybe some good luck will rub off the bride and land on you.” She wrinkled her nose. “There’s got to be at least one man in this world who’s marriage material that don’t irritate you.”

  Leah grinned. “Of course there is, but you snatched him up years ago. I’m destined to be an old maid the rest of my life and live here with you and Buddy, so quit trying to fix me up. I’m perfectly happy the way things are.”

  “Humph. Likely story.” Millie crossed her arms and scowled, the creases beside her mouth deepening. “We’re not going to be around forever, you know.”

  “You are too. Neither of you have permission to leave me alone.” Leah choked on the last word and fled to her room. Millie had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had for more years than she cared to remember.

  Steven Harding hauled on his horse’s reins, his heart galloping so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. Had his horse trampled that man lying in the road? He set the brake and wound the reins around the handle, then leaped from his buggy and ran forward.

  The man seemed almost burrowed into the mud, his shoulder muscles twitching and right leg jerking. He lay flat on his back, eyes closed, with one arm flung over his forehead. A guttural groan broke from his parted lips.