Wishing on Buttercups

by Miralee Ferrell

  “You can’t mean that,” Steven said, startled. “We aren’t poor. I have a decent job, and I’ll be making more money. In time we can get a better house.”

  Isabelle mustered a smile. “I mean no disrespect, Son. You’ve made a good name for yourself, there’s no denying that.” She waved a hand around the cabin. “But look around you. We live in a simple home. We have good neighbors, but before you got your job, people would have said we were no-account farmers barely scratching a living. I had trouble paying the bills after your stepfather died, and if it weren’t for you, we’d probably be in the poorhouse by now.” She shook her head. “If she writes back, and it is our Bess, we’ll need to talk it over before we let her come visit. I don’t think I could endure it if she looked down her nose on us.”

  Steven jumped to his feet. “If she does, then she’s not fit to be called by your name. But I don’t believe it will come to that. At least, I pray it won’t. Somehow we have to trust that God wouldn’t bring her back into our lives only to lose her again.” He stepped over to the pegs by the door and swung his coat off the hook. “I’d better head to the bank.”

  “You go on, Son. I’ll see you when you return.” Isabelle watched him walk out the door, her heart heavy. She’d been trusting God for seventeen years, but not once in all that time had it occurred to her that her little girl might have grown up and found a life of her own—or that she and Steven wouldn’t fit into that life.

  Isabelle trudged to the shelf next to her bed and carefully lifted one of the worn books she’d written in for so many years. Should she continue? Would a young woman who’d been long separated from her family care about the ramblings of an old, sick woman, even if she was her mother? She turned the journal over in her hands, then laid it back on the perch near her pillow, too heartsick and fearful to write another word as yet another fear niggled its way into her mind. What if all this time Bess thought they didn’t want her because they hadn’t found her yet? What if she hated her family and didn’t care to see them at all?

  The front door slammed, and Beth rose from her chair. Jeffery and his father were somewhere about, but the rest of the household were gone and not expected anytime soon. She hurried toward the foyer.

  Isaac Lansing stood inside, his hat shoved firmly on his head, and his coat buttoned up to his neck. He raised a gloved hand and shook an envelope. “How dare he send this!” The cords of his neck stood out.

  Beth halted a good distance away from the red-faced man. “I don’t know who you are talking about, but please do not shout.”

  “Mark Tucker, that’s who.” He waved the envelope again. “I demand to speak to him!”

  “What seems to be the difficulty?” Jeffery moved from the hall to the foyer and positioned himself in front of Beth, his father close on his heels. “Mr. Lansing, you have no business raising your voice at Miss Roberts, regardless of your problem.”

  Mark Tucker cleared his throat. “I believe you mentioned my name?”

  Lansing strode forward, stopping inches from Mr. Tucker, his chest heaving. “My attorney gave me this letter. He’s dropping my suit. How dare you interfere in my business!”

  Mr. Tucker stood his ground without flinching. “I simply filed a reply with the court, then had a talk with the judge. Your attorney was wise enough to understand he wouldn’t win based on outrageous charges.”

  Lansing snarled, planted his hands on Mark Tucker’s chest, and pushed. The older man staggered backward and landed hard on the floor. Lansing glowered down. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of affairs that don’t concern you.”

  Jeffery sprang forward and swung his arm, his fist connecting with Lansing’s chin. The man’s head jerked back, and he crashed against the wall. Jeffery grabbed him by the front of his coat. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave and never come back. We’ll call the sheriff and bring our own suit if you so much as speak to anyone in this house again.” He opened the door and shoved him onto the porch. “Be thankful I’m not having you hauled off to jail right now.” He slammed the door behind Lansing and turned to his father.

  Beth gazed at Jeffery, her heart thudding. Then she bent to Mark Tucker’s side. “Are you all right, sir? Is anything broken?”

  “I’m fine.” He placed his hand on the floor and pushed to his feet. “I hope that’s not the case for that upstart, however.” After brushing off his jacket, he extended his hand to Jeffery. “Good work, Son. I have never been more proud to be called your father.”

  Wilma stood in the foyer trying not to wring her hands. Things had been going so well. Mr. Tucker’s actions had ended the lawsuit within two days, and the entire household had breathed a sigh of relief. Now this. It seemed they couldn’t go more than a few days without one problem or another cropping up.

  If only Beth would appear before Jeffery and his father left for the stage, then the decision to keep silent would be taken out of her hands. Why did Caleb have to choose this afternoon to ask Beth to go to town with him so they could spend time together?

  She clutched Jeffery’s arm. “I still say you need to speak to Beth about this. Can’t you wait till the early stage tomorrow instead of going now?”

  Jeffery patted her hand. “I’m thankful business has picked up so much the stage company has two runs per day now. It’s almost November, and we can’t afford to wait another minute. According to the driver, we can be in La Grande by tomorrow night. We’ll stay one day, two at the most.”

  Wilma wanted to throw back her head and wail. Where was Frances when she needed her? She could talk Jeffery out of this nonsense. Maybe she should run up to Frances’s room and rouse her from her nap. She half turned and stopped, heaving a sigh. That wasn’t fair to her friend. “But what shall I tell Beth?”

  Jeffery shot a glance at his father, and the older man gave a slight nod. “That Father and I needed to take a little trip on business, and we’ll be back soon.”

  “I don’t understand why you won’t tell her yourself.”

  A troubled look passed over Jeffery’s face. “We’ve talked about this, Mrs. Roberts. I need to meet Steven Harding’s mother and see if she’s telling the truth. If I tell Beth where I’m going, or even that I am leaving, she’ll ask why. I cannot and will not lie to her, so it’s best if I simply slip away. It won’t be dishonest for you to tell her my father and I are on a business trip.”

  Mark Tucker nodded. “Quite so. I wanted to meet a business associate who settled in La Grande while I was out West and haven’t had a chance to do so. This is the perfect opportunity.”

  Jeffery looked deep into Wilma’s eyes. “I do not want Beth hurt even more. She told me she decided not to answer the letter, but I know the decision has been hard on her.”

  Wilma nodded. “On me as well. Beth confided in me a few days ago.” She gripped her hands together, trying to still their shaking. “I don’t know what to think about all of this. I am terrified I’ll lose her, Jeffery. What if this woman is her mother and sweeps in here and takes her away? Have you thought of that?” She peered up at him, noting the concern knitting his brows. “You can’t hide it from me, young man; I know you care. You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”

  He gave a slow nod. “I do.”

  “Have you told Beth?”

  “Yes. But that’s as far as I’ve taken things. After hearing Harding’s questions and handing his letter over to Beth, I’ve reflected on some of the same things as you. I can’t tell you what will happen if this is her family. I can only tell you I feel it is the right thing to do. Beth has suffered too many years wondering what happened and who her people are.”

  Wilma winced. “I know. But I’ve been there for her since she was four. I can’t lose her, and I’m not even sure I want to share her with someone else. Have you considered that this woman believes Beth is a well-known illustrator? What if she only wants her
back because of that? Beth could get hurt even more.” She glowered. “I think you and Mr. Tucker should remain here. After all, if Beth decided not to answer that letter, who are we to interfere?” She wanted to say who was he to interfere, but good manners forbade her from being so crass.

  Mark Tucker pulled out a pocket watch. “I am sorry to interrupt, but we must be going if we plan to make the stage. Mrs. Roberts, my son’s mind is made up. We would ask that you keep your own counsel on our behalf. You can simply tell Beth that Jeffery is accompanying me on business.”

  Wilma bit her lip to keep it from trembling, then drew in a soft breath. “All right. I will do as you ask. But it’s going to be difficult to keep the truth from Beth, so please don’t delay any longer than necessary.”

  Beth stepped through the front door in the company of Caleb Marshall and drew off her gloves. “It’s getting quite cold, and the clouds are building. I’m glad I wore my heavy cloak.”

  Caleb nodded. “I shouldn’t have kept you in town so long. I didn’t realize the temperature would drop so quickly.”

  “Yes, it’s getting dark so much earlier. But it was still wonderful to get out of the house. And I loved spending time with you over lunch. I’m very happy for you and Aunt Wilma.”

  He patted her arm. “I appreciate that, my dear. Your aunt has been a bit distressed, not knowing if you were being kind about our plans to marry, or if you were truly happy.”

  Beth pushed away the whisper of sadness that tried to wrap its tendrils around her heart. “Truly. She deserves to be happy again after all these years.” A memory surfaced, and she giggled. “I still can’t get over the triumph on Mrs. Cooper’s face when you made your announcement. It was like she took personal credit for what had happened.”

  Wilma swept into the foyer. “She did.”

  Beth turned. “Oh dear, I didn’t know anyone was around. I hope no one else heard me.”

  A smile blossomed on Wilma’s face. “If you mean Frances, there’s no need to worry. She convinced Katherine to lie down and take a nap while the girls and Zachary are at school, then she did the same.”

  “Oh, good. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. But how do you know she took credit?”

  Wilma hunched a shoulder. “She told me. The woman is nothing if not forthright.”

  Caleb laughed and placed his hand on Wilma’s back. “I must agree. But from what I’ve seen, she’s been a good friend.”

  Wilma nodded. “Yes. And it’s amazing, considering how our relationship started. You remember, don’t you, Beth?”

  “I certainly do. I wondered for a while if this house was big enough for the two of you.” She hung her cloak on the coatrack beside the door. “Is Katherine not feeling well again?”

  “Simply tired, from what I could tell. I told her you and I would start supper. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’ll go upstairs and change.”

  An hour later, Wilma directed Zachary and Lucy as they set the table, and Mandy scurried from the kitchen to the table with a plate of sliced bread. Beth put the final touches on the meal, feeling a deep satisfaction at the work she and Aunt Wilma had done.

  Katherine stepped through the door and sniffed. “Oh, it smells wonderful in here. The cornbread is making my mouth water.” She lifted the lid on a steaming pot and dipped in a spoon, raising it to her lips. “The beans and ham are perfect.”

  Frances hobbled into the room and nearly toppled into a chair near the stove. “My old bones don’t stay warm the way they used to.” She rubbed her hands up her arms. “Mark my words, winter is coming soon.”

  Beth smiled. “You can’t be much older than Aunt Wilma. But I don’t mind winter, although I haven’t spent one in Oregon, so I’m not sure what to expect.”

  Frances peered at Beth. “Dear girl, I’m a good ten years your aunt’s senior. As for Oregon winters, they can be quite fickle. We could have snow tomorrow and have it all gone three days later with the sun shining down like it was fall. Or it could snow and we wouldn’t see the ground again until spring. You never know from one year to the next.”

  Wilma shot her a strange glance.

  Beth wrinkled her brow. “Auntie? Is something wrong?”

  “No, child. I’m pondering what Frances said, that’s all.”

  “Well, it’s time to call everyone to supper.” Beth beckoned to Zachary. “Would you run upstairs and ask Mr. Tucker and Jeffery to come down?”

  Wilma’s eyes darted to Katherine.

  “What is it, Aunt Wilma?” Beth stepped forward and touched her aunt’s arm, not caring for the pained expression on the older woman’s face.

  “I’m afraid Jeffery and his father are gone.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jeffery held the stage door open for his father, thankful the conveyance had finally rolled to a stop on the main street of La Grande. His legs and back felt as though they’d taken a pounding from a prizefighter.

  He stood on the boardwalk and peered through the semidarkness of the early evening. A lantern hung on a post next to the hitching rail, and another illuminated the door leading into the stage station. He loved the bustle of Baker City, but his writer’s soul also craved isolation and calm—the hush of this small town poured a gentle peace over his mind.

  He grabbed the valise his father handed out. “How are you feeling, sir?”

  “Well enough, I suppose, considering the driver managed to hit every rut and ridge along the road. I must say the train is more comfortable.”

  Jeffery nodded. “I hear a line is planned in the next couple of years.” He caught the bag the driver heaved over the side before it landed in the dirt. “Looks like that’s it. We’d best find a hotel. It’s too late to look up Harding and his mother tonight.”

  “That sounds good to me, but I’d like a hot meal before bed.”

  “Of course.” Jeffery beckoned to the driver who had walked up to the lead horse. “Excuse me, can you recommend a hotel?”

  The man nodded toward a brightly lit building across the street. “That one over yonder is clean and don’t have bedbugs, from what I hear. How-some-ever, they don’t have an eatery. You’ll have to get your grub at Ella’s Place a block up the street.”

  “All right, thank you kindly.” It only took a matter of minutes to make their way to the front desk of the plain, sparsely appointed establishment and secure two rooms. Jeffery would have been happy with one room and two beds, but his father insisted on paying the bill and acquiring one for each of them. He couldn’t deny his gratitude at the thought of sinking into peaceful oblivion.

  They moved away from the long wooden desk, their footsteps softened by the worn carpet lining the foyer floor. Candlelight and two lanterns lit the area, and heavy velvet drapes hung parted at the large front window. A lone wagon rolled past, the clop of the horses’ hooves muted by the rain that had fallen earlier in the day.

  Jeffery’s stomach reminded him quite forcefully of the lack of nourishment over the past hours. He placed his hand over it and grimaced.

  Mark Tucker sighed. “Your stomach sounds like mine feels. Empty. I’m almost tempted to forego a meal and fall into bed. I’d forgotten how much a trip by coach could take out of a man my age.”

  Jeffery grinned. “Then I must be getting up there along with you, because I’m not in a lot better shape. You want to go lie down for a while or go eat right now?”

  “I think I’ll put my bag in my room and head on over, then retire early. I assume you want to get an early start tomorrow?”

  “Yes. We can meet for breakfast at half-past seven if that suits you, then I’ll see if I can get directions to Harding’s place.”

  “I still wonder if it might have been better to wire ahead and let them know we’re coming.”

  Jeffery nodded. “Possibly, but it seemed like the right decision at the tim
e. I guess I was concerned they might say it wasn’t convenient for us to come, and I didn’t care to be dissuaded.”

  The next hour passed quickly as the men left their bags in the room and partook of a simple but filling meal. Then Jeffery crawled into his bed and blew out the lamp on the bedside table with a sigh of relief. At least nothing had gone wrong in the first part of this journey. His thoughts drifted to Beth as his eyes closed.

  Had it been a mistake not to confide in her about his trip and explain his reason for leaving? What if she didn’t appreciate his efforts to uncover the truth about Steven Harding’s inquiry and his mother’s claim? Surely Mrs. Roberts could calm any concerns that might arise, and it wasn’t like he’d be gone long enough for Beth to miss him. A deep-seated desire rose to the surface—as much as he didn’t want to cause Beth distress, he prayed she would long for his return. If he could deliver good news, that should go a long way toward securing her forgiveness for stepping into her business.

  Longing swept over him as he remembered the light touch of her lips that day in the parlor. Jeffery could only hope Beth had finally put aside all of her feelings for Wentworth. She had cautiously agreed to a courtship, but he wanted a serious one with nothing standing in the way.

  Another memory stirred, and he embraced it wholeheartedly—Beth’s suggestion of pursuing a relationship with God. “Thank You, Father, for making Yourself real to me.” He whispered the words, amazed anew at the peace that blanketed his spirit.

  Beth stepped to the parlor window for what must surely be the tenth time and peered outside. Nothing stirred. The trees had shed their autumn finery by this last week of October and raised mostly stark branches to the overcast sky. Jeffery and his father had been gone for four days with no word. He hadn’t left her a note or a message with her aunt or with Katherine. She turned to her aunt and planted her hands on her hips. “Tell me again what Jeffery said?”