Wishing on Buttercups (19 page)

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?”

“Has Miss Roberts been in this afternoon? Her aunt suggested I accompany her home if I happened to see her in town.”

Snider rubbed his chin. “Let me see. Yes, I believe she was, although it’s been a busy day. It might have been yesterday, come to think of it.” He gave a quick wag of his head. “It was today, yes, sir. An hour ago, maybe. Not sure where she went though.”

Jeffery wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “Thank you. I won’t take up any more of your time.” He stepped aside as a man in rough mining clothes sauntered up to the counter.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help.” Snider waved and turned to his customer.

Jeffery strode to the door and yanked it open, stepping out onto the boardwalk. As he pulled it shut, another thought hit him. What if Beth resented his asking for her and didn’t care to be found? She might be enjoying her time alone, as she had been while up on the hill. Still, it seemed most of his time with the young woman had been spent pursuing her to various destinations and very little time making any progress toward a relationship. Somehow that needed to change.

Beth sat in the small café that Brent had suggested and stared at the man. Had she heard him right? “Please say that slower this time.”

“I love you, Beth. I always have, and I came to beg your forgiveness for leaving you the way I did.” He reached across the table and touched her fingers.

She drew away, not certain what she felt at the moment, but irritation rose to the top. “I have a hard time believing that, even if I wanted to.”

His brows hunched together. “What will it take to convince you?”

“You haven’t explained why you left me. No word, Brent. Nothing to show why you’d gone.” The old pain rose to the surface, along with the fear that she
knew
why he’d gone. Her hand moved to the scar on her arm covered by the dense material of her long sleeves. Somehow he’d found out about her past—her deformity—and pitied her. Or worse yet, was embarrassed to be seen with her. The uncertainty had haunted her waking and sleeping hours since he’d left. But why find her now and declare his love?

He averted his gaze. “I should have told you long ago, but I was so ashamed.”

She started at his words. “Why? What happened?”

He lifted his chin. “My mother was dying and sent a telegram asking me to come.”

Dismay surged through Beth’s heart, and she sat back in her chair. “You should have come to me. I would have wanted to help. I don’t understand why you left without explaining, even if time was short.”

He turned his face away. “Because she was …”—his voice dropped to a dull whisper—“not a woman a lady like you should spend time with.”

Beth’s hand crept to her throat, and she gripped the locket resting there. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know any other way to explain than to be blunt. Will you forgive me for being so, Beth?”

She nodded.

“She was a woman of the night. I found her wasting away from a sickness. I couldn’t tell you, couldn’t allow you to discover what kind of background I had come from. I feared you would despise me. I thought it better to disappear, rather than allow my past to tarnish you.”

“Despise you? For something you had no control over? You think me so shallow as that?” Sorrow planted its seeds deep in her spirit. If only Brent realized what she’d hidden for so long, he wouldn’t have worried. How well she understood the dread of being discovered—of people shunning you when they did. She couldn’t judge Brent for his fear; it would make her a hypocrite. No, she could only forgive.

“Not shallow, but human. Most people can’t forgive a past like mine, or a mother dying from such a rough life.”

“But I am
not
most people. I thought you knew me better—trusted me more than that.”