Blowing on Dandelions (21 page)

Katherine wanted to deny the accusation, but she hated to lie. Maybe it was better to stay silent rather than acknowledge the charge. On the other hand, silence would only bolster Mama’s belief and possibly cause more hurt. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” It was the best she could do in the circumstances, but she still doubted it would be enough.

“Humph. Doubtful. But it does not matter now.” Mama looked the other way.

Katherine saw moisture glistening on her mother’s eyelashes. She touched the older woman’s arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me if I did.”

“I said to forget it. And do not worry; I will not impose again.”

“You’re welcome to come anytime. The ladies were happy to meet you, and I’m sure they’d want you to return.”

“But you would not, is that it? I am not dense, Katherine, and I do not care to continue to discuss it. Let it go.”

“All right, if you wish.” Katherine shook her head, burdened at the pain she’d caused but not knowing what else she could do to make it right. The ill feelings between them had continued for so many years Katherine didn’t know how to break the cycle. Although, truth be told, she’d not realized before that her mother sensed there
was
a problem. Mama had always gone on her way, saying what she pleased, seemingly without thought or realization of anyone else’s feelings.

Had something happened today to change that? She wasn’t sure, but from now on it appeared she must be more careful. As difficult as Mama could be, she was still Katherine’s parent. As long as God kept her on this earth, she would have to find a way to honor her—or at least to honor her position, even if she found it difficult to respect or love the woman.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jeffery felt like he’d moved into a hornets’ nest comprised of stinging words and biting women. He settled on the porch bench and put his feet up on the rail. He had a lot to consider, and the house was too busy for his taste, especially since Mrs. Roberts and her niece moved in two weeks ago. Heading to town wasn’t an option, as he was almost dead on his feet from the long hours he’d spent staring at his blank notebook last night, and if he stretched out on his bed, he’d fall asleep and accomplish nothing.

He’d come to this area due to its proximity to the Oregon Trail, but also because he’d heard that Baker City was a thriving town bursting at the seams with miners, ranchers, and everyday folks.

Little good it had done him thus far.

His dreams of reaching acclaim had so far come to naught. He managed to hide his aspirations from inquisitive people who’d asked about his business, which was just as well. How embarrassing that he’d found so few people willing to share their stories and so few exciting incidents to flesh out.

It wasn’t like he hoped to pen a thousand-page saga of the West. No. He simply desired to depict the lives and happenings of real people in a way that easterners would find fascinating—but not with a bunch of silly fiction.… Although, he must admit, he’d love to have his book read like a novel but gain acceptance beyond what some people were beginning to call the “penny dreadful.” Dreadful indeed. His book would exude excellence, if only he could figure out what to write.

Maybe it was time to return to the newspaper business. His savings were rapidly disappearing with little to show for his time and effort, and he wasn’t willing to ask his family for help. And beyond that, he’d developed a loneliness he hadn’t expected. Yes, heading back East seemed the best option, if things didn’t turn around for him soon. He wasn’t suited to work in the mines or on a ranch.

He lowered his feet back to the porch floor. If something didn’t give him an idea or direction soon, he’d brush the dust off his clothes and head home to Cincinnati—and pray he could stay out of the grip of his father.

Frances woke the next morning in agony, barely able to move her swollen ankles and feet. She fell back against her pillows and groaned. She had so hoped to spend some special time with Amanda today. The past week or so she’d sorely neglected both granddaughters, and she wanted to make up that time.

It was no use trying to mend the relationship with her daughter; it appeared to be too far gone for that. But if it were within her power, she would not allow the same wedge to be driven between herself and Lucy or Amanda. However, based on her level of discomfort today, spending time with them wasn’t an option.

She rubbed her stomach as it lurched and roiled. Oh dear, she didn’t need indigestion—or worse—on top of the gout. The smell of bacon fat and potatoes frying for breakfast wasn’t a bit enticing, but further sleep would probably evade her. She reached for her Bible on the nightstand and plucked her spectacles from the open page where she’d laid them the night before. At least she could do something productive if her stomach would allow it.

A half hour later there was a tap at her door, and Frances set her Bible aside. Her strained eyes would not have allowed much more, regardless. “Yes? Is that you, Katherine? Come in.”

The door swung open, and Wilma Roberts strode into the room.

Frances struggled up higher against her pillow and winced. “What?”

“You’re still in bed?”

Frances set her jaw and glared. “Why is it any business of yours?”

Mrs. Roberts planted her fists on her hips and glowered right back. “Your daughter is worried. When you didn’t come for breakfast, she asked me to check on you.”

“If she was so worried, why did
she
not come herself? She certainly did not need to send
you
.” Frances tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice but knew she’d failed miserably. Her stomach hurt, her legs and feet throbbed, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a fever was setting in—and she was stuck talking with the one woman who tormented her as much as her gout.

“Katherine was busy serving her guests, and I offered. There’s no reason to take offense.” The frown faded, and Mrs. Roberts took a step forward. “Why, you look terrible.”

Frances stiffened. “That is rude.
You
do not look perfect either.” Sweat trickled down her brow.

“Oh my. That’s not what I meant at all.” Wilma approached the bed. “You poor dear. Are you sick? You appear to be in distress.”

“
I
am fine. I need to go back to sleep, and I
will
as soon as you leave.”

Wilma peered over her spectacles at Frances. “Are you sure you’re all right? Would you care for some breakfast?”

“No.” The word came out fast and sharp. The thought of food made her stomach misbehave. “Not now, thank you.” She hoped the softer answer would satisfy the woman, so she’d be on her way.

Instead Mrs. Roberts touched Frances’s forehead. “I believe you have a fever.” She reared back on her heels. “I’m getting your daughter.”

“Please do not. As you said, she is busy and I am fine. Simply overtired.” She settled lower on the mattress, turned her head, and deliberately closed her eyes. “I am going to sleep now. Good-bye.” Frances listened. She didn’t hear Mrs. Roberts so much as stir. After several long minutes, she opened her eyes and turned to face Mrs. Roberts again. “Why are you still here? Go back to your own breakfast and leave me to rest.”

“I’ve already eaten.” The woman headed for the door. “I’ll be back. You stay put.”

Frances groaned. “No! Do not come back, I tell you!” But the door quietly closed behind her obnoxious visitor.

All Frances wanted was to bury her head under the covers and sleep, but with her body on fire, kicking the covers off might be a better idea.

Slapping her hand against the blankets, she shoved them down to her ankles. “‘Stay put.’ Like I could get out of this bed and go anywhere even if I wanted to.” She grumbled the words out loud, not caring if anyone heard. Why would Wilma Roberts bother? Did she plan to torment Frances with her insufferable presence, or did she have some other torture in mind? Whatever it was, Frances did not care to find out. When Mrs. Roberts returned, Frances would order her out of her room—if she had the energy.

She hitched her nightdress up to her knees, reveling in the cool air caressing her skin. She would get out of this bed, if only the swelling and throbbing would go down, and her stomach would settle a bit. All her life she had detested people who used physical infirmity as a ploy for attention, and she made no bones about voicing her opinion to those who had done so. Now she wondered if she’d been fair to those who might have truly been in distress.

Maybe spending time discovering the root of the trouble before labeling them
lazy
would have been more sympathetic. Well, it was too late for that now.

She’d half expected Wilma Roberts to chastise her for not being up earlier to help Katherine in the kitchen, but she had seemed genuinely concerned.

“Here I am, Mrs. Cooper!” The light voice in the hallway gave Frances only a second’s warning to pull the cover back up to her waist. Mrs. Roberts shoved the door open farther with her shoulder and entered, bearing a tray in her hands. “Coffee, cold water, a damp rag, and some dry toast with a bit of honey on the side. And Katherine will be along with a lightweight cotton sheet to replace that woolen blanket.”

Frances gaped at the beaming woman.

“I’ll put this on your bureau for a moment while we get you all set.” Mrs. Roberts puttered to the side of the room and set down the tray. “Here comes your daughter. We’ll get you cooled off in no time.”

Katherine walked in holding a clean, folded sheet and wearing a concerned expression. “Mama? Mrs. Roberts says you’re ill. What’s wrong?”

Frances swallowed her hot retort. Wilma Roberts had a lot of nerve, giving orders and marching in like she owned the place. She ought to give her a piece of her mind and run her right on out of here. But her gaze traveled to the tray of hot coffee and cool water on the bureau, then over to Katherine holding that inviting, lightweight sheet. Maybe she could tolerate Mrs. Roberts’s presence for a couple more minutes.

“I am only a little tired. That is all. But I can get up if you need me. I was going to spend some time with Amanda today, but it seems I overslept.” She bit her lip, troubled that she wasn’t telling the complete truth, but hating the idea of
that woman
knowing her private business, even if she was being considerate this morning. Frances still wasn’t sure she could trust Wilma Roberts’s motives, and she would not set herself up to get criticized should she be proven right in her suspicions.

Katherine clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should have checked on you when you didn’t come to the dining room.”

“No need for that.” Frances tugged at the blanket, wincing as it bumped her foot.

Katherine leaned over her and lowered her voice. “Is the gout acting up again, Mama?”

Frances glared at Mrs. Roberts, daring the intrusive woman to speak, but she didn’t appear to have heard. She gave a slight nod. “Yes.”

“Ah, no wonder. Are you up to eating a bite of the toast and coffee Mrs. Roberts brought in?”

“I am not sure. You can leave it if you would like.”

Katherine nodded. “Let’s put the sheet on instead of this blanket, shall we?”

Mrs. Roberts cleared her throat. “I’ll step outside if you’re concerned with modesty, Mrs. Cooper, but let me assure you that nothing you have is news to me.”

Frances narrowed her eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I know you have gout, and I also know you may have a fever, although I admit it might only be that you are overheated from being too stubborn to take that blanket off since I arrived. And you are wearing a nightdress that covers you from your neck to your ankles, so there is absolutely no reason for this degree of modesty. We are both women well advanced in age, and we certainly don’t need to play games.”

“Well, I never!” Frances sat bolt upright. “My good woman, I do not play games. Stay if you must. I do not give a whit one way or the other.”

Katherine gently drew the blanket down to the end of the bed. “Oh, Mama.” She gasped. “I had no idea it was so bad.” She grimaced at Frances’s swollen joints. “I’ll bring a pan of cool water so you can soak your feet.”

Frances shot a look at Mrs. Roberts, then nodded. “I suppose it might help. Thank you.” She tacked on the last two words with an effort, hating that the smug woman was hearing her private business and observing her discomfort.

Besides, Mrs. Roberts was a paying guest and shouldn’t be asked to do their bidding. Couldn’t her daughter have abandoned her work for a brief minute rather than send this annoying stranger? Apparently not. Now Katherine was trying to compensate by bringing the sheet, but she’d only made matters worse by exposing Frances’s affliction.

Katherine hurried out, leaving Wilma Roberts standing nearby. Why, the woman almost looked like she cared, gazing at Frances with something akin to compassion. “I would like to help. I have no desire to censure you, or make you more uncomfortable, if that’s what you believe.”

“I suppose it is.” Frances met her gaze head-on. “You must admit, we have not been on the best of terms since you arrived.”

Mrs. Roberts crossed her arms over her chest. “Humph. I don’t seem to remember causing the problem.” She let her arms fall to her side. “There I go again, letting you get my back up instead of holding my tongue.” She dipped her head. “I apologize for my temper.”

“I beg your pardon?” Frances wrinkled her nose and almost laughed. Why in heaven’s name would Mrs. Roberts apologize? Frances had done her best to drive the woman and her annoying niece away. Not only did she persist in staying, she continued to surprise her with occasional spurts of kindness. Amazement at the woman’s declaration warred with irritation. Under different circumstances she’d have enjoyed another sparring match. “Never mind. We’ll let it go this time, shall we?” She pointed at the tray. “If you insist on staying, you might as well make yourself useful and hand me that damp rag.” She took it and wiped her forehead and cheeks, sighing as the cool water touched her warm skin. “Thank you.”

“Coffee or a glass of water?” Mrs. Roberts raised a brow.

“Water first, I think. Then the coffee.” The next moments passed in silence as Frances drank the water, then took sips of the strong black coffee.

Katherine carried a large basin of water into the room. “Here, Mama. This is deep enough to cover your feet and your ankles. Can you sit up?” She set it on the floor in front of the bed.

Mrs. Roberts hustled over to Frances’s side. “Let me help.” She extended her hand. Frances hesitated, then gripped it, allowing herself to be helped to an upright position. The woman slipped her other hand under Frances’s legs and ever so gently swung them to the edge of the bed. “Tell me if I’m moving too fast or if I jar you.”

The woman’s tender touch surprised Frances. “I believe I am fine.… Th-thank you.”