Wishing on Buttercups (23 page)

Wilma paced her room, unsure what she should do. She hadn’t felt such a combination of joy and sadness in a long time—not since her husband had died. That event would have destroyed her had it not been for the incredible joy Beth had brought into her life. And now Caleb Marshall’s arrival stirred a sense of delight that made her bounce out of bed each morning. They’d spent the past three days catching up on old memories and renewing their friendship, but she’d held back from discussing the real reason he’d come to town.

Her letter had brought him; she had no doubt of that. So many times since writing and begging him to help learn more about Beth’s past she’d wished she’d let well enough alone. The girl had started to settle lately. She was even getting out more often—going to town and not burying herself in her room, hunched over that desk. It had to be Jeffery, although they didn’t talk to one another at mealtimes or act as though they were interested. It must be a ploy. They didn’t want anyone to inquire until they’d spent more time together and came to some type of agreement.

And digging up the ghosts of Beth’s past might not be the best thing. If only she hadn’t asked Caleb to see what he could discover. But if she hadn’t, would he have come? Her heart lurched at the thought. She was glad he had arrived. She hadn’t realized how bland her life had become. Regretting her decision wasn’t to be tolerated. Trusting God with the outcome would be best.

It was time she faced what he’d come to tell her. Trust required action, and sitting in her room wallowing in fear was certainly the opposite of trust. God was big enough to take care of Beth, no matter the outcome. She grabbed the knob and wrenched open the door, then hurried down the stairs. Caleb sat in the parlor, his silver-crowned head bent over a newspaper. “Caleb? Would you have time for a cup of tea?”

He raised warm eyes. “With you? Absolutely.”

Her heart fluttered. “I thought we might go to town, if that’s all right.”

For an instant his forehead creased; then he relaxed. “Certainly. I’ll go to my room and fetch my coat and hat.”

Caleb hastened across the room, stepping aside and nodding as Frances entered the parlor. “Mrs. Cooper, how nice to see you.”

“Dr. Marshall, I was hoping to speak with you about a medical concern, if you could spare a moment?”

Caleb shot a glance at Wilma, and she briefly closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Frances, but why did she have to pick right now to swoop in with her questions? “I’d be glad to help, Mrs. Cooper, but might I ask if we could talk later? I have an appointment with this lovely lady.” He held out his arm, and Wilma slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

A knowing look crossed Frances’s face, and she smirked. “Of course not. I certainly would not want to stand in the way of you courting my dear friend.”

Wilma’s mouth gaped, and her words came out in a stutter. “Wh … wh … what are you talking about, Frances Cooper? How dare you insinuate …”

Frances didn’t so much as blink. “I did not insinuate anything. I am merely speaking what is obvious to anyone who is not blind and possibly some who are. There is no reason for you to get in a huff about it either. Dr. Marshall seems to be a gentleman, is well educated, and appears to care for you. It is not as though you are a young girl in the first blush of spring, Wilma. I would think you would be happy to be courted and not make a fuss just because a friend points it out.”

Caleb actually chuckled. “Frances Cooper, I do believe we might end up becoming friends. I like you, although I’m sorry you’ve embarrassed Wilma. And yes, I care for her and have every intention of courting her if she’ll allow it.”

Frances gave a decisive nod. “She would be a fool to say no, and if she does, you can rest assured I will have something to say to her about it.”

Wilma pulled from Caleb’s grasp, her entire body shaking. “I’ll thank you both not to discuss me as though I’m not here. I believe I’m too tired for that walk right now, Caleb, and since Mrs. Cooper wanted to talk to you about her health, this might be the perfect time.” She marched primly out of the room, Caleb’s weak protests almost drowned out by Frances’s loud snort of disapproval.

Regret and guilt instantly pricked at Wilma’s heart. She cared for Caleb but had never thought seriously about courting. He’d been her husband’s friend and had never before hinted at a romantic relationship. The disappointment blanching his face before she turned away shouted his surprise and distress, and she hated that she’d hurt him. But why would Caleb proclaim his feelings so publicly and in front of Frances Cooper, of all people? Wilma was mortified—and she’d never hear the end of it from Frances.

Jeffery smoothed out the letter on his desk again and read it for the third time in as many days. The single page from his publisher brought both pain and rejoicing—for completely different reasons—but both of them centered on Beth. He had so wanted to share the contents with her, but every time he’d checked her old haunts in the house or outdoors she had been missing. He had an idea where she’d disappeared to for the past several days. He ground his teeth. That man must still be luring her to town.

Could she possibly be falling in love with Wentworth? The thought made his heart drop like a lump of coal in his chest. He didn’t know when she’d carved such a deep crack in the wall he’d built or why. No, that wasn’t being honest. He knew exactly why. She was lovely in every way that mattered. He longed to get better acquainted and chafed at the distance that had grown between them since Brent Wentworth arrived in town.

He straightened and set the letter aside. Did Mrs. Roberts know of the man’s attentions toward her niece, and did she approve? If so, wouldn’t she insist on acting as a chaperone? From all he’d seen of Mrs. Roberts, she appeared to care greatly about propriety. That might be cause for deeper reflection, especially if Beth continued to absent herself from the house.

And what about her work? Had she turned in all her illustrations, or had she abandoned her drawing while spending so much time with Wentworth? He plucked the letter off the wood surface again and held it up to the light, perusing the words once more. Yes, it clearly stated they’d hired E. Corwin as the illustrator, and the first installment was to release in the magazine a week from today.

His palms moistened. What would Beth—and the others—think when they saw his story in print? Would they approve of what he’d done?

Jeffery slipped the letter back into the envelope and placed it in his jacket pocket. Sitting in this room and moaning over not having Beth in his life wouldn’t solve anything. Resolve straightened his spine. Beth would see him and talk to him, whether or not Wentworth liked it. She had the right to celebrate this news as much as he.

Jeffery strode to the door, his heart lifting at his decision. He made it all the way to the top of the staircase leading to the parlor when another thought struck him with greater force. He knew Beth was the illustrator, so it only stood to reason the publisher—also her employer—would have sent her the same letter. She hadn’t sought him out to share her joy or excitement. His steps slowed, and he halted. She already knew, and she didn’t care. There was no other explanation possible.

Footfalls paused outside Beth’s room, then went back the way they’d come. Aunt Wilma? How strange. If she remembered correctly, her aunt planned a trip to town with Dr. Marshall—Dr. Caleb as he’d asked to be called—and couldn’t have returned yet. She had been due to leave a scant thirty minutes ago, and she wouldn’t have broken her appointment.

Beth read the letter again, then dropped it on her bed. She’d considered talking to Jeffery more than once since it arrived, but he’d been distant ever since he’d bumped into her and Brent in town. Besides, he’d surely have received the same type of missive as she, and he hadn’t put out an effort to discuss the subject. Aunt Wilma was her priority, not Jeffery.

She opened her door and stepped into the hall, grateful her aunt’s room was close by. More than likely Jeffery was hunkered over his desk working on his next book. A pang of guilt smote her—she’d turned in three of her four illustrations, but the last one was due soon. Would Jeffery be happy with the work she had accomplished so far?

Beth tapped at the adjacent room. “Auntie? Are you in there?”

“I’m resting for a while, dear.” The quavering voice barely penetrated the door.

“Is something wrong? I thought you were going to tea with Dr. Caleb. May I come in?”

“No. I’m fine. You go along, and I’ll join you later.” The words were subdued.

Beth wanted to swing the door wide and see what was wrong, but she hesitated, hating to impose. Her aunt had been busy since the doctor arrived, so it was possible fatigue had set in. “All right. I’ll check on you in an hour or so.”

She moved away. Brent wanted to meet again today, but Beth hadn’t felt it wise. Aunt Wilma had been so wrapped up in renewing her relationship with her old friend that she’d not noticed Beth’s absences. But something else held her back. Brent had mentioned his debts again. If nothing else than because she once cared for him, she wanted to help, but this last mention bothered her. She craved time apart to think things through. Maybe a brisk walk out to her hill might be in order.

With a purposeful stride she headed down the hall and rounded the corner toward the stairs.

Jeffery came to an abrupt halt and gripped her shoulders. “Pardon me. One more step and I’m afraid I’d have toppled us both.”

Beth’s skin tingled under the fabric where his hands lay, and she drew away. “Jeffery. I didn’t hear you come down.”

He twisted his mouth in a wry grin. “That’s because I stopped not long ago and stood there considering whether I should knock on your door and ask you to join me, but I went back to my room. I reached the conclusion that going to the parlor might be a better choice. I started out with that in mind when you rounded the corner.”

Beth’s spirits rose. “You wanted me to join you? Is anything the matter?”

“Not at all. We haven’t spoken in some time as you’ve seemed … occupied lately.” His intent gaze didn’t leave hers.

Beth felt a flush steal up her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Jeffery. For everything.”

He held up his hand. “It’s all right. I have no right to interfere in your business or your life.”

Beth glanced around the hall, hoping no one else was nearby, then nodded toward the stairway. “Should we go down to the parlor? Aunt Wilma is resting in her room, and I’d hate to have our voices disturb her.”

“Certainly.” Jeffery waited for her to precede him.

Beth stopped on the landing at the bottom and turned toward him. “You misunderstood. I was mortified by the way Brent treated you when we met in town. I informed him that you are my friend, and I didn’t appreciate his behavior.”

Jeffery lifted a brow. “Truly? I must say I’m a bit mystified by that assessment.”

“In what way?” Beth peeked into the kitchen as they passed, but no one was about. Relief flooded her at the hush over the house. Katherine and Mrs. Cooper must have gone to town or to one of their quilting meetings.

Jeffery showed her to a chair in the parlor, then seated himself nearby. “We’ve spoken little since our time on the hillside. I had hoped we might grow to be friends—if not …” He halted briefly, then continued. “I cannot say we’ve had ample opportunity to get acquainted to the degree that anything … could develop.” He sat back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Would you?”

Beth felt as though she’d stepped from a warm bath into a cold lake. It wasn’t that Jeffery was putting all the blame on her for their lack of friendship … that wasn’t the case at all. No, it was her own heart convicting her of pulling away from something she thought she’d wanted. How could she be so conflicted? Jeffery was a kind man, talented, intelligent, and handsome. But Brent—well, Brent had stolen her heart in the past, and now that she understood his situation she wanted to help if she could. But it wouldn’t be kind to mention his circumstances to anyone else. “I suppose not. I
am
sorry, Jeffery. It’s my fault.”