Wishing on Buttercups (10 page)

Wilma scrunched her brows in an effort to remember his exact words. “No. I suppose I must not have, if your reaction is any gauge. Certainly nothing worthy of such irritation.”

“Nothing worthy!” Beth gritted the words. “He said, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.’ It was quite clear what he was referring to.”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about, dear. I see nothing but consideration for your welfare in that statement.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t see through his comment. But then again, you aren’t aware that he saw a scar on my wrist not long ago.”

Wilma absently rubbed her cheek. “So you believe he accidentally referred to the scar that he glimpsed?”

“Aunt Wilma! Forgive me, but are you purposely trying to misunderstand? It’s quite apparent that Mr. Tucker was not-so-subtly reminding me of my infirmity. He pretends to be one thing on the surface but is quite another beneath his kind facade. Why, look at the book he’s writing. He admitted it’s about a group of people living in a boardinghouse.” She sighed. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise us when he gets overly inquisitive or says something unpleasant.”

Wilma grasped Beth’s hand. “That’s nonsense.” She pushed up the heavy sleeve that extended well over the girl’s wrist. “Tell me what you see.” Her grip tightened as Beth struggled to pull free. “Stop that. You may be a grown woman, but I am still your elder, and I expect you to listen. Now, tell me.”

Beth’s face paled, and she turned away from the wrist her aunt held up for inspection. “I don’t have to look. I’ve seen it every day for as long as I can remember. It matches the rest of my body.”

“But what do you see?”

Beth gave a hard jerk and took a step back. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was barely audible. “Can’t you see how hard this is?”

Wilma wrapped her arms around her niece’s shoulders and drew her close. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you understand what others see—and don’t see—in you.”

Beth pulled back. “By reminding me of my shame? How does that help?”

A shock went through Wilma at the confusion and anger brimming in Beth’s eyes. “By trying to show you that people see you as a lovely young woman. By showing you that the scars you are so terrified others will see barely exist. Why, they are so pale and faded as to be indiscernible. I’m simply trying to assure you that your personality and inner beauty are what matter most, not the trappings of external beauty.”

Beth winced. “I know I’m not beautiful, Aunt Wilma, but it’s not kind to remind me in such a straightforward fashion.”

Wilma shook her head. “That is not at all what I meant. I can’t believe you think of yourself as unattractive.”

“How could I not, since apparently my family tossed me away like unwanted rubbish? You say the scars have faded, but I say they have not. They are still as glaring and ugly as ever.” Without another word, Beth stalked away, head held high.

Over the next couple of days Beth managed to avoid Mr. Tucker except for mealtimes, when she kept her focus on her plate and left the table as soon as courtesy allowed. She and Aunt Wilma had achieved a tentative peace, and her aunt had been careful not to revisit the subject of her physical appearance. Mrs. Cooper hadn’t broached the subject of Mr. Tucker’s book, and the atmosphere at the table had been friendly but subdued.

She sank into the comfortable damask-covered divan in the parlor and picked up her book, content in the knowledge that her aunt and Mrs. Cooper were out for a stroll and she had the house to herself. A knock sounded at the front door. Beth started and almost dropped her copy of
Little Women
.

A voice penetrated the peace of the nearly empty house. “I say, is anyone about?” A deep, masculine tone rang across the foyer and into the parlor. “This is a boardinghouse, is it not?”

Beth set her book aside and rose. “Hello. I’ll try to help you if I can.” She walked across the parlor and stepped into the foyer.

A well-dressed young man sporting a top hat, waistcoat, and a silver-tipped walking stick stood inside the door, a large valise on the floor beside him. His short-cropped black hair barely showed under the hat, and a frown marred his handsome face. “Are you the proprietor? I require a room.”

“No, I’m not. Mrs. Jacobs usually takes care of new boarders, but she’s out. I believe Mr. Jacobs is here. He’s been doing a bit of work on the house lately.”

The man stiffened. “Is something wrong with this establishment?”

Beth was barely able to keep from laughing. The man was positively stuffy. “I think he’s been scraping some of the wood trim outside getting ready to paint before the weather turns cold. Not all the siding, you understand, only the trim.” She stopped herself before she began to babble. “If you’d care to sit in the parlor, I’ll see if I can find him.”

He scooped up his valise and tucked it under his arm. “That’s quite all right. I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.” He appraised her, and a smile warmed his features. “You live here? Do you recommend it?”

“Yes, I do. To both questions.” Beth hastened down the hall. The man was unusually handsome but a bit brusque, and his scrutiny had probed more deeply than she liked.

She scurried to the back door. Mr. Jacobs perched near the top rung of a ladder propped against the back of the house. After acquainting him with the prospective lodger, she tiptoed into the parlor, plucked her book off the divan, and slipped upstairs to her room.

Jeffery settled into his place at the supper table and evaluated the stranger—hair slicked into place, smooth-shaven cheeks, and clothes more fitting to a high-society dinner party than an Oregon boardinghouse. Jeffery shouldn’t be one to criticize, as he rarely wore informal clothing himself, but the double-breasted topcoat, silk vest, gold pocket watch and fob, pinstriped trousers, and silk top hat were items not often seen at Mrs. Jacobs’s boardinghouse. And the gloves the man drew off before taking his seat were quite another affair.

Micah Jacobs waited for the table to quiet, then offered a prayer. When he was finished, he lifted his head and nodded to the gentleman at the far end. “I would like to present Mr. Isaac Lansing, who will be staying with us for a few days.”

A chorus of greetings welcomed the man, who merely nodded and reached for the plate of bread close to his water glass. Light chatter flowed from person to person as the meal progressed, but Mr. Lansing seemed unusually quiet, other than an occasional brief reply when addressed. Jeffery narrowed his eyes, unsure what to make of the man. Handsomely dressed and evidently well educated, the man could fit in upper-level society, but his firm mouth and the stern lines of his face didn’t exude an air of friendliness.

Mrs. Cooper stabbed a second piece of fried chicken and plopped it onto her plate. “So, Mr. Lansing, what brings you to town?”

“Business, ma’am.”

Mrs. Roberts brightened. “What kind of business, if I may ask?”

He gave her a long, steady look. “I am in town dealing with mining concerns. I have little time to socialize, and I don’t expect to be here often. I keep to myself and mind my own business, and expect others to do the same.”

Frances Cooper scowled and wiped her hands on a napkin. “No need to get uppity, sir. You are more than welcome to keep to yourself, but I assure you, no one was trying to intrude on your affairs.”

“I do not care to discuss my private business, but I regret if I have offended you.” The man ladled a generous helping of potatoes onto his plate. After taking several bites he turned to Beth with a winning smile. “You are the young lady I met in the parlor earlier today. I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me. I am charmed to meet you, Miss …?”

“Roberts. Beth Roberts. You are quite welcome, Mr. Lansing. It was no trouble at all.”

Jeffery stared at Lansing, not caring one whit for the man’s wheedling tone or flirtatious manner. “How long will you be in town, Mr. Lansing? Mr. Jacobs mentioned you would be staying several days. Will you be returning to your home when you leave? I assume from your accent you’re from the East.”

“You assume correctly, but I haven’t decided what I will do yet. Much depends on my business here in Baker City, and if I am able to find a pleasant way to pass the time when not employed.” He leaned toward Beth. “Tell me; is there anything of refinement offered in this town? I don’t imagine I will be working from dawn until dark every day, and I might enjoy taking in some entertainment. I wonder if you would consider accompanying me some evening.”

Mrs. Roberts snorted and dropped her fork on her plate. “I thought you weren’t here to socialize and wanted to keep to yourself. My niece has no interest in traipsing around town with a stranger.”

He turned cool gray eyes her direction. “I’m sorry. I assume the lady is old enough to speak for herself.”

A gasp sounded from Mrs. Cooper, and Katherine Jacobs touched her hand. “Shh, Mama. Let Mrs. Roberts handle this. It’s not our concern.”

Micah Jacobs shook his head. “It
is
my concern, as it’s my table, and Katherine’s as well. I am afraid your tone wasn’t appreciated, sir.”

Mrs. Roberts scooted back her chair and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs, but Katherine is correct. This is my affair, although I appreciate your kindness.” She leveled a hard glare on the stranger. “You are mistaken, sir. Though my niece is able to speak for herself, what she does without a chaperone is most assuredly my business. Beth, have you finished eating?”

Beth’s eyes flickered to Mr. Lansing, and Jeffery thought he caught a glint of … what? Surely not apology. “Yes, Aunt Wilma.”

“Let us take our leave. I would like to lie down, if you’d be so kind as to accompany me to my room.”

The two women walked toward the dining room entrance, and Jeffery worked to choke back his irritation. Had he truly seen regret, or had he misinterpreted her expression? Beth had found reason to race from the room the last time they’d been together, after he’d done nothing more than offer her a cup of coffee, but it seemed her aunt had to practically drag her away from a man who stooped to flirtatious ways and rude treatment.

He pushed back from the table. Beth glanced back, and for a second her gaze met his. His heart jolted as a memory of holding her in his arms surfaced. He shook his head. She wasn’t his to hold. It was time he put his mind on his work, where it belonged.

Chapter Twelve

La Grande, Oregon

Isabelle Mason hung the last set of sheets on the line and wiped her damp hands on her apron. “I surely do miss my boy. He’s been gone over a week.… No, I guess it’s almost a fortnight, come to think of it.”

Her old friend and confidante, Karen Luther, wagged her head and tsked. “Seems a shame his boss saw fit to make Steven traipse across the country to look at some dark old mines. Foolish, if you ask me. Why does the bank care what them miners are doing, anyway?” She plucked the empty basket off the ground and headed for Isabelle’s cabin, which was situated among the trees.

Isabelle smiled and followed the short figure as she waddled around the corner of the chicken coop. “It’s not clear across the country, Karen. Baker City is in Oregon, after all.”

Karen pushed open the door with her foot and dropped the basket on the floor near the kitchen stove. “There’s plenty of banks in La Grande. Why’d they decide to send him out of town?”

Isabelle waved to the table. “Have a seat. The water is hot. Don’t know about you, but I’ve been on my feet too long today, and they ache. Arms, too.”

Karen gripped Isabelle’s upper arms and propelled her to a chair. “No, ma’am, you aren’t waiting on me. I might not be much account, but I’m stronger than an ox and smarter, too.” She grinned and reached for two mugs placed on a rough-hewn sideboard. “You done more than your share of work, and I don’t aim to let you do more.” She placed the mugs on the table and poured the fragrant tea out of the pot. “Where’s your neighbor? I thought she was supposed to be helping while Steven is gone.”

Isabelle lifted the mug to her mouth and relished the delicate scent of mint. The mountain snow runoff kept parts of the valley green. Dense plant life grew well into the late summer months, and she’d dried and put away a stock of herbs and plants for wintertime use. “Ina had to help her sick daughter. I’ve been getting along fine though. No need to worry.”