Wishing on Buttercups (36 page)

“Come now, Son. You never have been good at hiding your emotions—at least not from your mother or me. If she were here, I’m confident she’d make the same observation. The only thing I’m not positive of is whether the young lady returns your affection. At times I would swear she does and then at other times I am not so certain.”

Jeffery dropped his gaze to the floor. “That is an interesting observation, sir.”

“Enough dithering. I find it difficult to believe you can’t—or won’t—own up to your feelings for Miss Roberts. She seems an intelligent person who is well spoken and decent. Are you ashamed?”

Jeffery sat upright, fighting to contain his astonishment and temper. “Absolutely not! I simply do not see a reason to discuss my business.”

His father rubbed his hands over his knees. “Not even with your father?”

Jeffery couldn’t be certain if he’d imagined the slight trembling in the older man’s hands. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He shook his head. “I am saddened our relationship has grown so strained these past years that you can’t trust me. What have I done to earn that, Jeffery?” He ran his hand over his hair, disrupting it from its normally orderly state. “I am most sincere in asking and quite tired of the constant strain between us.”

Could his father truly want to know? How many times had he tried to talk with him in past years, only to have him turn a deaf ear? He couldn’t imagine things would change now, and he hated to chance baring his soul, only to be ridiculed.

“Please, Son. I did not travel all the way from Cincinnati to continue fighting. In fact, in spite of my demands when I first arrived, I find my eyes are opening to certain facts. I promise to listen this time.”

Jeffery took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. “I appreciate all you and Mother have done for me. Please understand that. You were more than generous, and I know I’ve been a disappointment by not studying law. All I’ve ever wanted is to write.” He rubbed his hands on his trousers. “I do
not
want to sit through one social occasion after another, trying to impress the right people, nor do I care to live off your money.”

His father started to interrupt, but Jeffery raised his hand. “Wait. Hear me out. I know you and Mother desire the best for me and feel I’m wasting my life. But I love what I’m doing. My first book was contracted and three chapters were printed in
The Women’s Eastern Magazine
with more to come. It’s not huge, but it
is
a start, and one that I am proud of—because I accomplished it alone. They did not offer the contract because my father is Mark Tucker or because I travel in the correct social circles or because I may inherit money someday. They offered it because they saw merit in my work. That is all I have ever hoped for or wanted.” He dropped his voice. “I wish you and Mother could understand that and be proud of me as well.”

Mark Tucker sat as though frozen in ice, his gaze never wavering. “We are more proud of you than you can imagine. I had no idea …” He blinked. “Writing means so much to you, then?”

Jeffery nodded. “It does. A year ago I would have said more than anything, but now I’m beginning to see there are other things more valuable. But it still holds a very important place in my life.”

“I see. I wish we had understood—had listened before—so you wouldn’t have felt the need to leave home. You could have pursued your dream there just as well.”

Jeffery gave a sharp shake of his head. “No, sir, I couldn’t. It was essential I strike off on my own. I needed another perspective. I had seen so little of real life. It was important that I experience disappointments and work for what I wanted, for it to have meaning. Besides, if life always comes easily, there would be very little passion to pour into one’s work.”

“I meant it when I said your mother and I are proud of you. We were angry at first that you chose to leave, but the longer you were gone and the more determined you were to find your own way, the more we began to understand what a strong man you’d become.” He gave a dry laugh. “Not that I was willing to accept that for a long time, but your mother has a way of being … persuasive.” He raised his brows.

Jeffery chuckled. “I remember.”

“She told me to come out here and ask if you would return home, but if you insisted on staying I was to accept your decision and assure you of our love. I’m afraid I didn’t handle it the way she would have liked when I arrived. I was so certain that all I’d have to do was crook my finger and beckon.” He hung his head. “I owe you an apology, and I will have to give your mother one as well.”

Shock rippled through Jeffery. “Thank you. I appreciate that more than you know. But, sir?”

His father’s head came up. “Yes?”

Jeffery offered a smile. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

His father exhaled, then laughed. “I would be most appreciative. Your mother can be quite formidable when she’s angry.” He placed his hands on his knees. “Now. You mentioned there are other things in your life you’re coming to realize are important. I assume that includes Miss Roberts?”

Jeffery gave a brief nod. “It does, but it goes deeper than that. Not long ago she challenged me to reexamine my relationship with God.”

His father rubbed his hand over his chin and frowned. “Why? Haven’t you attended church since you arrived?”

“That’s basically what I said to Beth. She informed me there is more to faith than church, and I need to dig deeper. That God wants me to know Him more intimately.”

“Interesting concept. What exactly have you done with it?”

Jeffery smiled. “For starters, I’m reading the Bible that sat in my trunk for the past year. It’s amazing what I’m learning—that God actually has a plan for my life. And I’m talking to Him more.” He shrugged. “I’m not certain where it will lead, but I know I’ve had more internal peace than ever before.”

His father tipped his head. “Hmm. I like the sound of that. Now, back to Beth. There is something troubling that young woman, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. I like her, Jeffery. Truly like her. And should you ever decide to marry Beth and bring her back to Cincinnati—” He laughed. “There I go again. But all the same, she would be an asset to the family should that happy event transpire.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s good to know.”

“On another subject, I have decided to deal with the man who is tormenting Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs—Isaac Lansing, I believe.” His lips tightened to a stern line. “The Jacobs are a delightful family. I have taken a fancy to all of them, but particularly their little girl, Amanda. If Lansing has his way, she could lose her home, and I cannot countenance such an action.”

Jeffery knew that look well. He’d seen it more times than he could remember, when his father came home fired up over a case he was determined to win. And rarely did he lose. “What do you propose?”

“I am still quite well known in legal circles, and I believe my name will carry weight even out here in this uncivilized country. I propose to speak to Mr. Lansing’s attorney and acquaint him with some facts.”

“Such as?”

“That I am prepared to take the case myself and stay as long as needed to see it through to completion—and I plan to win.”

A new degree of respect settled in Jeffery’s heart. This was a side of his father he hadn’t seen for years. Could the trip out West have softened him somehow—possibly helped him glimpse life from a different perspective? Jeffery leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Father—than to win, that is. But I must say I am elated you are offering to help. I know it will be a burden off Mrs. Roberts and Beth as well.”

Jeffery hesitated, not wanting to break the fragile thread of newly woven trust. “There may be something more you could do. But you must keep it a secret as I don’t want to get Beth’s hopes up for nothing.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

October 23, 1880, La Grande, Oregon

Isabelle could only stare at her son. Steven had been home from Baker City for two days, and his explanation still didn’t satisfy her. “Tell me again why this Mr. Tucker wouldn’t give you more information about Elizabeth Corwin and why you came home instead of staying to press him further.”

Steven pulled the hard chair close to her rocker. “I’m not sure what you want to hear, Ma. I’ve told you at least four times now that I didn’t feel we should give our private information to a stranger.”

“I know what you said.” Isabelle relaxed her pursed lips. “But I had such high hopes you could get her address or that she might be living out West.” She blinked, trying to quell her tears. “I suppose it was too much to expect you might speak to her and find out if she’s actually our Bess.”

Steven patted her hand. “I’m sorry it wasn’t better news. But at least Mr. Tucker promised to send her my letter.”

“Yes.” She swiped at the lone tear making its way down her cheek. “As saddened as I am, part of me wonders if it might be better this way.”

“What do you mean?” Steven tilted his head.

“I’ve been stewing over this since you left, trying my best to push the thoughts aside, but the worry keeps returning.” She heaved a sigh and tried to straighten her weary shoulders. “I realized something. If Elizabeth Corwin is our Bess, then I reckon she’s living a fine life with a good family and won’t care about poor relations. Why, she’s a talented illustrator, more than likely raised in a big city. I couldn’t stand it if she looked on me with shame.”

“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.