Wishing on Buttercups (40 page)

Why hadn’t she thought of what this might do to the person who had taken Bess in? Would her presence cause damage to Bess’s life rather than the joy Isabelle had always longed for? She pushed those worries away. It was too late for questions or concerns.

They were all waiting.

For her.

She set the cup on the saucer. “I have so much I want to say to you, Bess.”

The girl winced and gave a slight shake of her head. “My name is Beth.”

Isabelle started. “I’m sorry. I forgot that’s what you’ve been called all these years. I will try to remember. Do you want to ask questions, or would you prefer I simply tell the story of when you were lost?”

Beth tipped her head in one fluid motion. “I’d rather hear what you have to say first. I might have questions, but I won’t interrupt unless I don’t understand, if that’s all right?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Isabelle slipped her icy hands into the folds of her shawl. “You were three years old when we started for Oregon, and Steven was eight.”

Beth leaned forward. “I’m sorry, but who exactly is we? You and Steven?”

“No, there were four of us. Steven, you, me, and your father.”

“So my father isn’t still alive?”

Isabelle’s face twisted as pain knifed her heart anew. “I’ll get to that, but no, he’s not.”

Beth sank against the sofa cushions, her expression drawn. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask anything else.”

Isabelle shook her head. “Don’t be. We left in the early spring and by late summer had arrived in Wyoming.” She tried to form the next sentence, and she shivered. “That’s when it happened.” She stifled a groan.

Steven patted her shoulder. “Take your time, Mother.”

She smiled at him weakly. “Thank you, Son. It’s hard talking about what came next. There is no way to soften it. Cholera hit the wagon train, and a number of people died.”

Her gaze strayed to Beth, and her heart shook. “Your father was one of the first we lost. We stayed in one place for several weeks, praying the sickness would pass, but more continued to sicken. Finally, the wagon master made the decision to move on, even though our forces were depleted. He worried we’d be trapped by winter snows before reaching our destination. Steven had helped me watch you while I cared for your father, but by the time we moved on, both he and I were ill.”

Isabelle twisted her hands in her lap. Would Beth understand and be able to forgive what happened next? She had blamed herself for so many years she couldn’t imagine anyone else doing less. “I grew so sick I couldn’t care for you, and we feared you’d get the disease as well. Another family took you in, promising to care for you like their own. Unbeknownst to me, the mother took ill and died not many days later. Her husband asked someone else to take you, but they were overwhelmed. It was decided that three families would share your care, along with two other children whose parents had died.”

Mrs. Roberts interrupted. “Shared their care? Why wouldn’t each child be in the care of one family?”

“Because there were too many deaths, and not many were left intact. Those who didn’t die were sick or caring for others. Everyone did the best they were able, but”—her voice choked—“it wasn’t enough.”

Beth barely dared to breathe. This woman was sharing so much—almost too much to take in. She’d found her mother and brother, and lost her father all within a matter of minutes. Why had it never occurred to her that a plague might have hit her family? Of course, that still didn’t explain what happened or why she wasn’t found, but so much was starting to make sense. “So I never took sick?”

The woman who claimed to be her mother shook her head. “That was the only thing that gave me hope. I was told later, when I recovered, that you’d never shown any sign of the disease. But I always worried that you might have done so, and no one realized it.” She shuddered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I had so many horrible nightmares of you lost and sick in the wilderness, with no one to care for you. We never knew what happened or if you were alive.”

Beth nodded. “I understand, but how did I get separated from the wagons? Why was I alone?”

Isabelle hunkered deeper into her chair, her face drawn. “My fever broke, and I wanted you back, but they said no. I needed to wait another week or so, to be certain you wouldn’t fall ill. They assured me you were being cared for, and there was nothing to worry about.” Her voice rose. “I should have insisted! It was my fault for not demanding you stay in our wagon.”

Steven laid his hand over hers. “Ma, quit blaming yourself. I was still ill, and it wouldn’t have been safe.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I know, but it doesn’t change what happened.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she stared at Beth for several seconds. “You were apparently playing in the woods with some of the other children. The wagons were ready to move, and the wagon master was determined to put in a long day of travel to try to make up for lost time. The children scattered to their wagons, but no one realized you hadn’t come.” She closed her eyes as though reliving the memory, then slowly focused back on Beth. “Each of the three families assumed you were with one of the others. In the rush of departure, no one checked to be sure all the children were accounted for.”

Isabelle shook her head. “There had been so many losses, so much sickness, and still many who were weak and ill. It wasn’t their fault. All of them had their own children to care for, and you were my responsibility, not theirs. I was to blame. I should have gotten out of bed and made sure you were where you belonged. I have never forgiven myself, and I doubt I ever will.” She bowed her head and placed her hands over her face, her body shaking as her sobs filled the room.

Beth sat as though clamped by chains to her seat. The cries of the broken woman sitting across from her slashed her heart to a depth she hadn’t known possible. The pain was palpable and fresh, as though the event had happened yesterday. As hard as it had been not knowing where she belonged or why she was alone, Beth couldn’t begin to imagine the agony this woman had gone through at the loss of her child. “Then what happened?” She whispered the words. “Did anyone search for me?”

Steven straightened and drew in a breath. “No one realized for three days that you were missing. I was starting to recover, but I remember it well. Mother asked for you on the third day. She said it had been long enough, and she wouldn’t be separated any longer. Finally one of the women relented and went to the family she assumed was caring for you. They didn’t have you and assured the woman that another family was responsible. Each of the three placed the blame on the others, and no one could remember the last time they’d seen you.”

Isabelle pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her cheeks. “I spoke to the children you were with. They remembered you sitting in a field picking buttercups. Each of them believed you had come when they were called, but none of them knew for sure if you had. I demanded the train go back to find you, but by that time winter was close. The wagon master had to make a decision. The time we’d lose turning around, searching, then retracing our steps could be the difference of arriving safely in Oregon before the snow hit, or perishing.”

Beth stared in horror. “So they just … left me?” She wanted to rail at someone—to demand answers and find someone to blame, but one look at the anguished woman closed her lips.

Isabelle raised a trembling hand. “No. They sent a man back on horseback to search. He returned five days later. He’d discovered your tracks coming out of the meadow but lost them again. As he widened the circle, he stumbled across the prints of several unshod ponies. At the time, the Arapaho weren’t attacking settlers, but they weren’t above taking captives. He spent a full day scouting, but you were nowhere to be found.” She swiped the handkerchief across her cheeks, catching the rolling tears. “He couldn’t go after a party of braves on his own, and by the time he would have come back to the wagons and mustered a rescue, the tracks would have faded. We had already passed Fort Laramie, and there was no way to get word to them. Believe me, I tried.”

Steven nodded. “She did. The wagon master had to stop Ma from taking a horse and riding out on her own. In her weakened condition, she would have died before she reached the fort, and he didn’t want another death, or to leave me orphaned.”

Aunt Wilma shifted position beside Beth. “So you’ve been looking all these years? And it wasn’t until you saw Beth’s drawings in the magazine that you had any idea she was alive?”

“That’s right.” Isabelle smoothed the handkerchief on her lap. “Can you tell us why you chose to use Elizabeth Corwin?”

Beth scrunched her brows and thought for a moment, her hand almost automatically going to her locket. “I’m not sure. I thought it possible my given name might be Elizabeth. I can’t say where Corwin came from. It kept haunting me for some reason that I couldn’t understand. It didn’t
feel
like my last name, but it was familiar somehow.”

The woman gave her first tentative smile. “It was my name before I married. You were named after your grandmother, Mary Ann Elizabeth Corwin. That’s why the story and pictures in that magazine struck me so hard, and I convinced Steven to come talk to Mr. Tucker. I couldn’t believe it when I saw that name. All I could think was, God must have put it there to lead me to you.” She squinted at Beth. “I saw you touch something at your throat. Is that a locket?”

“Yes.” Beth fingered her one treasure from her previous life, trying to contain her amazement.

“Have you had it long?”

She hesitated, not sure why she didn’t want to reveal the contents. If this woman was her mother, wouldn’t she recognize it and be able to tell her what it contained? “Since before I was found on the trail by the Arapaho.”

Isabelle sucked in a breath. “Mr. Tucker didn’t tell us …”

Beth glanced at Jeffery, who gave a slight shake of his head. “So you don’t know my story?”

“Only that you were rescued and taken to Topeka where you were raised by a kind woman.”

“I see.” She drew the locket from between the folds of the fabric at her neck and held it out so it could be seen. “Do you recognize this?”

“Oh my.” Isabelle’s hand flew to her mouth.

Steven leaned forward, his face excited. “Is that Grandmother’s locket? The one you told me about?”

His mother nodded. “Yes. I put it around my little girl’s neck when I got sick. She was so afraid to go with another family. I told her that Grandmother and Grandfather Corwin loved her, and she could look at their pictures anytime and know she had family close by.” She turned toward Beth. “That should contain a portrait of a woman with eyes that match yours, her hair swept up on her head, and wearing a dress with a cameo pin at her throat. Opposite is a portrait of her husband wearing a hat and looking very grim and proper. He was terrified to smile, for fear of ruining the picture.”

Beth felt all the blood drain from her face at the perfect descriptions. Wonder nudged confusion out of the way as realization dawned. “You really
are
my mother? And my brother? You didn’t abandon me?”

A soft cry broke from her mother’s lips. “Oh, my darling girl, I would have gone to the ends of the earth if I’d only known where to look. I loved you more than life itself. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive me for not finding you.”

Beth pushed up from her seat and moved across the short space separating her from the woman she barely remembered. She stopped beside her chair and stared down, trying to take in the astonishing revelation. Her family was alive, and they loved her. Sinking onto her knees, she extended her hands. “Mother? Mama?” The tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she didn’t care. “It’s really you?”

Her mother drew Beth into a hungry embrace. “Yes, honey. And I promise that I will never leave you again.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jeffery felt as though he stood on hallowed ground. He breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, grateful beyond measure to have witnessed Beth’s reunion with her family and humbled to have played a part in it. He ventured a glance at Mrs. Roberts. Her cheeks had lost their color, and her eyes brimmed with sadness. Was it possible she wouldn’t be happy for Beth?

Another thought gave him pause. Mrs. Roberts was afraid of losing the young woman she thought of as her own. Beth had found her real family, and from all appearances, the cords that bound them in her childhood would be rewoven and an enduring strand formed. How would that affect his relationship with Beth? Would she be so caught up with her mother and brother that she would forget him? He got to his feet and cleared his throat. “I think I’ll excuse myself now and give you folks time to sort out the rest of the details.”

Beth turned to him, her hand still clutching her mother’s. “Will I see you later? You aren’t leaving again before we have time to talk?”

Her breathy question did much to soothe his worry. “I’m not going anywhere. But Father is planning on leaving for home tomorrow, and I want to spend a little more time with him before then.”

He made it partway down the hall when the light footsteps behind him gave him pause. Beth hurried toward him, her hand outstretched. “I’m so sorry, Jeffery. I really wanted to talk to you as well. I didn’t realize … didn’t expect …” Her voice caught and held.