Wishing on Buttercups (16 page)

“Trust Me. Rest in Me.”

How she wanted to rest. Trust. Let it all go and not care about the past anymore.

Was that what He wanted? Should she walk away and quit trying to discover the truth? But didn’t the Bible say that His truth would set us free? Why, then, did she feel so bound? So … broken?

The troubling images of nights gone by had been replaced with a warm cocoon of tranquility, wrapping its threads around her spirit and weaving an invisible blanket of peace. The sense of God’s presence was real—more so than anything she’d known before.

She’d try to continue to trust, but she couldn’t quit seeking the truth about her past. Would God help her find her family if she asked? Was that what He was trying to tell her? Maybe she didn’t have to pretend not to care, but where was the balance between trusting and doing it all herself? So much she didn’t understand. So much she wanted to accomplish and discover. And for some reason, her aunt had been little help.

A movement at the base of the hill caught her eye. Beth sat up straighter.
Jeffery.
A shiver coursed through her. Anticipation—or fear? Not that he would ever hurt her … she knew that now. Not intentionally, anyway. But there were other ways of inflicting hurt. She should know; she’d been on the receiving end often enough.

There was no place to run, no way to hide. He lifted a hand and waved. Beth sat back on the rug and moaned. She’d come up here to think about her future as well as her past. Ever since he’d carried her home in his arms, she’d had to fight to keep Jeffery out of her mind. She’d noted a spark of interest in his appraisal, but what interested him? The oddity of a woman who drew pictures she didn’t want to take credit for? Or something else?

People had told her often enough that she was a mouse, hiding in her room and nibbling at the edges of conversations and social affairs, always hovering in the shadows and only darting out when she thought no one noticed. More than likely Jeffery saw her as an object of pity, not a woman he might one day care about.

As he grew closer she steeled herself against the smile brightening his face. The last thing she wanted was his pity.

Jeffery focused on the solemn girl sitting on the rug at the base of the tree and slowed his pace. What a picture she made. Her emerald-green skirt was spread out around her. Her slender fingers were clasped in her lap and wide, lovely eyes met his. Yearning, mixed with confusion, flashed in their depths before she turned aside.

So much he didn’t know about this young woman, and it made him all the more determined to plumb the depths of her personality. Her intelligence had been the first thing that drew him, along with her spunk and determination. Sparkling glints at first, but apparent to someone with a willingness to see, and the traits had only grown and blossomed.

He drew to a halt nearby and swept his hat from his head. “I followed you up here. I hope you don’t mind.”

She averted her eyes, then a giggle escaped. “How delightfully honest you are, Mr. Tucker.”

“Jeffery.” The word came out automatically. “And I see no reason to prevaricate. I can’t exactly claim I was out for a walk and chose this hillside to hike.” He wrinkled his nose. “I enjoy the great outdoors as much as the next man, but I’ll admit climbing isn’t at the top of my list. A nice buggy ride or on horseback across a meadow is more pleasant, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it depends on what you want.”

“Ah, that does beg the question, doesn’t it?” Jeffery took a step closer. “What if I said your companionship?”

Her lips quirked to the side. “I’m not sure how I’d respond.” Her gaze traveled to his side. “You brought something along. Your manuscript perhaps?”

Jeffery plucked the paper-wrapped parcel from under his arm. “No. Although I would love to share that with you sometime, if you’d ever care to listen. This concerns you.”

Her movements stilled—all except her hands, which clutched her skirt until the knuckles whitened. “Oh?”

He unwrapped the tablet and held it up. “You left this on the table yesterday. I wanted to return it sooner but didn’t have a chance to do so privately.”

Beth drew in a quick breath. “Thank you. How kind to be so sensitive. Won’t you sit down?” She tucked the folds of her skirt against her leg, leaving room on the rug.

He lowered himself onto the cleared area and handed her the sketch pad. “I hoped you might be willing to discuss your art.”

She dropped her gaze to the book, her lashes hiding her thoughts. “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s fairly simple. I draw.”

Jeffery pointed at the tablet. “Quite the contrary. Your material is complex. It has the power to stir the imagination and touch the heart. They are not just drawings; they are works of art.”

Beth slowly closed her gaping mouth. The man sounded serious. From what she could tell he had nothing to gain by paying her a compliment, but hearing those words was astonishing. “Are you serious, Mr., er … Jeffery?”

His brown eyes sparkled. “Extremely. You seem surprised. Surely you know your own level of talent? You wouldn’t be selling any if you weren’t good.” He cocked his head. “But that’s not what shocked you, is it? No, I think not. More likely that I recognized your gift.”

Warmth stole up Beth’s neck, and she tucked her chin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t astute. That’s not the case at all.”

“Hmm. That only leaves one option, then. You don’t believe your work is of significant consequence and find it difficult to accept that others would see your worth. Or, at the least, they might not be willing to recognize it to the point of speaking it aloud. Why is that, I wonder?”

Beth raised her head and met his eyes. “A moment ago I said I found your honesty delightful. Now I’m not so sure.”

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to appear rude or overly inquisitive. I hope you’ll forgive me?” He braced his elbows behind him and leaned back.

“Of course, but I’d prefer not to discuss my work. I hope you don’t mind.” She plucked a yellow buttercup from the grass and lifted it to her nose. Something tugged at her heart, darting in and out of the shadows of her mind, barely out of reach. Buttercups. They’d drawn her for years—always her favorite flower—and she’d never understood why. She’d been delighted to find some still blossoming this late in the fall.

“Not at all.” Jeffery pointed at the flower. “Do you ever sketch them?” He grimaced. “There I go again.”

She laughed and closed her eyes. “No, but I should. I love them.”

“I suppose you used to make wishes on them when you were young, like all the other girls?”

Her head jerked up. “What did you say?”

“My sister and her friends were always picking buttercups and pulling the petals off. Saying silly things like, ‘I wish this and that,’ and ‘he loves me or doesn’t.’ I’m not sure what all, as I didn’t listen closely. I assumed it might be some secret code among womenfolk. Fond childhood memories and all that.” A charming smile caused a dimple to appear.

An image coalesced in her mind, but not of little girls playing together. She’d not had many happy memories of times like that. This one was of a woman, her face hazy, holding a deep yellow flower. Plucking a petal and smiling, she offered it to the little girl standing so still. Where had that memory come from? Was it real or something created from Jeffery’s words? She stared at the blossom clutched in her hand and tried to relax. The crushed stem fell from her fingers onto the rug.

“Is something wrong?” Jeffery extended his hand, then drew back. “Did I say something to upset you? I’m afraid I’ve been doing that quite often since I arrived.” He pushed to his knees. “I’ll bid you good day and head back to the house. You would no doubt appreciate privacy since you came up here alone.”

Beth caught the wistfulness on his face. “Please don’t go. I’m fine. Really …” She shook her head. “A memory I can’t quite place.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Completely. In fact, I’d appreciate the company at the moment.” She drew in a breath. “I’d like to hear about your book. Tell me about it?”

Surprise burned in his eyes. “I’d be honored, but I must ask if you’re certain. I’ve gotten the impression it wasn’t a subject you wanted to broach.”

She allowed a smile to emerge. “You’re right, and now it is my turn to apologize. I’ve not been very courteous where your work is concerned.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “We’ve both done enough apologizing today. I’d be happy to talk about it. Do you have a specific question?”

“You mentioned that you hoped it would be under contract someday. Have you submitted it to any publishers yet, or is it in the early stages? I’m afraid I don’t know much about writing, so forgive me if my questions aren’t sensible.”

“No more forgiveness needed, remember?” He tossed her a cheeky grin. “Your questions are quite welcome, and I’m happy to inform you that things have changed since my remarks about my prospects. An editor accepted my manuscript.”

“Wonderful!” Pleasure vibrated through Beth. Where she’d had nothing but dread, she now experienced joy that this man might actually achieve his dream. She’d seen no evidence of his prying into her affairs of late—rather, she’d glimpsed something she perceived as genuine interest, although some of his questions still came too close to areas better left alone. On the whole he’d been kind and friendly. “I’m quite happy for you. When will you be able to hold your book in your hands?”

A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t honestly know.”

“They haven’t given you any indication? Surely that’s not typical.”

“No, it’s not. But apparently my book won’t follow the normal course of publication.” He plucked a blade of grass and placed it between his teeth. “They’re concerned that as an unknown author and with subject matter that isn’t scandalous, readers might not purchase it. So they offered another solution they believe will increase sales.”

Beth laced her hands and rested them on her skirt. “That sounds hopeful.”

“It’s something that’s being done more often of late, but it caught me off guard. They want to publish my book as a running serial in a periodical they own, the
Women’s Eastern Magazine
, and accompany it with illustrations. If it is well received, they will continue until the end, then put the book in print.” His brows drew together. “As though illustrations will make a particle of difference in sales.” He tossed the grass blade aside. “But I must bow to their wishes or possibly never see my book in print. I suppose it’s the best I can hope for, at least for now.”

Beth blinked, trying to sort out her thoughts and form some type of sensible reply.
The Women’s Eastern Magazine?
Illustrations? Could it be …? She pressed her hand to her forehead. Surely not. It would be too strange and certainly unlikely.

Jeffery leaned toward her. “Beth? Are you well?”

“Nothing like that. I’m sorry …” She groaned. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

He grinned. “That sounds like a fine suggestion. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You’ll think it’s crazy.”

“Please let me be the judge of that.”

“I illustrate for
The Women’s Eastern Magazine
.”