Read Online Wishing on Buttercups by Miralee Ferrell - Free Book Online

enough, but she had to know. Too much had been left unsaid for too long. “So you believe what you drew was a memory of something that happened to you?” As soon as the words left her lips, she knew how foolish they sounded. What else would the images be?
    “Yes. At least, I think so. You’ve never told me much about my past, and I guess I never wanted to know. I always thought my parents hated me because of my scars.”
    Wilma gripped the armrests so tightly her fingers hurt. “You are not ugly and never have been. Those scars barely show. And I don’t believe for a moment your parents gave you away due to you being burned.”
    “What if I was careless and fell in the fire, and they didn’t care to be bothered? They may have already decided they didn’t want me, and my injuries settled it. Besides, I am ugly and the scars do show.” Tears welled. Beth blinked rapidly, then swiped at an errant droplet. “A couple of years after I came to live with you, I was playing a game with the neighborhood children. We were rolling around on the ground, and my stockings fell down. The children screamed and said my legs were scary, and they didn’t want to play with me anymore. I was so hurt and confused that I shrieked an Indian word. Not long after that, most of them quit coming to play.” Her lips trembled. “Even the girl who’d promised to be my friend abandoned me.…”
    Hot rage saturated Wilma’s body, and it was all she could do not to curse. She’d never done so in her life and didn’t care to start now, but if there ever were a reason to do so, this would be it. However, it wouldn’t do to allow her fury to bubble over and alarm her darling girl. Not that Beth hadn’t seen her angry more than once in the past, but this was different. Very different. She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m so sorry that happened. Why didn’t you tell me about it then? I would have sought out those children’s parents and insisted they be disciplined.”
    Beth shook her head. “That’s why. The last time two of the children came, they said their parents wouldn’t allow them to return. They’d told them what I’d said, and their parents asked around. Apparently, someone knew about my past, and the children were told they couldn’t play with a ‘dirty redskin.’ I was old enough to know if you spoke to the parents you would be as wounded as I. They wouldn’t have been shy about speaking their mind to you.”
    Wilma clenched her teeth. “Who were they?”
    “It doesn’t matter. After a time I forgave them. There’s no reason to resurrect it.” Her eyes glistened with a hint of moisture, and she brushed it away. “At least, there wasn’t a reason until today. What else do you know, Aunt Wilma? About my past, that is. What haven’t you told me?”
    Wilma sagged against the chair, and all her righteous anger oozed away. Her girl had been hurt much worse than she’d imagined. All these years, she’d carried not only the physical scars, but the damage to her heart and soul as well. Now she believed herself to be ugly and not worthy of love. No wonder she’d fallen prey to Brent Wentworth’s charms when he’d slithered into her life. “Very little that you haven’t already surmised. You were badly burned …” A shudder shook her frame, and she placed her hand to her cheek.
    Beth leaned forward. “But where did they find me? What did they say? I’ve always known we aren’t actually related by blood, but why did you call yourself my aunt when you took me in”—her voice broke—“instead of my mother?”
     
    Beth gripped a fistful of quilt and waited. She’d always wanted to ask, ever since she could remember, but hadn’t wanted to hurt her aunt. Her adopted aunt. No, that wasn’t right either. To her knowledge no papers had been signed. Or did it go deeper than that? Maybe her real fear came from the possibility of yet more rejection. Her parents had abandoned her, and Wilma