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Authors: Miralee Ferrell
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Roberts had taken care of her but didn’t love her enough to make it legal. What did that say for Beth Roberts, or whatever her real name might be? Beth didn’t even have that knowledge to hold on to.
She had no identity, no understanding of her past or who her people might be, and—from what she could discern—no way to find out. A couple of times Beth had introduced the subject to Aunt Wilma, but she hadn’t seemed willing to offer more than the fact that Beth had been found and brought to Fort Laramie as a child.
Aunt Wilma opened her mouth, but Beth held up her hand. “Don’t say anything more. I don’t think I want to know the answer right now. Do you think I could rest for a bit?”
The older woman’s mouth snapped shut. She pushed back from her chair and stepped close to the bed. “I love you, Beth Roberts. More than you can imagine. What I did was to protect you from further gossip, not because I didn’t want to claim you as my own.”
“Please. I think we’ve said enough, and I really do want to rest. My knee is aching.” Truth was, her heart hurt worse than her knee, but she couldn’t admit that to this woman who’d raised her. She owed Wilma Roberts too much.
Deep inside, Beth knew her aunt loved her. Knew it with every part of her being. But she didn’t want to hear the excuses as to why she hadn’t adopted her. It must have to do with the stigma of her past. Aunt Wilma wouldn’t have wanted people to know her daughter had been held captive—no, that wasn’t fair. There was still too much they didn’t know.
Regardless, it would have reflected poorly on Aunt Wilma, and her standing in society had always been important. Beth couldn’t blame her, not after the way those children had treated her. At least that family moved out of town not long after, but no doubt they’d spread tales before they’d departed.
It was possible Aunt Wilma had gotten the same treatment when a scarred child arrived in her home. People would have questioned where Beth had come from and who she belonged to. How much easier to claim she belonged to a deceased sibling and quell the rumors of a foundling child rescued by the Arapaho.
Wilma hesitated at the door, casting a longing glance at Beth, then shook her head and walked out of the room.
Chapter Nine
The following morning Beth gingerly removed her covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She’d forgotten to ask Aunt Wilma to bring her sketch pad to her room before she’d gone to sleep last night, but her throbbing knee would have kept her from concentrating on her work anyway.
She lifted the hem of her nightdress and rubbed her fingers over her knee. The swelling was down somewhat, but prodding the flesh around her kneecap caused her to wince. She might need to spend one more day close to home. She slipped back into bed. It wouldn’t be long before Aunt Wilma came to check on her. After the nearly sleepless night, catching a few minutes more rest sounded like heaven.
Sometime later a soft knock woke Beth from a doze. “Come in, I’m awake.” She scooted up against her pillow. A dull pain throbbed in her head, and she felt far from refreshed.
Aunt Wilma stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “You didn’t come down for breakfast. Is your knee any better?”
Beth smiled. Trust her aunt to go straight to the issue at hand. “A little. I suppose I should have gotten up.” She struggled out from under the covers again and brushed her hair from her face. “I should get dressed and go downstairs.”
“No need.” Her aunt opened the door. “You can bring it in, child.”
Lucy Galloway, the landlady’s older daughter, walked in, balancing a tray in her hands. “Where would you like it, ma’am?” Her blond head swiveled as she scanned the room. “I can set it down and pull a chair over to the bed if you’d like.”
Mortification pulsed through Beth. She was no sick invalid to be waited on. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I’ll
She had no identity, no understanding of her past or who her people might be, and—from what she could discern—no way to find out. A couple of times Beth had introduced the subject to Aunt Wilma, but she hadn’t seemed willing to offer more than the fact that Beth had been found and brought to Fort Laramie as a child.
Aunt Wilma opened her mouth, but Beth held up her hand. “Don’t say anything more. I don’t think I want to know the answer right now. Do you think I could rest for a bit?”
The older woman’s mouth snapped shut. She pushed back from her chair and stepped close to the bed. “I love you, Beth Roberts. More than you can imagine. What I did was to protect you from further gossip, not because I didn’t want to claim you as my own.”
“Please. I think we’ve said enough, and I really do want to rest. My knee is aching.” Truth was, her heart hurt worse than her knee, but she couldn’t admit that to this woman who’d raised her. She owed Wilma Roberts too much.
Deep inside, Beth knew her aunt loved her. Knew it with every part of her being. But she didn’t want to hear the excuses as to why she hadn’t adopted her. It must have to do with the stigma of her past. Aunt Wilma wouldn’t have wanted people to know her daughter had been held captive—no, that wasn’t fair. There was still too much they didn’t know.
Regardless, it would have reflected poorly on Aunt Wilma, and her standing in society had always been important. Beth couldn’t blame her, not after the way those children had treated her. At least that family moved out of town not long after, but no doubt they’d spread tales before they’d departed.
It was possible Aunt Wilma had gotten the same treatment when a scarred child arrived in her home. People would have questioned where Beth had come from and who she belonged to. How much easier to claim she belonged to a deceased sibling and quell the rumors of a foundling child rescued by the Arapaho.
Wilma hesitated at the door, casting a longing glance at Beth, then shook her head and walked out of the room.
Chapter Nine
The following morning Beth gingerly removed her covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She’d forgotten to ask Aunt Wilma to bring her sketch pad to her room before she’d gone to sleep last night, but her throbbing knee would have kept her from concentrating on her work anyway.
She lifted the hem of her nightdress and rubbed her fingers over her knee. The swelling was down somewhat, but prodding the flesh around her kneecap caused her to wince. She might need to spend one more day close to home. She slipped back into bed. It wouldn’t be long before Aunt Wilma came to check on her. After the nearly sleepless night, catching a few minutes more rest sounded like heaven.
Sometime later a soft knock woke Beth from a doze. “Come in, I’m awake.” She scooted up against her pillow. A dull pain throbbed in her head, and she felt far from refreshed.
Aunt Wilma stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “You didn’t come down for breakfast. Is your knee any better?”
Beth smiled. Trust her aunt to go straight to the issue at hand. “A little. I suppose I should have gotten up.” She struggled out from under the covers again and brushed her hair from her face. “I should get dressed and go downstairs.”
“No need.” Her aunt opened the door. “You can bring it in, child.”
Lucy Galloway, the landlady’s older daughter, walked in, balancing a tray in her hands. “Where would you like it, ma’am?” Her blond head swiveled as she scanned the room. “I can set it down and pull a chair over to the bed if you’d like.”
Mortification pulsed through Beth. She was no sick invalid to be waited on. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I’ll
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