A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  I hope to hear news of a healthy babe from you. What will you name — Sorry, I hear the family stirring in the hall. Please write soon…

  As Portia helped Bessie cut sandwiches into fancy shapes, tension boiled over. Ellen wasn’t there, and writing it in a letter wasn’t the same as a good old-fashioned talk. She and Bessie were alone in the kitchen. She had to spill her secret.

  “I almost kissed Beau,” she blurted out as quietly as possible. “Or rather, he almost kissed me…”

  The look on the older woman’s face — something between bewilderment and disbelief — had Portia’s cheeks sizzling and her hands trembling. She grimaced at what should have been a plate of egg salad sandwich triangles. Hopefully the ladies wouldn’t mind abstract shapes.

  Portia set the knife down before she turned the sandwiches into hash. She went on to tell her about their heart-wrenching conversation and how Lydia and Ezra had seen everything.

  “How do you feel about him?” Bessie asked, her even voice masking any tell-tale emotions.

  “I… owe him my gratitude. He did save my life, after all.”

  “And you saved his son. He won’t forget that. And neither will I.”

  Her kind words made Portia smile a little. They weren’t the best of friends, not like she and Ellen. But a pleasant warmth had formed between them that was finally melting the ice like a spring thaw.

  Bessie wiped her hands on her apron and leaned on the counter. “I’ve been around awhile and know these things don’t make sense sometimes. I think you care about him, and he cares about you, too.”

  “What about Miss Clemons?”

  “Oh, he’s noticed her, all right. Ain’t no doubt about that. She’s a pretty belle and rich to boot.”

  “That answers my question, then.”

  “Not until they say I do. Besides, I helped raise Beauregard Stanford right alongside my own boys, and I raised him better than that.”

  Better than what? To trust his common sense and marry someone who could provide everything he needs? Portia shook her head to clear it. At least Beau and Jonny were all right. That was all that mattered. He left early with Harry that morning to look at a new horse, grabbing a biscuit and barely looking at her on the way out. Things would be awkward now because of her weakness. If Miss Clemons became Mrs. Stanford, Portia wasn’t likely to have a job much longer. It broke her heart all over again, thinking about leaving the children she had come to love.

  Once the sandwiches — Bessie’s pretty ones and Portia’s not-so-pretty ones — were prepared, she headed to the study, happy to see the children already there and working hard on their assignments. Sallie Mae had written more verses from Psalms, and Portia planned to surprise her by binding them into her own little booklet. Hunkered over her paper, she bit her little tongue as she concentrated, just like Jonny. He even helped her with spelling now and then and showed her the correct way to write troublesome letters, like S and Z.

  A knock at the front door drew her attention to the foyer. Lydia glided from the parlor and opened it. Excited chatter and laughter echoed through the house. Portia headed to the study door, intending to close it and drown out the noise.

  She had her hand on the doorknob when one of the ladies asked Lydia, “Have you set a date?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But he’s asked you?”

  “Not yet, but he will.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lydia’s eyes cut to the study door, where Portia stood frozen. “Because I always get what I want, one way or another.”

  Portia shut the door and, closing her eyes, rested her forehead on it. Awkward wasn’t the right word for her situation. The whole thing had become one giant mess. She had half a mind to run upstairs, throw a few of her things in a bag, and go back home.

  Then Sallie Mae burst into laughter. Portia turned around to see Jonny with a piece of paper in front of his face. He had cut two eye holes and had drawn whiskers and two buck teeth to make it look like a silly squirrel. He wiggled in his seat and chittered at Sallie Mae. She quaked all over with delighted giggles.

  No, not yet. Portia couldn’t leave these children. Not until she had to. Hand covering her mouth, she smiled and laughed quietly then cleared her throat. Jonny slapped the squirrel mask down on his desk and both of them immediately snapped to attention. At least she had them trained well.

  Leaning her ear close to the door briefly, she couldn’t hear the ladies in the foyer anymore. They must have migrated to the parlor to enjoy their sandwiches and tea.

  “The weather is too nice to stay inside all day,” she said, opening the study door. “How about a round of hide-and-seek?”

  The children looked at each other, wide-eyed.

  “You’re gonna play too, Po?” Jonny asked.

  “Of course. Hide-and-seek’s my favorite game.”

  He and Sallie Mae bolted from their seats and flew out the open door in a flurry of excited squeals. Lessons could wait.

  ~~~~

  They got the horse for a steal — the poor old man in Cainsville looked like he hadn’t eaten well in months. He offered to trade the Morgan stallion, which had fared much better than his owner from grazing on the lush spring grasses, for half a dozen chickens and two hams. How he’d acquired such a fine horse in the first place… well, Beau didn’t ponder on that. He had enough to think about, not the least of which was Portia and how close he’d come to kissing her. He should have regretted it, but he had a hard time convincing himself of that.

  But the old man said something as they left that weighed harder on Beau’s conscience.

  “If you got coloreds, you best keep an eye on ’em.”

  “We know about Clarence. Is there more trouble?”

  “There’s been more talk around here. That’s all I can say.”

  And he’d hobbled back into his shack before they could question him further.

  Beau had expected there to be backlash of some kind. You can’t have a war that robs the country of thousands of good men and expect things to return to normal overnight. There was a reason he slept with a loaded rifle by his bed and now had two hired men patrolling the property every night.

  Darkness fell before he and Harry returned, with Beau ponying the new stallion by a loose rope alongside him. Would have been sooner if Harry hadn’t needed to stop and give himself a shot of morphine. The shakes and cold sweats were coming sooner between each dose.

  “You should just quit,” Beau said when they arrived at the stable. “Be a man and deal with the pain.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “This shoulder of mine hurts every damn day, and I got shot in the head yesterday. What’s easy about that?”

  Beau gritted his teeth and took his time removing the saddle and bridle from Scout. It wouldn’t take much for him to pummel some sense into Harry. Easy? Hell, no. Morphine would be easy. For a while, anyway. He took it himself after getting shot while saving Harry’s ass. Or rather, had it given to him. Field doctoring consisted of little more than sawing off appendages or injecting something to keep you quiet.

  When he learned of Claire’s death, he vowed never to touch the stuff again.

  But his shoulder reminded him of that vow when he lifted the saddle from Scout’s back and set it on the rack. He winced and rubbed at the old wound.

  Once he’d gotten Scout settled, Beau led the new horse into a vacant stall and removed his bridle. Luckily, he seemed to be just as even-toned and unflappable as Scout. Never spooked once the whole way from Cainsville. This one had promise — four white socks up to his knees, a splash of white on his belly and face, and a fine stance.

  Harry had already taken care of his horse, and now he sat unusually quiet on a stool and chewed the end of a piece of hay. “Randal said they caught the robber — poor fella didn’t even get a buck,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Why the hell are you meeting up with Randal? It wouldn’t surprise me if he robbed the bank himself.�
�

  “I know he ain’t the most likable character, but… well… he’s cheaper than what they got in Nashville.”

  Beau huffed a laugh while he bent over, horse leg propped on his knee, and picked debris from one of the stallion’s hooves. “So he’s your supplier, huh?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Harry draped his elbows over the stable door. “Randal said the banker pulled a gun on him first. Fella wasn’t too handy with a gun, if you ask me.” He ended that last bit with a laugh and a wink.

  Beau’s head wound throbbed when he put the horse’s leg down and stood up straight again. “You wish he’d had better aim?”

  Harry rolled his eyes. “God, Beau, take it easy. If you were dead, where would I be, huh? Maybe you should have left me there when my leg got blown half-off. I wouldn’t be a problem for you anymore.”

  Beau plopped his hat back on his head, feeling half guilty for Harry’s outlook on life, and half annoyed. He bent to clean out hoof number two. “I saved your life. You could try being grateful for once.”

  Harry slammed his fist into the stable door. The stallion whinnied and reared, and Beau had to fling himself backward into the corner to avoid the flailing hooves. After a few shushes and gentle pats, the horse calmed down, and Beau quietly exited the stable.

  Soon as the bar fell across the door, he whipped around, grabbed Harry by the shirt collar, and crashed him into the opposite wall. Wood rattled, horses whinnied, and Beau prepared to beat the stuffing out of Harry once and for all.

  Until he saw his face. Tormented, like he’d never recover from all the pain in his life, no matter what Beau said or did.

  “I didn’t ask you to save me,” Harry said through his clenched teeth. “I’d have been better off dead. Maybe I wanted it that way, did you ever think of that? Maybe that’s why I crawled out of that trench too soon.”

  Beau shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Harry lifted a hand and gestured to their surroundings. “Look around you, Beau. You had a reason to come back. You still do — hell, you’ve even got two women wanting you now, and what do I have? A little room under the stairs. Same place I’ve been since your daddy took me in as your pretend brother. But we all know who the real prince is, don’t we?”

  Jaw clenched tight enough to crack a walnut, Beau released Harry, letting him slide down the wall to land on his feet. He paced far enough away so that he couldn’t choke him. “This jealousy is ridiculous. You’ve been friend and brother to me my whole life. What else do you want? More money? That ain’t happenin’. A house of your own? A wife? I can’t give you any of that.”

  “Let me have Portia.”

  Those words froze Beau on the spot. “Let me have Portia.” Like she was livestock to barter with. But his statement had carried much more weight than that. Harry knew Beau felt something for her. Giving him his blessing to court her would be a sacrifice on Beau’s part. It would prove once and for all that Harry meant more to him than just another mouth to feed.

  But he couldn’t. Because Portia also meant something to him. And he cared about her too much to decide her fate there in a barn without her knowledge. Beau didn’t look at him as he headed for the door, but he did say one thing, though he figured it wasn’t the answer Harry wanted to hear.

  “She’s not mine to give.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Light spilled from the parlor window, throwing long yellow rectangles across the ground as Beau walked back toward the house. He could see Portia’s profile inside, concentrating on a book or maybe knitting. If she ever found out Harry had just tried to buy her from him like a prized mare…

  Isaac stood from one of the porch rockers, wringing his hat in his hands. “Beau, could I have a word?”

  He was in no mood for interruptions, but the man sounded distraught. “What is it?”

  “If you don’t mind, could ya come out to the house?” This meant Isaac and Bessie’s house, of course, but they didn’t ask him to come there unless it was something serious. Was Bessie sick? If she was, Isaac would have already said so.

  Worry threaded down Beau’s spine, but he nodded. “Let’s go.”

  He followed Isaac for a quarter mile on the smooth-rutted wagon road to a row of clapboard houses. Once slave quarters, most of them now served as temporary living for hired farm hands. And there was Isaac and Bessie’s house — larger and better furnished than the others. He and Harry had spent a lot of time there as boys, playing with their sons Curtis and Virgil, learning alongside them. He owed them beyond what he could ever repay for helping Ezra raise him, and he owed them a safe home. All this talk of violence, Clarence’s lynching, that dummy in the tree — it rattled him so much his teeth chattered until he gritted them tightly together.

  Soon as he stepped in the door, he knew why Isaac had asked him to come. Lucy sat at the kitchen table, while Bessie daubed a poultice of some kind on her cheekbone. Her eye was swollen almost shut. Sallie Mae was curled up on her lap, sound asleep.

  Bessie glanced over her shoulder at him. “Sorry to bother you, but…”

  “Did Tipp do this?” Beau asked, though he already knew the answer. The Tipp he knew from before the war wouldn’t even swat a fly unless he had to.

  Lucy lifted her chin, looking defiant. “Tipp ain’t never laid a hand on me.”

  “Oliver.” He guessed nothing much had changed.

  As though she’d read his mind, Lucy added, “We ain’t nothin’ but glorified slaves. They got us under contract, all for some made up offense.”

  “What offense?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked with a sarcastic smile. “You shouldn’t have asked him out here, Uncle Isaac.”

  “You can trust Beau,” Isaac said firmly. “He ain’t never acted like a Clemons.”

  “I took a switch to him enough to make sure he never did,” Bessie added, smiling lovingly at Beau. She turned back to Lucy. “Honey, you can trust him. He’s like one of my own boys, and he went off to fight for the right side.”

  Lucy still regarded him with some skepticism. “We appreciate ya goin’ to fight and all, but ain’t nothin’ changed. We’re still in bondage, and when the contract’s done, there’ll be somethin’ else come up. I stole Miss Lydia’s dress or Tipp looked at Ms. Polly wrong. If we run and get caught, we’re thrown in jail or hung. No trial, no nothin’. No sir, ain’t nothin’ changed. Unless we can get out of that contract, we’re still slaves and always will be.”

  Beau pulled out a chair. He removed his hat and brushed invisible dust from the rim. “Did you ever try to run when you were in Philadelphia?”

  Lucy hugged Sallie Mae closer and rocked from side to side. “He’s got eyes everywhere. Owns half the city and a bunch of politicians. We tried once, right after we heard the war was over. Me, Tipp, and Sallie Mae packed our bags, told the boss we was leavin’, and hitched a ride. Didn’t get a mile down the road until a band of white men surrounded us and pointed guns at our heads. They told us we best be gettin’ back home before somethin’ bad happened. If we hadn’t had Sallie Mae, we might have fought ’em, but… when we went back, the boss said he’d protect us, said he’d give us a nice plot of land once we got back here. All we had to do was sign a paper sayin’ we’d work for five years and give him a portion of our crops.” Sallie Mae stirred, and Lucy kissed the top of her head. Her eyes met Beau’s. “He promised me he wouldn’t come at my girl, and he ain’t yet.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Beau rested his elbows on his knees, and pointed to her eye. “Tipp know about that?”

  “No. And he ain’t gonna know about it. He swore he would kill the boss if he hit me again.” Lucy took in a shaky breath, and her voice broke. “I know we shouldn’t have signed no papers, and we should’ve found a way to escape. But I was scared for my baby girl, and I wanted Tipp and me to have some land of our own. We ain’t never had nothin’, and my Tipp’s a good man. He deserves it.”

  “I know he d
oes,” Beau said. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s out workin’ on the big house. I can’t let him see me like this. You know what would happen if he did somethin’ to the boss.”

  Bessie laid a hand on Beau’s shoulder and whispered, “She’s got another one on the way.”

  “Aunt Bessie!” Lucy’s harsh whisper roused Sallie Mae slightly before she settled back into sleep.

  Bessie turned to her niece and gave her that look — the one that silenced Beau into submission as a child. It still worked, apparently, because Lucy surrendered and looked away.

  Isaac stood watch at the door, while Bessie pulled up a chair beside Beau. “Tipp don’t know it, but the baby might not be his,” she said.

  Had Beau’s hat been Oliver Clemons’ neck, he would be choking the life out of him. “What can I do?”

  Eyes scanning outside, Isaac said, “Maybe you can talk him into releasing the contract. Trade him back that high bred horse or somethin’. You’re the only one around here that’s got a chance of making him listen. We’ve got to get ’em away from that devil.”

  No question, Beau knew he had to act. These folks were his family, whether he could admit it freely or not. They didn’t deserve such treatment. Nobody did.

  “I’ll go right now,” he said.

  ~~~~

  Lydia answered the door after Beau’s third round of knocking. “Beau?” Her blue eyes grew wide, and she blinked as though he might not be real. Fitting, since Beau thought this whole situation felt like one horrible dream after another. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “I need to speak to your father.”

  “Oh… really?”

  Lydia’s presence didn’t make him feel any better. She had hosted a small party there at her family’s home and had decided not to stay at Beau’s house tonight, of all nights. At least she was easy on the eyes in a white silk dressing gown splashed with a pattern of roses. Her blond hair hung in loose waves down her back and over her full breasts.