The baby wasn’t with her mother, nor was Genieva. Frowning, Brevan wandered to the front of the house. There, he found himself witness to something that touched the deepest part of his soul. At first he thought he was dreaming the scene before him—for it was so naturally beautiful to him that it did indeed seem surreal. But as he approached—Genieva asleep in the rocking chair, the tiny dark-haired baby resting comfortably on her chest and in her embrace—he knew he was awake and the only witness to a rare, sweet moment in time.
Quietly he whispered, “Genieva, go to bed.” When she did not stir, he reached out, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers. Tugging gently on the soft lock, he repeated, “Genieva…go to bed.”
Opening her eyes slightly for just a moment, Genieva envisioned Brevan’s handsome face before her own. Smiling happily, she closed her eyes once more so the dream might continue.
“Come along, Genieva,” his voice echoed through her mind. “It’s late. Ya need yar rest as well, ya do.”
“Yes,” she whispered out loud in her dream.
“Give the baby up to me,” Brevan’s voice whispered again, and Genieva sensed the bundle of warmth being taken from her arms. It seemed only moments later she imagined herself being gathered from the chair—held securely against Brevan’s body. She let her hands caress the warm, smooth skin of his shoulders as he carried her—her face pressed gently against his shoulder.
“Mmmmm,” she whispered with a contented sigh. “You smell so good.”
The scent of his skin was indeed pleasant, no matter how faint. She was vaguely aware of her feet dropping to the floor for a moment—heard the soft rustling of bed covers being arranged. She was lifted again. The softness of pillows and quilts sent the dream of Brevan fleeting as she began to slip into a deeper slumber.
“Don’t end,” she whispered, reaching out and catching hold of her dream-induced-Brevan’s hand, thus stopping the mirage from leaving her. “Hold me in your arms, Brevan,” she whispered. “Hold me in your arms like he never will.” She felt the warmth and power of the dream’s arms envelop her. Again the scent of Brevan filled Genieva’s lungs as she snuggled against the body of the dream. “It makes me so happy when you visit my dreams, Brevan. You always love me in my dreams.”
As Brevan let his head fall to his pillow, he marveled at the things Genieva was speaking to him in her dreams. As he held her securely in his arms, her soft cheek pressed tenderly against his shoulder, he could not fathom he’d actually heard her correctly.
She’s tired, he thought. Completely delirious. It would be unwise to take heed of anything she said in such a state.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the sun through the window and the enticing aroma of frying bacon that awakened Genieva the next morning. Rolling over to look out the window, she stretched her arms above her head and sighed with contentment. The wonderful dreams she’d dreamt during the night had dispelled her fears and anxieties. In the brilliant morning light she was renewed—felt thoroughly rested.
Yet as her eye caught sight of the white flannel underwear strewn across the washbasin on the table next to her bed, Genieva sat upright. Looking around, she gasped, realizing she was in Brevan’s room—in Brevan’s bed! Quickly, she threw back the covers, snatching a small afghan from the foot of the bed and wrapping it securely around herself before walking down the hall and into the kitchen. There at the table sat Brian and Brevan—both drinking tall glasses of milk as they waited for Brenna to pile their plates high with breakfast foods.
“Good mornin’ to ya, Genieva,” Brian greeted.
Genieva could only nod in response as she looked to Brevan with uncertainty.
He nodded to her and mumbled, “Good mornin’, lass,” as he did every other morning. There was nothing different in his manner to indicate he was disturbed in any way at her having been in his bed. “Did ya sleep well then?” he asked as Brenna set a plate heaping with good things before him.
“Ya look far fresher than ya did when I last saw ya in the midnight, ya do,” Brenna confirmed.
“I-I...yes. I feel much better,” Genieva stammered.
“Brian and I will take care of the chorin’ on both properties today, Genieva,” Brevan said—pointedly. “I’ve not forgotten I promised ya this day free to be with Lita and the baby. Have you?” He arched a knowing and reminding eyebrow, and Genieva swallowed the lump in her throat.
“No. I remember,” she agreed.
“Very well. I’m certain Brenna plans on cacklin’ like an old mother hen around here all day as well…so enjoy yar day, lass. I’ll be seein’ ya this evenin’, I will,” he said, a sly smile spreading across his face.
Genieva was completely rattled. Frantic, she looked about for something to divert her nervous thoughts and was thankful when Brenna spoke next.
“Lita and the baby are restin’ just now. Here. Sit down and have a bite with these two hogs, Genieva.”
Genieva tentatively sat down. As Brevan went about eating his breakfast as if it were any other day, she could only assume that everything was normal.
Throughout the entire meal, Brian bragged endlessly about the baby. Brenna and Genieva exchanged understanding glances, and Brevan chuckled—nodding in agreement each time his brother boasted of the baby’s unique beauty and Lita’s profound endurance.
When the two men had finished their meal, Brian stood, patting his stomach in a gesture of satisfaction.
“Ya’re still a fine cook, ya are, Brenna,” he complimented. Brevan nodded in agreement and winked at Genieva. “I’m off to check on me family before we go out to chores, brother Brevan.”
“Ya do that, Brian. I’ll wait for ya in the orchard,” Brevan chuckled. Pushing his plate aside, he leaned forward, placing his mouth just next to Genieva’s ear. “It’s sorry I am…that I quarreled with ya last night, lass.”
“I apologize as well,” Genieva whispered—deliciously unsettled by his nearness—by the warmth his breath on her neck. It was disconcerting to have Brenna there when Brevan was making peace between them. “You do realize,” she continued, “that I was just so tired that I…”
“I do,” he acknowledged. She flinched, delighted as he placed a quick kiss on her neck. “Make sure she gets enough rest today, Brenna,” Brevan instructed as he rose from his chair. “I don’t want her completely droppin’ dead…especially not tonight.”
Genieva slightly shook her head in disbelief as he winked at her before leaving.
As she gazed after him, Brenna said, “He’s sure a pleased and pretty pup this mornin’. I guess sleepin’ in the rocker didn’t harm him after all.”
“What?” Genieva asked. “In the rocker?”
“He was asleep in the rocker like the baby he held this mornin’ when I got up, Genieva. I guess he rocked the baby while Lita slept after ya turned in again.”
Genieva sighed, greatly consoled. For a few moments, she’d feared perhaps her heavenly dream of Brevan during the night had held more reality than she dared to imagine. It had, after all, felt so real—so warm and fragrant. But if Brenna found Brevan asleep in the rocker—he must’ve spent the night in it. Genieva was saddened that she had missed the opportunity to see Brevan caring for the baby.
“We have named her Carmelle, Genieva,” Lita explained when Genieva had dressed and gone in to check on the young mother and new baby. “Brian wanted that her name should be Carmelita, after me. But I think that is, how you say…confusing? So, we have named her Carmelle.”
“It’s a beautiful name, Lita. I couldn’t think of a more fitting one,” Genieva said, smiling.
“Carmelle Esperanza McLean. That is mí hijíta’s name,” Lita sighed, gazing lovingly into the baby’s face. “Esperanza was my mother’s name, Genieva.”
Lita’s smile faded as she looked up to Genieva—her lovely eyes filling with moisture. “I am sorry to you, Genieva,” she said unexpectedly. “I am sorry my family would cause you such worry…that a man
I used to call hermano would try to harm you…try to kill Brevan.”
Genieva frowned, shaking her head as she moved a lock of hair from Lita’s cheek. “Don’t worry about that now, Lita. We’ll be fine.”
“I am sorry, Genieva. You must know that I am. I must have your forgiveness,” Lita pleaded, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Genieva leaned forward—embracing her friend. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lita. You’ve done nothing to harm anyone.”
“Still, I am ashamed of what they do,” Lita sighed. “Brian promised to bring us home just before supper, Genieva. Could you fix enough for you and Brevan to share with us tonight?”
“What a silly question, Lita,” Genieva scolded, winking at her friend. “Of course. I will send you home with a warm and hearty meal.”
Throughout the remaining morning hours, Genieva and Brenna talked with Lita, or with each other, and cared for the new baby. It had been so long since Genieva had giggled with her sisters-in-law—she could hardly remember the last time. While Lita rested before lunch, Brenna and Genieva sat at the table chatting over a glass of cordial.
“Tell me something of Brevan’s youth, Brenna,” Genieva asked in a moment of contented curiosity. “Was he always so…such a…”
“He always worked hard, he did,” Brenna sighed. She rolled her eyes to emphasize the heavy sigh of annoyance she exhaled. “When we were but wee things he bossed Brian and me around durin’ chores, and, oh, he paid for it at times! For we played the practical jokes of the little people on him, we did.” Brenna giggled at the memory. “But, oh, he was fun! A fun and lovin’ brother, as well. He played with us often and always protected us from harm.”
Genieva smiled. She tried to imagine Brevan as a child—carefree, laughing, and exuberant.
“Give me a story of him, Brenna. Something silly and fun. Not so serious as life is now,” she pleaded.
Brenna smiled. Her eyes narrowed and she gazed at the ceiling for a moment. “Let me think,” she began, “a silly story of brother Brevan.” After a few moments she smiled and leaned forward, dropping her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “He’d hang me from the nearest tree if he knew I was tellin’ ya this, he would,” she began.
“Then tell it quick,” Genieva giggled.
“We had a cousin back in Ireland. Sean McLean was his name. Oh, I had the biggest infatuation with him for years and years. He was the tallest young man I’ve ever in me life seen—taller even than Brevan. It was six feet and six inches that he stood,” Brenna spun the yarn. Genieva raised her eyebrows, impressed by the height of the man. “Oh, and it was handsome he was. Like a prince ya’d see in yar dreams. Well, Sean was seven or maybe eight years older than Brevan, and Brevan thought the world lived and died at Sean McLean’s feet. He was a good man, our cousin Sean, and Brevan was right to admire him. Whenever Sean was up to visit, Brevan followed after him like a motherless pup, he did. He watched everythin’ Sean did and memorized the way he did it. He hung on every word spoken by our cousin and believed Sean knew all things there was to know.” Dropping her voice once more, Brenna grinned with mischief and continued, “When Brevan was…oh, about ten, I guess, Sean came to help our father on the farm one summer. I was in heaven, ya see…Sean there to pine away after every moment. I was so young. Anyway, I guess the story goes that one mornin’ late in the summer, Brevan was pesterin’ Sean near to dyin’ with questions. ‘How did ya learn to sit a horse so well?’ he asked Sean. ‘How did ya get yar muscles so large? How did ya grow so tall, cousin Sean?’ he asked. Our cousin Sean had a lot of good qualities…and one of them was a wit and sense of humor…the kind that is rare among most people. ‘Tall, is it?’ he asked Brevan. ‘Yes, I’ve grown tall, cousin Brevan, and because ya’re me favorite of the cousins, I’ll tell ya me secret of it.’” Brenna giggled for a moment—wiped the excess moisture of mirth from her eyes. “Can ya just see little Brevan McLean…eyes wide with wonder and excited beyond breathin’ at the prospect of learnin’ such a secret?” she giggled.
Genieva bit her lip as a delighted smile spread across her face. In her mind’s eye she could well imagine it—and it was wondrous!
“So…cousin Sean says, ‘The secret to growin’ tall, cousin Brevan…to growin’ tall and straight like the man ya see before ya is,’ Sean whispered into Brevan’s ear, ‘first thing in the mornin’…and I mean first thing so the dew is still in the grasses…ya walk out to the fields, ya do, and ya find the freshest, warmest pile of cow dung that ya can. ’Tis best if the steam’s still a risin’ from it into the mornin’ air.’” Genieva’s eyes widened in disbelief, and she giggled, unbelieving, as Brenna paused to stifle her own giggles. “Then cousin Sean says, ‘When ya find the ripe pile…the freshest, warmest, and deepest one of the mornin’…ya jump quick, landin’ both yar feet square in its center, Brevan McLean! Ya stand there, cousin. Ya stand there ’til yar legs are achin’ so that ya think they might fail ya…and ya chant, grow…grow…grow.’”
Genieva burst into laughter. “Oh, no…no, Brenna,” she gasped, unable to control her giggling.
Brenna laughed so hard her breath had gone from her and she was having trouble inhaling another. Pounding the table several times with her palm, she mouthed, “Wait, wait.” At last having drawn breath and settled her laughter, she continued. “And so, Genieva, the very next afternoon, Dad comes to lunch and asks Mother if she’s seen Brevan all the mornin’. Mother worried, of course, because she hadn’t seen one snitch of the lad since first light. We all were terribly worried, and so we set out, cousin Sean, Mother, Dad, Brian, and me, to find brother Brevan. And do ya know where we found him, Genieva?” Brenna asked, breaking into riotous laughter once more. “We found him in the west field…standin’ in a soggy cow pile that entirely drowned his feet and ankles, sayin’, ‘Grow…grow…grow.’”
Genieva squealed as her laughter became uncontrollable. Brenna’s forehead hit the tabletop soundly as she let it fall there, no longer able to keep from howling either. Genieva had never in her life laughed so hard or so thoroughly, and when, after several minutes, she and Brenna were able to draw breath again without bursting into cackles, she sighed—contented. More relaxed and happy than she had been for some time—she smiled.
“It’s a lie, Brenna. It has to be! Surely Brevan was never so naïve. Even as a child,” Genieva giggled. Her ribcage was aching from the exercise of their laughter.
“It’s the livin’ truth, Genieva. As I sit here before ya, it’s the truth,” Brenna assured her, dabbing at her joyful tears with her apron.
“Thank you,” Genieva whispered, taking Brenna’s hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you for giving me this.”
Brenna smiled and nodded. Both women startled—looked to the front door as there came a knock. Genieva released one last amused giggle as she stood and went to the door.
She felt her face drain of color—gasped as she saw standing before her Juan Miguel Archuleta.
She started to close the door, barring him from entering, but the man pushed his way into the house saying, “Por favor. I’ve only come to see mí hijíta…and mí nieta.”
Genieva looked to Brenna. Yet Brenna only shook her head, uncertain herself as to what action to take.
“Brevan won’t want you here. If he finds you here…” Genieva began. “You have harassed my husband horribly and tried to…at least, your son has tried to kill him! I’ll not let you into his home!” she said—for her uncertainty had only been for a moment. She realized this man, Lita’s father or not, was Brevan’s enemy—her enemy. “If you try to come in any farther…”
“I only want to see Lita. Is she well? Is the bebé well? She is my daughter,” the man pleaded.
“And Brevan McLean is my husband, Mr. Archuleta.”
Juan Miguel scowled. He ceremoniously spit on the floor at Genieva’s feet. Provoked by his disrespect, Genieva slapped him soundly across the face.
“Get out of my h
ouse!” she shouted. “Don’t you ever dare to venture this close again, or you’ll be fertilizing my flower bed!” Before he could react, she reached out, shoving him hard in the chest. As he stumbled backward, she closed the door and bolted it. “The rifle, Brenna!” she shouted. “Quickly!”
Brenna dashed to the rack in the hallway and retrieved the large gun hanging there. Genieva watched as Juan Miguel shouted in Spanish, storming down the porch. He mounted his horse, spurring it into a mad gallop through the orchard and out of sight.
Breathing a heavy sigh, Genieva tightly wrung the folds of her apron as her tension and fear began to subside.
“My heart’s pounding so hard it pains me,” she said to Brenna. Looking to her friend, she asked, “Was I wrong to refuse him? After all, she is his daughter.”
Brenna shook her head emphatically and confirmed, “No. He means Brevan harm. And you. It would’ve been dangerous to all of us to let him in.”
Genieva nodded. She knew she had done the right thing. For all she knew, the man may have meant Lita and the baby harm as well.
It was only moments later when the sound of heavy boots tromping across the front porch caused both women to leap to their feet once again—hearts thumping frantically. Someone pushed against the door—began beating furiously on it.
When Genieva heard Brevan’s angry voice from the other side shout, “Open this bloomin’ door, Genieva,” she sighed and released the bolt. Brian and Brevan poured into the room together, and Brenna gasped as she saw the blood at Brian’s temple.
“Brevan!” Genieva exclaimed. He held his left wrist tightly with his right hand. As Brian worked the pump at the sink, Brevan held his hands and wrists beneath the cool water. “What…what…?” Genieva stammered, unable to complete the sentence—for once again she was witness to Brevan’s blood being spilt, and it frightened her.
The Heavenly Surrender Page 23
