A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  Harry joined them, rubbing his horse-bitten backside. “Here comes the bride…”

  “Shut up.” Beau popped him on the shoulder with his fist.

  “Ow! Damn, you tryin’ to cripple me all over again?”

  “Watch your language,” Ezra reprimanded. “Let’s go greet ’em.”

  Climbing the hill toward the house, Beau’s feet could have been made of lead, they felt so heavy. He spotted Jonny, Bessie, and Portia coming out the front door. His eyes met Po’s. She smiled and nodded at him in assurance, much like she’d do with a student, he imagined. Smiling back, he did feel a mite calmer and ready to face the new arrivals.

  He recognized their black driver, Tipp, husband to Bessie’s niece. Beau recalled rainy days spent at Bessie and Isaac’s house trying to beat Tipp at checkers. Never could. His old friend lifted a hand in greeting and smiled as though he was thinking the exact same thing.

  When the coach came to a stop in front of the house, Tipp climbed down and opened the door. A blonde angel swathed in royal blue satin and white lace set her dainty feet on the ground. Beau’s eyes traveled past the fawn-leather gloved hand, up the ivory-skinned arm and matching full bosom. His breath stalled. He could have been looking at Claire come back to life, the resemblance was so close. But it wasn’t Claire. It was her little cousin, Lydia Clemons, all grown up, and Beau was the first to receive her stunning smile.

  “Whoa,” Harry whispered in his ear. “She’ll have you before the night’s over.”

  Next to exit the coach was a well-dressed man with tufted gray hair and a perfectly trimmed gray beard. Two older women clad in drab traveling dresses followed.

  “Oliver!” Ezra hollered, offering his hand. “I hope y’all had a good trip down.”

  “We did, thank you,” Oliver answered and granted him a handshake. He repeated the gesture with Beau. “So good to see you again, though it pained my heart to hear of Claire’s passing. She was a fine woman.”

  “She thought a lot of you, as well,” Beau said.

  Having his wife’s family there again woke a strange mixture of feelings. First was the resemblance that tugged at his heart and made him miss Claire all the more. But seeing the Clemons family also brought flashes of days past — happy times with barbeques, dances, and Claire’s sweet laughter.

  Oliver smiled morosely and put a hand on his daughter’s back. “I’m sure you remember Lydia.”

  “Of course,” Beau said, doing his best not to stammer and stare. She removed one glove and offered her hand. He took her soft, warm fingers in his, and kissed her smooth knuckles. “But I remember a little girl with that name, not a lovely young woman.”

  “You don’t say.” Lydia’s gloved hand settled on her chest in feigned shock, but her blue eyes were bright and playful. “And I remember a man who once called me Lily-doodle and taught me how to ride.”

  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how.”

  “I’ll have you know, good sir, that I am an accomplished equestrian thanks to you. Aren’t I, Daddy?”

  “Yes, yes,” Oliver said, choosing a cigar from a box Tipp had just opened for him. “Let’s not prattle on about it. We’ve had a long trip.”

  Tipp struck a match and held the flame to the end of the tightly rolled Cuban figurado. Oliver puffed on it until he expelled a nice cloud of tobacco smoke and waved Tipp off. He clomped up the stairs past Portia and Bessie and entered the house. Apparently he’d had enough of the reunion.

  Lydia waved a hand and rolled her eyes. “Never mind Daddy. He’s even more cantankerous than before we moved to Philly. Isn’t that right, Mama?”

  Her mother, Polly, nodded slowly in agreement. She reminded Beau of a wilted flower with her drooped shoulders and short, stocky build. Her hair was tucked neatly under a brown silk bonnet, but her features were so forlorn, it looked like her face could slide off at any minute.

  “Polly, I trust you are well,” Beau said, hoping a warm welcome might add some light to her dark expression.

  No such luck.

  He had a hard time hearing her meek voice, but he thought she said, “The ride has aggravated my rheumatism, I’m afraid. I do hope you have a room ready for me to take a rest.”

  “Um…” Beau glanced at Portia, who nodded. “Yes, yes we do.”

  Polly’s older sister, Amelie, was the last to step out of the coach. Petite and silver-haired, the spinster looked around like she’d never seen the place before, even though she had once called Lebanon home. Beau had always thought fondly of Amelie Hamilton. Claire had spent a great deal of time with her as a girl, and it was Amelie who had introduced him to Claire.

  “Good to see you again, Amelie,” Beau said.

  She reached up and pinched his cheek. “You’re too skinny. Did you and Claire build a new house?”

  Beau took her cool, limp hand and patted it. “No… don’t you remember coming here to visit before you went to Philadelphia?”

  “Where is she? I want to see her and give her a few things.” She leaned in close like she wanted to whisper, but her volume never changed. “She was always my favorite niece.”

  Eyebrows raised, he looked to Lydia, who mouthed, “She’s going senile.” Then she added aloud, “She still owns the Hamilton Estate. A few of her loyal people stayed on to maintain it in her absence. We hope they have it ready for her to reoccupy it soon.” She ended that last remark with an annoyed glance at her frail aunt.

  “Ah, I see,” Beau said. “Claire missed her and all of you when you moved to Philly.”

  “And we missed you all, too. I cried for weeks after I heard about her passing.” Lydia had acquired a clipped Northern accent with only a slight trace of a Southern drawl. She dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “I have such sweet memories of my cousin. But you can imagine my relief to know that you came home safely.”

  She settled her hands on his chest, while her bosom brushed against his shirt. Before his excitement became embarrassingly obvious, he took a step away from Claire’s lookalike and motioned for Jonathan to come down from the porch.

  “You remember Jonathan? Come here, son.”

  Jonny came close and offered a shaky hand to Lydia. She took it in hers and patted it lovingly, while he stared down at his wriggling boots.

  “My goodness, he’s grown! He looks so much like his mother, God rest her soul.”

  Harry cleared his throat loudly and nudged Beau.

  “And you remember Harry, I’m sure,” Beau grumbled.

  Head tilted to one side, she batted her eyes at his friend. “How could I forget that old charmer?”

  “Miss Clemons, what a pleasure to see you again.” Harry took a deep bow, kissed her hand, and employed an Adonis-like smile.

  She snatched her hand from him and giggled. “Your charms no longer affect me, Mr. Franklin. Beau, did you know that Harry used to bribe me with little gifts, like oranges and hair ribbons? He’d go on and on about how he would wait for me to be grown up so he could marry me, but the next time I’d see him, he’d have another young lady on his arm.”

  Harry grinned and winked, eliciting more giggles from Lydia.

  “Nothing surprises me about Harry,” Beau said. “Oh, you remember Bessie. She and Isaac stayed on throughout the war, though their boys have since moved up north. We lost a few more of our hired hands, but I’ve got some temporaries here for the season. And we’ve just hired on Portia McAllister as Jonny’s tutor.” He gestured toward her and added, “She’s been a big help around here this week.”

  Lydia lifted her head toward the porch. With one eyebrow arched, she scanned Portia from head to foot. Beau’s muscles tensed, his senses on alert like the final seconds before the first shot of a battle. Before now, he hadn’t given any thought about how a potential bride might react to a young widow living in his house. To his relief, Lydia waved the white flag with a smile that could rival the sun.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McAllister,” she said, sashaying toward her, gown rustling
across the ground. “I am so relieved to have another young lady to converse with. My mother and aunt are pleasant enough, but they get tired of me going on and on about the latest fashions and socials. I’m sure we will get along splendidly.”

  “I’m sure,” Portia said.

  She smiled back, all right, but her eyes told another story — one of uncertainty and maybe even… jealousy?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Had anyone told Portia that this woman’s feet never touched the earth, she would have believed it. Lydia Clemons reminded her of a peacock strutting around the barnyard in all its glory. No one could deny her beauty, and it didn’t take much to see that she’d been denied nothing in life.

  Having turned her attention back to Beau and the other men, Lydia floated away, leaving Portia to notice the rest of the party. With the Clemons family came five black servants — three men that drove the coach and carriages, along with a woman and child. The woman ran onto the porch and hugged Bessie tightly. Young and pretty, she had skin a shade lighter than Bessie’s. Her gray cotton dress and matching bonnet were plain but well-made. A little girl hid behind her skirts.

  “Mrs. McAllister, this is Lucy Jenkins,” Bessie said. “She’s my niece. My sister was owned by the Clemonses until she passed on several years ago, and Lucy’s stayed on with them. Been up in Philadelphia this whole time, haven’t you?”

  Lucy nodded and smiled. “Ain’t nobody up there can make fried chicken like yours, Aunt Bessie. My mouth’s waterin’ just thinkin’ about it.”

  “You’re in for a nice surprise, then.”

  Lucy reached behind her, tugging at the little girl’s sleeve. “Sallie Mae, come here, child. Say hello to your great-aunt.”

  The girl stepped partway from behind Lucy and waved her fingers at Bessie, who bent down to get a better look at her.

  “Bless my soul, is this Sallie Mae?” Bessie patted the little girl’s head, which was covered with braids tipped with beads of different colors. “You was just a baby last time I saw you, girl. Time sure does fly. Lucy, this is Portia McAllister. She’s tutorin’ Jonny and helpin’ out around here.”

  Lucy curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Likewise,” Portia said.

  Bessie pointed toward the carriages. “Tipp there is Lucy’s husband, and the other two are Saul and Joseph. They work for Miss Amelie.”

  The three women, along with Sallie, who retreated behind Lucy’s skirts again, turned their attention to the grand reunion of Stanfords and Clemonses. Portia tried not to look at Beau, but it wouldn’t matter if she did. His eyes had never left the beautiful peacock dressed in royal blue.

  He woke from her spell long enough to turn to the rest of the party. “Saul, how about you and Tipp start unloading the luggage? Bessie can show you the rooms we have prepared. We have plenty of storage space upstairs and in the attic.”

  “Oh, Beau, I have something for you,” Lydia said excitedly. She pulled him toward one of the horses they had hitched to the last carriage. “Do you like her?”

  Beau shook his head in confusion.

  “She’s yours, a Standardbred from the line of the great Hambletonian himself.”

  Eyes wide, he stroked the horse’s neck. “I don’t know what to say.”

  The stunning specimen of a horse was charcoal gray with a jet black mane and tail and well-muscled with a shiny coat. A very lavish gift, but probably not beyond means for this family.

  “Don’t say anything,” Lydia said, slipping her arm through his. “Just put her out there with Scout and enjoy her. We had Tipp buy her at a sale in Nashville before we arrived. I’m glad she turned out so well. You still have Scout, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wonderful! I used to be terrified of him. Do you remember?”

  Beau laughed. “What I remember is you squealing with terror when I rode past you. Claire accused me of doing it on purpose. She was right.”

  Having heard quite enough of this reunion, Portia went inside with Bessie, Lucy, and Sallie Mae. She didn’t like the way her cheeks had flamed and how images of her own feast or fast life had flipped through her mind in an instant comparison with the life Miss Clemons must have led. Jealousy was something she had rarely entertained, and she didn’t want to be its host. She dove right into lunch preparations, glad to have something to keep her occupied for a while.

  After serving the guests, Portia ate her lunch standing at the work counter in the kitchen. The constant chatter from the dining room and Lydia’s high-pitched laughter blended with the conversation from Bessie’s family reunion and gave her a headache.

  “Y’all gotta be careful now.” Bessie’s happy voice had deepened into a serious warning tone. “They found Clarence over near Cainsville, hanging from a hickory tree. Burned so bad Fannie could hardly recognize him. Don’t none of you go out alone, you hear me? Take Isaac or Harry along and make sure one of you’s got a gun.”

  Portia paused mid-bite, her appetite giving way to a knot of fear in her gut.

  “What about Fannie and Jim?” Lucy asked. “They all right?”

  “Yes, they’re fine. Isaac took ’em up to Kentucky. He oughta be back tomorrow.”

  Lucy blinked back tears and hugged Sallie Mae close. “You and Uncle Isaac’s all we got, Aunt Bessie. If somethin’ happened…”

  Bessie reached across the small table and took Lucy’s hand. “Don’t you worry. Isaac’s got Deputy Bandy with him. He don’t like seein’ this kind of violence, no matter white or black.”

  Portia abandoned the rest of her lunch and helped serve coffee and cookies to everyone in the parlor. Mr. Clemons had new toys for Jonathan, who laid belly-down on the parlor floor playing with each one in turn. Miss Clemons sat across from Beau at a table by the window. Her girlish giggles punctuated their conversation.

  Harry took his cup and saucer from Portia and brushed his thumb over hers. “Thank you, darlin’.”

  She saw a note of concern in his eyes.

  “You all right?” he added quietly.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Harry caught her wrist lightly and scooted to the edge of the settee. Drawing her down toward him, he whispered, “How about you and me go for a walk in a little while? You know, get some fresh air and all.”

  Tempted to take him up on the offer, she decided she would feel guilty about taking Harry away from the guests. Being alone for a while would suit her mood better anyway.

  “Thank you,” she said, gently slipping from his grasp. “I’ll probably have a rest upstairs instead. Maybe another time.”

  Harry sighed and scooted back in the seat. He plunged a cookie in his coffee then crammed it in his mouth, staring straight ahead. She felt a little guilty turning him down when he tried so hard to gain her attention, but… she hurried back to the kitchen before she could change her mind.

  Portia took on the task of cleaning the dishes so Bessie could continue reminiscing with Lucy and Tipp. Sallie Mae fell asleep on her mother’s lap. As wonderful as these reunions were, Portia couldn’t help the nagging feeling of being an outsider. And why had she taken such a sudden and terrible dislike of Miss Clemons? Maybe some fresh air would be nice.

  By the time she climbed the stairs to her room, Portia had decided to take a walk, after all. The Clemons ladies were all napping in their rooms, while the men remained in the parlor enjoying those smelly cigars. She retrieved her shawl, came back downstairs, and slipped outside. Following the path she and Jonny had taken the other day, she strolled down to Barton Creek. Pulling her shawl tighter around her, she shivered in the chilly breeze, but it felt good on her face and eased her throbbing headache. Up above, rain clouds hung heavy in the sky. They began to release their burden drop by drop, and she watched each one hit the creek’s surface, making gentle ripples before they joined the current.

  Backing up to a tall cedar at the edge of the bank, she leaned against its wide, ragged-barked trunk. A few minutes passed as she let
her mind drift along over the rough rocks of her memories. She had just remembered that she needed to answer Ellen’s latest letter when something crunched the fallen evergreen needles behind and to the right of her cedar refuge.

  She groaned. Harry must have spied her leaving the house. Not feeling up to his company, she considered slipping away on the opposite side of the tree when she saw Beau’s familiar hat and his broad shoulders beneath an oilskin duster.

  He stopped down by the bank and didn’t seem to notice her presence. Portia watched him rub his right shoulder while he stared out across the creek. A prickly sensation of awkwardness traveled down her spine. Was he there looking for her? Or did he just need some fresh air, too? Either way, she could think of nothing to talk about — nothing she ought to share with her employer, anyway.

  She pushed herself slowly away from the tree and took a quiet step away from him.

  “Didn’t mean to intrude,” he said.

  Too late.

  “You didn’t intrude,” she replied, trying to still the quiver in her voice. His presence stirred up a longing she couldn’t afford to have. “I mean… it’s only intruding if you know what you’ll find when you get there.”

  Beau chuckled. “I guess you’re right. I thought you were upstairs napping, like the other ladies. Just needed a little air. Stuffy in there. You?”

  “Same here.” Portia abandoned her escape plan and returned to her post against the cedar. “Guess it’s all the cooking — heated up the house.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s it.” He tossed a smile over his shoulder. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  “Probably the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen.”

  He shook his head, laughing. “You know who I mean.”

  Of course she did, and she smiled in return. She couldn’t help it. He’d left the door wide open for a little verbal jab at his soon-to-be wife.

  “Then yes, she’s probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  His smile faded, and he shifted his weight from one boot to the other. “So much like Claire.”

  “Really?”