A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  “I understand. But while you’re here, it could be the perfect opportunity to keep her occupied. And…” she added, winking at Jonathan behind her, “Jonny’s getting plumb bored listening to me prattle on all day. He could use another schoolmate to keep him company.”

  Playing an actor worthy of a Shakespeare comedy, Jonny nodded, let out a dramatic sigh, and slapped his hand to his forehead.

  Lucy laughed a little. “All right, ma’am. You can teach my girl if you want and if it’s all right with Mr. Stanford. But if she bothers you at all, just send her back to me.”

  “I will do my best,” Portia said.

  Sallie Mae poked her head around the doorframe, her pretty dark eyes looking expectantly up at her mother. Lucy hugged her daughter to her side. “Thank you, Mrs. McAllister, for your kindness.”

  Reclaiming her seat by Jonathan’s desk, she could hardly wait for lunchtime. Not for the food, but to find Beau and ask him to agree to her plan. She hoped he’d see the good in it and not be swayed by Oliver’s remarks. Lucy and Sallie Mae weren’t slaves anymore, so they should be able to learn if they so desired.

  Still, the chance of her idea being rejected shadowed her optimism. But as the noon-time hour closed in, she thought of the huge hurdle she had already crossed just by coming there in the first place. Asking for permission to teach a child to read should be as easy as finding the roast pig at a barbeque.

  ~~~~

  “That was exhilarating!” Lydia craned her head straight up to look at Beau where he stood precariously on the rafters. She was breathless with rosy cheeks and locks of blond hair escaping from beneath her riding hat. Her mount — the gorgeous new Standardbred she’d gifted him — pranced along the earthen stable floor, foaming at the bit and glistening with sweat. She had just taken a solo ride through the fields, and from the looks of it, a wild ride at that.

  Beau hammered one last nail into the intersection of crisscrossed boards. He hung the hammer on his belt and carefully lowered himself to the ladder. He really didn’t like heights — it made him queasy and slightly dizzy, especially if he looked down. But the sagging door frame needed shoring up, and that meant he had to play monkey for a while. It also meant he had to make the most of this lumber, since he’d run up his tab at the mill. He quickly learned that asking for any sort of financial assistance meant one of two responses. There was the polite, “I’m sorry, Beau, I can’t loan you any more…” but more often it involved the word Yankee and curses he hadn’t known existed until he joined the army.

  He had to sell something. Shoot, he’d sell that highbred horse Lydia sat upon if he knew anyone with enough money to buy it. He couldn’t stomach that big a loss on such a fine animal. Not yet — not until he had no other choice. But harvest time was a long few months away.

  Finally reaching solid ground, he walked to the pretty filly and rubbed her neck. “You really should have let her cool down more.”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” Lydia said. “She’s young enough to handle it.”

  “Overheating any horse is asking for trouble.” Her flippant attitude bit into Beau’s good sense. No matter how much a horse was worth, he’d always cared for them well. Lydia might have been used to throwing money away, but she’d have to do better if she wanted to share his company.

  “Sorry.” She held out her hand, and he helped her dismount from the sidesaddle. Lydia dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief.

  Beau removed the horse’s saddle. “She’ll need some water.”

  “Is that lunch I smell? I better go change.”

  Before she could turn and flee, Beau caught her arm in his firm grip. Lydia snapped her head around, eyes wide. He let her go and pointed to one of the buckets of water he had drawn that morning.

  “Not before you water your horse,” he said.

  “Me? I… yes, of course.” She held her head high and marched over to the bucket. She bent and picked it up with one hand, but let it clunk back down with a slosh. Lips pursed, she picked it up with both hands and held it in front of her, arms extended to their limit. Her lovely face strained with the effort as she waddled to the horse. Water splashed onto her blue velvet riding habit with each step.

  Finally, she reached the horse and set the bucket in front of her. The filly drank greedily, while Lydia looked down with disgust at her dress and dabbed at the invisible water spots with her handkerchief.

  “Better,” Beau said.

  Lydia looked up with a sigh. “I suppose you think I’m spoiled and lazy.”

  “You’ve never needed to work like that. I can’t call someone lazy unless they refuse to work when they need to.”

  Her relieved smile brightened up the dim barn. “I’m willing to get my hands dirty, if you’re willing to teach me.”

  She stepped up close to him, caught his hand, and entwined her fingers with his. Head held back so she could look him in the eyes, her voice took on a sultry tone. “Will you teach me?”

  Beau found it hard to swallow past the sudden dryness in his throat. “That depends.”

  “I love it here, Beau. The air is so fresh.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

  “If you like the smell of fresh manure, it is.”

  Her eyes popped open while she giggled and pressed herself against his chest, still holding his hand hostage between them. “Oh, you know what I mean. Philadelphia was nice, but I was so homesick there.”

  “At least you avoided all the ugliness here. You probably had all kinds of things to do and a number of suitors vying for your hand.”

  She blasted him with that smiling, head tilted to one side gesture, reminiscent of her late cousin. With Claire, it usually meant she was about to ask him for something, and with that look, she usually got what she wanted.

  “You’re right,” Lydia said. “There were many young men who called, but there were none that I wanted.”

  Beau shifted his feet, knowing what was coming, but not sure how he felt about it. “Out of all those men in the city, there must have been one fella or two you took a shine to.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered as she gave a little shrug. “Don’t get me wrong. I could have chosen one and had a good life there, but none of them fit my expectations.”

  “What expectations?”

  She pressed her bosom against his chest. He couldn’t help but look at the dark canyon of her cleavage and the voluptuous hills beckoning to be explored. “Beau, I loved my cousin dearly, but I envied her every day I saw her with you. All I could think was that she had found her prince charming. And I knew that I wanted what she had.”

  Breathing became difficult; his throat was so tight. He turned his head and coughed before looking back at her. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m not half the saint you thought I was. You were a child with a child’s dreams.”

  “I’m not a child now,” she said, her voice more somber, more mature than he expected. “I understand why my cousin loved you. You’re strong, kind, honest. I know how much she wanted to give you more children.”

  A heavy pain squeezed his chest. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He and Claire dreamed of a house full of little ones, but they’d only been blessed with Jonny, whom they loved dearly of course, but…

  Lydia unwound her fingers from his, reached up, and cupped his face with both hands. “I’ve never met anyone that compared to you. If you would have me, we could bring this farm back to life, and I could give you the big family you always wanted.”

  Beau didn’t know how to respond. He never imagined she would be so forward with him. On one hand, she just declared her love for him and all but proposed marriage, and on the other, he didn’t know if he could ever open his heart again to allow such a thing.

  Tiptoeing, she pressed her lips to his — their soft warmth melted the last of his resolve. Excitement buzzed through every nerve ending as he slid his hands around Lydia’s waist, feeling the corset that hugged her sensuous figure. She sighed and parted her lips further, dee
pening the kiss. Her fingers swirled through the hair at the nape of his neck.

  She smelled like gardenias. Like Claire. Memories flooded his mind of their last night together. These sensations brought it all back. Her lips and her sighs and the glorious feel of slipping inside her, moving together, completely lost in each other’s arms.

  Footsteps just outside pulled him back into reality and away from Lydia, whose lips were still parted and red from their kiss.

  Portia stood there, frozen, eyes shifting between him and Lydia. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… um… intrude.”

  As though her muscles suddenly thawed from the shock of catching her employer in a passionate embrace, she gathered her skirts in her fists, spun around, and high-tailed it toward the house.

  “Po, wait!” Beau came to his senses, extracted himself from Lydia’s arms, and ran after her.

  He finally caught up to her, but she kept walking, head down and determined to escape. “No, it was a bad time — I didn’t mean to intrude. I can speak with you later.”

  Beau grabbed her arm, and she stopped but wouldn’t look at him. He let go, not knowing exactly why he was chasing her or stopping her for that matter, except he felt the need to reassure her that she didn’t have to be afraid of coming to him for anything.

  He spit out the only thing he could think of. “It’s not intruding if you don’t know what you’ll find when you get there, right?”

  Portia finally met his gaze, a flicker of expectation in her eyes. Beau felt like he ought to explain or apologize or… something, but Lydia caught up with them.

  She linked one arm in his, effectively staking her claim, and glared at Portia.

  “Perhaps we could speak privately about the matter,” Portia whispered.

  Lydia let out an exasperated breath. “Well, if it’s so important as to leave your student to come find Beau, you might as well say what you wanted to say and get it over with.”

  Beau raised an eyebrow toward the blonde on his arm, who stood there tapping her riding boot impatiently. What happened to that sweet, vulnerable woman he had just kissed? An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

  With a sidelong, and irritated, glance at Lydia, Portia’s voice was cool, but steady. “I have spoken with Lucy, and she has given her blessing for me to teach Sallie Mae for an hour each day. I wanted to ask your permission as well.”

  “What of Jonathan’s lessons?” Lydia asked.

  “She will sit in on them, nothing more. And as he’s working on his assignments, I would like to teach her to read, for she would very much like to do so.”

  So, she’s taking Oliver up on his challenge. That’s my girl. Beau’s mouth twitched, tempted to offer her a proud smile. But he wondered if she’d thought about the consequences.

  “I know you want to help her, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said. Disappointment clouded her eyes and wounded his sensibilities. But he had to make sure she remained safe while she lived under his roof. “We should probably let her family handle that, Po. Teaching a black child could be risky, if word got out.”

  To Beau’s surprise, Lydia said, “You know what, Beau — I think you should let her teach Sallie Mae.”

  He and Portia both uttered a simultaneous, “What?”

  Smiling a little brighter than the situation called for, Lydia added, “Really, it’s a charitable idea, considering she’s not being paid for the extra work. And if… Po… is willing to take it upon herself, then why not? Poor Jonathan is still mute, but perhaps she’ll have better luck with my maid’s child.”

  Beau winced. Lydia’s challenge, though veiled, was a challenge nonetheless, and she had slighted Portia’s abilities to teach his son. How could he deny her the chance to take it on now? He could tell by the stubborn set of her chin, red cheeks, and flashing eyes that she would teach the girl to spite the devil, if nothing else.

  “Fine,” he conceded, since these two strong-willed women had effectively usurped his power in this situation. Still, he couldn’t ignore the edgy wariness tickling his senses. “Just keep it quiet. No one in town needs to know right now. And no more than an hour a day. All right?”

  Portia’s face relaxed into a tight smile. “Understood. And thank you.”

  She headed up the hill and entered the house, as Beau and Lydia took their time along the same path. Lydia lessened her death grip on his arm, allowing blood to flow again to his tingling fingers.

  “Well now, isn’t she something,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “Yes, she is.”

  He felt Lydia flinch but pretended not to notice. Her jealousy was unwarranted, and he knew better than to keep poking a mad horse. Still, seeing her get all riled up over that tiny spitfire of a teacher made him smile. Yep, Portia McAllister sure was something all right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Portia stole a bit of time for herself between the end of lessons and the start of supper. Bessie had soup on the stove already, and Lucy had the laundry on the line, so she wasn’t needed and wouldn’t likely be missed. With a notebook and charcoal pencil in hand, she headed to the creek. She needed solitude, just a little while to sort out her thoughts and to forget what she’d witnessed at the barn. That hungry look in Beau’s eyes, the way he held Lydia with such burning desire… Stop it! Just walk.

  The late afternoon sun danced on the creek, making it look like liquid gold. Portia settled beneath the cedar tree where she and Jonny had skipped rocks and where she and Beau had taken refuge from the rain a few days before. Propping the sketch pad on her knees, she looked for a subject to draw. About ten yards away on the other side of the creek sat an old icehouse. A little wooden bridge spanned the creek in front of it.

  She began to sketch the little structure with its arched stone set back into the creek bank. Ivy grew from above and drooped lazily in front of the door. Dark green moss carpeted the walls. Her pencil recreated the pointed outlines of the ivy leaves, the tall cedars on the bank, a squirrel on a stump nibbling his lunch. With the gentle bubbling of the creek and the melodic birdsong above, and with nothing but her and her notebook, she felt truly at peace.

  Footsteps approached, and Portia turned to see Ezra strolling down the hill.

  “’Ey there, sorry if I’m interruptin’ you. I didn’t think anybody was here.”

  “It’s all right. It’s your land, after all.”

  “Mind if I sit with you a spell?”

  Though she had hoped to have some quiet time to herself, she didn’t mind Ezra being there all that much. She gestured for him to have a seat. Holding his pipe with one hand, the old man lowered himself cautiously to the ground. He rested his back on the tree with his legs sprawled out in front of him.

  “Nice here by the creek,” he mumbled through his mustache.

  “Yes, it is,” Portia agreed.

  “I come down here often just to sit and listen. It’s calm and peaceful-like.” He took two puffs from his pipe. Cherry scented smoke mingled with the damp, mossy air. “You know, it’s been nice having a young lady here again.”

  “Miss Clemons is quite comely.”

  Ezra chuckled and smoke billowed toward the sky. “I meant you.”

  “Oh… well, thank you.” She smiled, but her cheeks didn’t catch fire like they usually did when someone said such a personal thing.

  “Seems you and Jonny are gettin’ on good.”

  “He’s such a bright and sweet boy. I’m fortunate to be his teacher.”

  “He’s started talkin’ to you, hasn’t he?”

  Uncertain whether he’d be upset with her for keeping the news to herself, she nodded slowly, watching for his reaction.

  “I thought so. He almost spoke to me this mornin’, made a little peep then snapped his mouth shut. I told him to start talkin’ to me when he was ready, that I ain’t gonna rush him. But I don’t blame you for not telling Beauregard.”

  “You don’t?”

  He shook
his head. “Naw. It’s up to him and Jonny to work things out. They’re both as stubborn as can be, but I know it’ll happen.” A quiet pause hung between them, filled only with the gentle bubbling of the creek water before he spoke again. “I hear you’re gonna teach Sallie Mae to read.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m proud of ya. Takes guts to do what you did, to stand up for others who ain’t treated right.”

  She set her notebook and pencil down on a dry patch of cedar needles. “I don’t know about that. It just felt like the right thing to do. Every child deserves an education.”

  He took another puff and grinned, looking at her through the corner of his eye. “Beauregard is impressed. He didn’t think you’d be quite so forthright.”

  She scrunched her face. “I’m… sorry?”

  Ezra slapped his knee and laughed. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for. Beau needs a few more straight-talkers around here.” He pointed down at her notebook. “That’s a real good drawin’.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was quite the finger painter when I was a boy.”

  “And quite the fence painter now, I hear.”

  “An artist’s gotta move up in the world, I reckon.”

  He winked, and Portia laughed, feeling relaxed enough to resume her sketch. A few tranquil minutes passed with Ezra puffing his pipe and the creek bubbling over mossy stones. Above them, a mockingbird sang a stolen chickadee melody from his invisible perch in the tree.

  Ezra finally broke the silence. “So what about you, Po?”

  “What about me?”

  “I reckon it’s been hard comin’ here to live with folks you don’t know. Must have been hard losin’ your family like you did. So… are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Her mouth twitched, and she had to focus on something — anything else — to keep from choking up. She stared out at the icehouse and at the ivy swaying in the breeze.

  “If you ever need to talk, I’m never too far away.” Ezra drew in his knees and shifted his body as if he was about to get up. But she realized she didn’t want him to. His presence added as much comfort as a warm hug.