A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  She picked up a stone. “Remember, it’s all in the wrist,” she said and flung the rock across the creek. It skipped once, twice, three times, before coming to a stop on the opposite bank.

  Jonny sank to the ground and cried. Not worrying about the wet, sandy bank, Portia sat beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

  “I didn’t do it,” he sobbed. “I swear I didn’t.”

  Portia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I believe you.”

  “She wants to send me away,” he said between sobs. “I know I’m not supposed to eavesdrop, but I heard her talking to Aunt Polly the other day. She wants Pa to send me away to school. Some military academy. I hate her, Po. I don’t want to go. I want to stay home. I want to stay with you.”

  He melted onto her shoulder, and she gathered him in her arms. “I know, sweet boy. I know.”

  “I’m sorry about your dress. It looked really pretty on you.”

  “It’s just a dress. Things can always be replaced. It’s the people we love who matter more.”

  She held him, closed her eyes, and tried to burn him into her memory. Chances are, they would have to part. But one thing was for sure. She loved this little boy with all her heart and would fight for him until her last breath if that’s what it took.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Saturday came, and the time passed quickly. A mere hour before the gala, Portia had given up on any notion of attending. She had worked in the garden all day, weeding and pruning, doing all she could to take her mind off yesterday’s events. Jonny worked alongside her the entire time. He didn’t say a word, but she knew without a doubt he was innocent.

  Lydia must have staged the whole thing. Worse still was knowing the woman had come into her room as she slept. Mutilating her dress was bad enough, but she could have done worse. Much worse. Thank God she and her mother had left not long after it happened. From her window upstairs, she and Jonny had watched as their things were carted out of the house and into their coaches. Beau had ridden along behind them, and she hadn’t seen him since.

  Now, as they gathered up their tools, she finally worked up the nerve to ask Jonny, “Has your pa spoken to you about yesterday?”

  He shook his head. “No. Do you think he believes me, Po?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but if he thought you did it, don’t you think he would have punished you by now?”

  “I guess, maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Just wish I knew for sure.”

  “Well, there’s not much we can do about it right now, so try not to worry.”

  She gave him a quick one-armed hug, wishing for once that Beau would just talk to his son instead of leaving him in a perpetual state of confusion. With dirt under her fingernails and a satisfyingly sore back, she and Jonny headed back toward the house.

  Harry met her at the back door. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Po. You can swipe one of Lydia’s dresses. She’s left some here and has so many, she wouldn’t notice anyway.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Franklin, but I wouldn’t wear one of her dresses if you paid me to. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

  “It’s Harry, remember?”

  “Go to the party and enjoy yourself. I’m not in a celebratory mood.”

  She pushed past him to the kitchen with Jonny right behind her. Bessie was sweeping the floor. No need to make supper tonight.

  “Honey, you want some cold chicken or…” She held her upturned hands out as though she longed to help matters but didn’t know how.

  “No thank you. I’ll clean up and have some tea in a little while,” Portia said.

  “All right. You hungry, Jonny?”

  “No, ma’am, thank you.”

  She saw no one else as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. Beau and Ezra must have already left. Tonight, she’d tuck Jonny in and read with him, maybe from one of his Natty Bumppo books. It might be the last night they’d be together. She had to make the most of it.

  In her room, she spied something hanging on her wardrobe. Not her torn dress, but a different one. Lavender chiffon with a luxuriously soft white shawl. A bit wrinkled, but beautiful nonetheless. A note was pinned to it. She removed the paper, and her eyes widened as she read.

  This dress was one of Claire’s favorites. I kept it in the chest at the foot of my bed. I hope you will accept this as a little compensation of all that I owe you and for the loss of your mother’s gown. If you don’t want to come tonight or feel uncomfortable wearing it, I understand, but I’d like to see you.

  Beau

  Portia buried her face in her dirt-caked hands and cried. Indecision played tug-of-war in her heart. On one hand, she had no desire to be anywhere near Lydia again, especially after that blonde peacock mutilated her dress and blamed Jonny for it. On the other hand… Beau had taken this dress from his locked-away memories to replace hers. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.

  She knew she had to go, no matter how much it would hurt to see him with her. Hard as she had tried to deny it, she loved Beau. It didn’t make sense, not with all their differences and within the span of a month’s time.

  But she couldn’t doubt it any longer. Beau inspired that same pinched-heart feeling she’d felt for Jake, the kind that left her breathless when he was near and lonely when he wasn’t. Just seeing him smile and hearing his laughter chased the darkness from her days. Beau, like Jake before him, was the kind of man she could picture herself growing old with, rocking through their twilight years in the lazy comfort of their front porch.

  A spark of hope lightened some of the burden. Whether he loved her in return or not, Portia couldn’t imagine how he could still consider marrying Lydia after she had committed such an atrocity — surely he didn’t believe Jonny did it.

  Swiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand, she made up her mind. She would go tonight, not out of some misplaced hope that she and Beau would ever be together, but simply because he wanted her there.

  ~~~~

  The sun sank just below the horizon, leaving its orange and violet tracks at the bottom of a star-sprinkled sky. Isaac turned right off the main road and drove the cart under a wrought iron arch. In the very center hung a varnished cedar sign reading “Welcome to Paradise”. She assumed this was the name of the plantation.

  “Paradise Plantation. Name don’t fit the place, if you ask me,” Isaac said.

  Tall oaks and cedars lined the wide drive toward the house, but several had been reduced to stumps. Victims of the war, most likely. Uneven low-rise stone walls also lined each side of the drive. Gaps appeared here and there, showing her glimpses of bushes and lawn.

  Isaac followed her gaze. “Lot of that stone got taken during the war. The house was used as a Confederate officer’s headquarters. Lucky weren’t no battles close by or it might have been an infirmary. They wouldn’t have got that mess cleaned up quick, no sirree.”

  They finally reached the house and rounded the circular drive in front of it. A large rose garden formed the centerpiece of the drive with a bare pedestal among the blooms.

  “Used to be some half-neked statue there,” Isaac said as he guided the horse carefully beside the other parked carriages and stopped in front of the door.

  Portia stared up at the place in amazement. It was the biggest house she’d ever seen or probably ever would see. Huge white columns stretched from the large porch all the way to the roof. Open double doors showered her senses with light, music, and laughter from the party inside.

  Isaac asked, “You sure you wanna go in, Po?”

  She put a hand on Jonny’s back; he stared up at her, waiting. Time to be brave. “Yes. We’ll be fine. We’ll just stay a few minutes. I don’t think either of us is prepared for a lengthy gathering, and young men don’t need to stay up all hours of the night.”

  “I hear ya. I’ll be waitin’ right out here when you’re ready to go.”

  “Thank you, Isaac.”

  He helped her down,
climbed back in, and tipped his hat as the cart pulled away.

  Portia squeezed Jonny’s hand. “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sure your pa will be happy to see you. And don’t go too far. I just might want a dance.”

  Jonny smiled. “I don’t really know how to dance, Po.”

  “Me either, but it’s never too late to learn.”

  They climbed the steps together, passing two colored servants who bowed as she and Jonny crossed the threshold.

  “Watch the time up there,” she said, pointing to a tall grandfather clock by the wide staircase. “Fifteen minutes, then meet me here at the door.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jonny let go of her hand and headed straight toward a buffet on one side of the grand entrance.

  Portia stood still for a moment, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders. She was grateful to Beau for offering her this dress. Sad as she was to have had her mother’s old one destroyed, she would have been indistinguishable from the servants had she worn it there. The only thing she needed was a pair of gloves, but her ensemble would have to do.

  Bessie had arranged her hair into a coil of braids with some curled tendrils caressing her cheeks. The older woman had cried the whole time, saying, “You’re so beautiful, honey. Ms. Claire would want you to have this dress, I just know she would.”

  Portia didn’t have the heart to tell her she only planned to stay for a few minutes, just long enough to seek out Beau and let him know she appreciated his gift. Finding him, however, might be more of a challenge than she thought.

  Every lamp and chandelier in the place must have been lit. Portia squinted into the golden brightness, which could have rivaled the light behind Heaven’s gates. In the midst of the huge foyer was a wide set of red-carpeted stairs. Unoccupied instruments rested on the second story landing — the musicians must have taken an intermission. Party guests took notice of her entrance, whispering and pointing discretely with their fans and glasses.

  “Unescorted — how gauche.”

  “…after his money. Thank God he came to his senses…”

  “I’ve seen that dress. It’s… no it couldn’t be Claire’s…”

  Head down and cheeks on fire, she followed Jonny’s lead and retreated to the buffet. Neither he nor Beau was anywhere to be seen, unfortunately. Some sort of pink punch filled a large crystal bowl. Ice bobbed happily in the fruity waves. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an iced drink. Thankful for the treat, she ladled some into a matching crystal cup and kept to the perimeter of the room. She hoped to spot Beau so he could see her in the dress and know she had cared enough to come.

  Instead, she caught Harry’s eye. His jaw dropped when he saw her, and he held up one finger to the man he spoke with then made his way to her.

  “Lo and behold — you came! And look at you, just gorgeous.” He leaned close and whispered, “Took my advice, huh?”

  Deciding it might be best to keep mum on the dress’s origins, she simply smiled and sipped her punch. Harry offered his arm, and not wanting to shun him in front of everyone, she accepted it lightly.

  “I’ll introduce you to some folks,” he said.

  He led her around the room, introducing her to Mr. This and Mrs. That. Portia nodded politely, let them take her hand, and offered a word or two. But her mind might as well have been on the moon. What was she thinking by coming, anyway? And what was Beau thinking by asking her? Maybe he felt guilty about her dress and didn’t know what else to do. Or had she read his note all wrong?

  Her presence surely wouldn’t help matters. Lydia had made it crystal, and dangerously, clear that she wouldn’t tolerate any competition for Beau’s affections. What if she caused some dramatic scene in front of everyone?

  “Will you excuse me, please?” she interrupted Harry in the middle of a rather lewd joke. “I would like to take some fresh air.”

  “Good idea, darlin’. I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” she said a bit too quickly and smiled to cover her impatience. “No, you should stay here and enjoy yourself. I’ll just be a minute…”

  “Oh, I see,” Harry said with a wink, then whispered in her ear, “The facilities are out the veranda doors to the right of the flower garden.”

  “Thank you.” She hurried back into the grand hall then turned left. The veranda sat opposite the front entrance. Both sets of doors stood wide open, allowing refreshing breezes to pass through and cool the crowded room.

  Outside, Portia stepped onto the wide flagstones and took a deep breath of the crisp, magnolia-sweetened air. Torches were lit along a winding maze of a path through the biggest flower garden she had ever seen. She wished she could see it in the daylight when the muted colors would come to life in vivid splendor. Wrought iron and painted wood furniture occupied the left side. Light from the door and windows spilled along the stone floor, making rectangles in patterns of light and dark. No lamps or torches were lit on the veranda itself. Besides a strolling couple in the garden, the place was unoccupied, giving her the opportunity to sink into the shadows against the wall.

  But instead of the house, she backed into something less solid… and warmer.

  “It looks good on you.”

  She pivoted on her heels, crossing from the safety of shadow into the window’s light. “Beau! You scared the life out of me.”

  His eyes twinkled along with his smile. “You look plenty alive to me.”

  Dressed in a dark suit and bowtie, he looked more gentleman than farmer. Hands in his pockets, he rested his back against the house, the sole of one booted foot casually planted on the white stone wall.

  “Where’s Lydia?” Her voice sounded as taut as her nerves.

  He shrugged. “Upstairs somewhere. Probably changing again. I think she has a new get-up for every round of dancing.”

  Before she lost the little bit of nerve she had left, she asked, “You know Jonny is innocent, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m grateful that you don’t harbor anger toward him.” Fatigue burdened his words as he stared at the ground.

  Though it wasn’t quite the answer she had hoped for, she wasn’t sure what else to say. With so many people in attendance, any slight against Lydia could be easily overheard should someone else happen to step outside.

  Rubbing her bare forearms nervously, she broke the awkward silence. “Thank you for the dress. It was quite unexpected.”

  “I felt the need to replace what you lost.” Dropping his foot back to the ground, he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “I didn’t think you’d come tonight.”

  “I didn’t know if I should… or if you… wanted me to.”

  The musicians must have come back from their intermission, because the flowing, rhythmic sounds of a waltz floated across the veranda.

  Beau held out his hand, breaking the border of shadow and light that separated them and revealing the calluses of a hard-working man. “May I have this dance?”

  Her heart thumped a warning inside her chest. You’re stepping over a line you shouldn’t cross. But the warm beacon of his eyes caught her in his spell, and she lost all notion of refusing him. Slowly, carefully, as though she were about to touch Briar Rose’s spindle, she accepted his hand. His other hand settled on her waist, and he drew her to him, away from the window and prying eyes. They stood like that for one eternal moment, secure in their shadowy refuge. Portia could have soared into the cosmos, had Beau not kept her secure in his arms.

  “I don’t dance very well,” she admitted quietly as she rested her palm on his chest. She could feel his strong muscles and the steady rhythm of his heart.

  “It’s just a waltz. Simplest dance there is. It’s the only one I ever learned, though Claire tried her best to teach me. Her toes paid the price.”

  “My toes are just as penniless as I am, so let’s not spend beyond their means.”

  “Deal.”

  Portia smiled, relaxing with their easy banter. Beau le
d, keeping her hand in his firm but gentle grip. She followed, and they soon fell into the rhythm of sultry strings and piano chords. Glancing down at her feet, she missed her step and landed on Beau’s toe.

  “Sorry.”

  “Up here.” His soothing, deep voice eased her fears as expertly as he calmed his horses. “Don’t look at your feet. Always look ahead or into your partner’s eyes.”

  “All right.”

  It is easier this way, looking into your partner’s eyes. And there was no place she’d have rather looked. His deep-set eyes were gray in this light and softened by his serene smile. She could have stared into them until her feet grew numb if time allowed.

  As the last notes of the waltz glided out onto the veranda, she burned into her memory the strength in his hand on her waist, the way he smiled and gently guided her back into the step when she lost focus. No matter what happened from this night on, she never wanted to forget the way it felt right then, dancing in Beau Stanford’s arms.

  The final chords faded into silence. Beau went still, but he held her there against him. She longed to remain in the sanctuary of him, man and woman, united body and soul. He let go of her hand and touched her face, trailing his fingers lightly along her jaw. Portia lifted her chin to accept his kiss, but her spirit fell back to earth when his jaw tightened.

  He spoke in a ragged whisper. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

  Harry’s voice shattered the illusion. “Po?”

  She and Beau parted quickly, but Harry frowned, eyes darting everywhere but never landing on the couple in front of him.

  “I thought you might have gotten lost. Can I… escort you back inside?” he asked.

  Beau took a step away, back into his section of shadow and leaned against the wall where she found him as though their dance had never happened. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them into submission and took Harry’s arm. They went back into the great hall and weaved through the happy couples. Portia couldn’t look at their faces and tried to block out their laughter and giddiness and whispered plans of later affections.