by Mysti Parker
She was about to ask Harry if he could help her find Jonny and escort them out when a bell clanged from upstairs. Everyone around them migrated toward the sound. Following the flow of the herd was easier than escaping at the moment, so they gathered with everyone else at the bottom of the stairs. There on the first landing, Oliver Clemons rang a hand bell, with Polly standing demurely beside him.
The clanging died down as Oliver held up his cigar in a benevolent gesture. “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the rebirth of Paradise Plantation. Sadly, our home will never be back to its former glory, but that pales in comparison to the news I have to share with you now.”
Portia’s heart skipped a beat. She tightened her grip on Harry’s arm.
Oliver gestured to his right, where Lydia appeared and glided toward him. When she stopped at his side, he said, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my daughter, Lydia Clemons, to Mr. Beauregard Stanford.”
Tucking the bell under his elbow, he started clapping. Everyone except Portia took the cue and applauded, even Harry, until he looked at her standing there frozen in place. He wrapped an arm around her waist and mumbled something to her, but she didn’t take much notice. The applause, the cheers and congratulations pummeled her ears. Her heart beat wildly, urging her to surrender the battle and retreat, but her knees wobbled like soft clay.
“Beau!” Oliver yelled over the din. “There you are. Come on up here, my boy!”
The crowd parted slightly, as Beau made his way from the veranda to the stairs. Lydia wore a powder blue gown with loose pagoda sleeves and smiled ear to ear. She held both hands out, waiting for him to claim her, as Beau ascended the steps. When he reached her, she grabbed his hands and kissed his cheek. Madame Peacock had won her perfect mate. Arm in arm, they started down the stairs.
Beau’s face was a blank mask. His eyes drifted across the crowd as they descended toward the waiting guests. Mid-way down the stairs, he paused and caught Portia’s gaze. In a split second, she read a multitude of emotions from him. Guilt, shame, and such heavy sadness. Tears stung her eyes, threatening to spill out and confess her loss. His sudden halt stopped Lydia short. She rebalanced herself and looked at him questioningly. Then she followed his gaze and spied the object of his attention. She lifted one eyebrow and threw Portia a glare as ice cold as the punch.
How can he? How can he possibly marry that woman after what she did to Jonny? Tugging on Harry’s arm, Portia whispered, “I want to leave. I have to leave.”
“What? I can’t hear you.” Harry said, leaning in closer.
“I said I…”
Beau and Lydia stood just a few feet away. Portia abandoned Harry’s arm and tried to cut through the crowd, but they formed a dense army of well-wishers, eager to greet the newly engaged couple. She found herself being nudged forward, as two lines formed — men on Beau’s side and women on Lydia’s.
The person in front of her stepped to one side, and there she was — face to face with Beau’s fiancée. Portia couldn’t help but picture the scissors lying on Jonny’s bedside table and how triumphant the she-devil looked when she ‘discovered’ the evidence.
Lydia snatched her hand, squeezed it hard, and drew Portia close enough to whisper venom in her ear. “You thought waltzing in here wearing my dead cousin’s dress would change his mind? You must have forgotten… I always get what I want.”
Smiling and blushing like any soon-to-be bride, she flung Portia’s arm away with a forceful push, already looking to greet the next person in line. But like the snares Jake once set with the saplings on their farm, Portia’s hand sprang back, smacking Lydia’s face with a resounding snap! Horrified gasps rippled through the crowd as Lydia’s head whipped to one side and an earring went flying into oblivion.
Portia immediately locked eyes with Beau. He took a step toward her, but Lydia, blond hair disheveled and cheek flaring red, clamped onto his arm.
Expecting to be detained at any moment, Portia elbowed her way through the shocked faces and horrified stares to make her retreat. She wasn’t even sure if she was moving toward the exit, with her heart beating a deafening rhythm in her ears and tears clouding her vision. Finally, she spotted Jonny standing just inside a parlor. He peeked out around the doorframe, crying quietly. She reached for his hand, and he took hold. Luckily no one had recovered from the shock of the moment to come after them just yet. Pulling Jonny along with her, they made their escape to Isaac and the waiting cart.
Harry called out, “Wait!” and caught up to them, panting. “Isaac, take Jonny on home. Portia can ride with me.”
Isaac looked to Portia as though seeking her approval. She nodded, too upset to care how she got back, so long as she could lie in bed and try to forget this night. Isaac helped Jonny into the cart, while Harry led Portia to another carriage.
She sat quiet, numb even, as Harry took the long way back, driving through the quiet evening streets of Lebanon. The back of her hand stung, so she rubbed at it absently, wondering what Beau thought of her savagery. Worse yet, she couldn’t squash her feeling of satisfaction — oh, how good it felt to smack that blonde peacock — but oh, how wrong of her to feel that way. When they reached the road leading to the Stanford’s place, Harry broke the silence.
“I’m sorry, Po. If you ask me, Beau is a fool, and Lydia’s past due for a good beating. She’s all fluff and no substance. Good for a poke or two, but not a lifetime commitment. Know what I mean? Her money’s attractive, all right, but he can turn this farm around if he’d just give it some time.”
She didn’t answer — what was there to say, anyway? What’s done is done.
They pulled up to the house, and he helped her out of the carriage. She started to pull away from him, but he kept hold of her hand.
“I’m tired,” she said, avoiding the angry fire in his eyes. “I want to go inside.”
“Po, listen to me.” He released her hand and captured her upper arms instead, pulling her close. “I know you think he felt something for you, but let’s face it. You don’t have what he wants. You need someone who understands what it’s like to have nothing. Me and you — we could set out on our own and make something of ourselves.”
“Harry, I—”
He smashed his lips against hers. She tried to wriggle free, but his fingers became cold, hard shackles. The horse whinnied, and the carriage rattled when he pushed her against it, kissing her wildly. His wet tongue probed her tightly closed lips, digging up things she wished she could scrape from her mind. “You such a pretty girl.” Whiskey and body odor, her daddy’s hands locked around her neck, a shock of pain, bawling her eyes out, trapped under a hundred eighty pounds of dead weight.
Portia jerked her head to the side and broke free of his mouth. “Let me go!” Bringing her hands to his chest, she tried to shove him away, but to no avail.
“Damn it, Po. You still want him, don’t you? Even after tonight.” The fury in his voice and the beastly glint in his eyes fueled her courage. She would be no man’s whore, not again.
“I don’t know what I want,” she screamed, “but I know I don’t want you!”
With that, she lifted one foot behind her, drew back her knee and brought it full force between his legs. He made a strangled sound and released her. She took off, making it onto the porch as he cupped his crotch with both hands and fell to his knees.
She threw open the door to see Bessie there and let out a startled scream.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” The question had barely left her lips before she looked outside over Portia’s shoulder, her face contorting with horror. “Dear Lord, what’s he done to you?”
She couldn’t answer, not with her throat constricted and eyes burning. Fisting her skirts in both hands, she sprinted up the stairs and into her room. Her pillow caught the night’s burdens, and she cried until there were no tears left, until she couldn’t breathe. She cried alone, like she’d done every day since Jake and Abby died.
Always alone.<
br />
Chapter Twenty-Four
Still in the borrowed dress that once belonged to Claire Stanford, Portia sat on the edge of the bed in her darkened room. No more tears, no anything really, except emptiness. Harry, horrible as he acted tonight, was right about one thing. She had nothing Beau wanted. Leaning over, she rested her elbows on her knees and covered her face with both hands. She should have listened to Frank and Ellen, should never have come to Lebanon. She came to escape the pain, not to accumulate more.
There was a soft knock on the door and dim yellow light beneath it. “Portia, honey,” Bessie asked gently. “Can I come in?”
Portia got up, went to the door, and opened it. Stepping back, she let Bessie in. The older woman set the lamp down on the bedside table and turned to Portia, arms open wide. Portia accepted her hug, resting her chin on Bessie’s shoulder. She smelled like flour and thyme and wood smoke. She smelled like Mama.
“Did Harry hurt you, child?”
Portia shook her head.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but Ezra told me about what happened at the party. Jonny’s asleep now. He was pretty upset about it, too. But there’s somethin’ I want you to know.”
“What?” Portia stepped out of Bessie’s embrace.
“Honey, Beau ain’t marryin’ Lydia because he wants to. He’s doin’ it to buy Lucy, Tipp, and Sallie Mae’s freedom.”
As Bessie told her the whole story, Portia sank onto the bed, trying to take it all in.
“I know you’re hurt, but I know my Beau wouldn’t marry that girl unless he had no other choice. We asked him to help, and that must have been the only option he had at the time. That don’t make it any better on you, but try not to hate him. He loves you, else he wouldn’t have let you anywhere near that dress.”
“But… why did he want me there when he knew I would hear the big announcement?”
“I doubt he knew it was gonna be announced in public, probably thought it would be kept quiet. He ought to have known better. Dealin’ with Oliver Clemons is like handlin’ a rattlesnake. Ain’t a question of if he’ll bite you. It’s when.” She sat on the bed beside Portia. “I think Beau wanted you there because you make him feel like Claire used to. I can see it every time he looks at you.”
Portia glided her hands across the lavender skirt of the dress. “I’ll miss you, Bessie.”
The older woman broke into tears and wiped her eyes with her apron. “I’ll miss you too, honey, I’ll miss you too.”
Before Bessie left her room, Portia said, “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell anyone about Harry and what happened tonight. Emotions were high, and I think he just got carried away.”
Bessie frowned but finally nodded and closed the door behind her. Portia changed into her nightgown, hung the beautiful lavender dress on the wardrobe, and lay on her bed admiring it. Ever since Jake died, she’d imagined him lying beside her, holding her tight. It was Beau she pictured now, and as much as she wanted to hate him, his sacrifice made her love him even more.
~~~~
Morning dawned, and Portia got up to greet it. She woke Jonny and told him to get dressed. Ten minutes later, they surprised Bessie in the kitchen.
“My goodness, you two’s up early for a Saturday,” she said brightly, but Portia could tell her joyful tone was for Jonny’s sake.
“It’s time for my riding lesson,” Portia said. “We thought we would take advantage of the lovely weather and make it a full day.” Knowing she couldn’t say much with Jonny there, she added, “How are Lucy and Sallie Mae? Any better?”
“They’re coming around but will be at our place until the sickness passes.”
Portia nodded. Lucy and Sallie Mae were taking refuge for now, maybe until after the wedding. She couldn’t blame them. As hard as life had been for her, Portia couldn’t imagine what poor Lucy had been through.
Bessie put her hands on her hips as Jonny stuffed a bite of steaming biscuit in his mouth then danced around, fanning his burnt tongue with his hand.
“Serves ya right, bein’ all greedy like that.” She pumped him a cup of fresh water, which he drank down in three gulps.
“Thanks,” he said and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Portia smiled at him. “Why don’t we take a few biscuits and some jam with us and enjoy breakfast down by the creek?”
“Sounds like a nice day,” Bessie said, but her lip quivered before she turned away to fetch their supplies. “You two go and have fun now, you hear?”
“We will, and thank you,” Portia said.
She took the small food basket from Bessie and followed Jonny outside. They headed to their favorite spot under the big cedar down by the creek. After they’d eaten their fill, they waded ankle-deep in the cool water. Jonny giggled at the minnows nibbling his toes.
He looked up at her. “Ready for a ride?” His eyes held a bittersweet sadness that tore at Portia’s heart.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. You’re a pretty good riding instructor, you know.”
“Thanks, Po. I guess when I’m your age, I won’t have anything else to learn.”
“Well, I’m not that old.” She laughed. “But if you never remember anything else I’ve taught you,” she said as they sat on the bank and dried their feet in the warm sunshine, “remember that we never stop being students. Every day we are granted is an opportunity to learn something new.”
“I’ll remember. Always,” he said.
~~~~
It was midnight before the party died down, and Beau couldn’t remember half of it. The look on Portia’s face as she heard the news kept repeating in his mind. He didn’t blame her one bit for slapping the daylights out of Lydia — he hadn’t heard the words they exchanged, but felt certain they weren’t pretty. Damn Oliver and his spoiled brat daughter. Beau had promised to go through with the wedding, and Oliver had promised to keep it quiet until then, have a simple ceremony and be done with it. Of course, that part wasn’t in the contract.
No doubt Oliver had planned it that way the whole time — to make sure everyone in Lebanon, including Portia, knew that he was marrying Lydia Clemons. A small wedding would never do for his socialite fiancée. His life sentence would be public knowledge from here on out.
Harry and Ezra didn’t say a thing over breakfast, didn’t even look at him. Both of them gobbled down their food and left without a word to work out in the fields. Beau was glad, because he was in no mood for Ezra’s lectures or Harry’s bullshit.
Unfortunately, Ezra caught him in the barn as he gathered hammer and nails to repair the shutters.
His pipe bobbed from his mouth as he fussed. “What were you thinking, Beauregard?”
“I’m doing what you wanted me to, that’s what.”
“I never wanted you to marry someone you don’t love.”
“Why not? Shit, Pa, look at this place.” Hammer in hand, he gestured around them. “It’s falling apart. Everything we’ve worked for, everything you’ve worked for is going to hell and this is the only way I can turn it around. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
“Never mind. I’ve got work to do.” He hated keeping secrets from his own father, but this time, he had to. Word couldn’t get out about the contract he had signed, or Oliver might make good on his threats. He couldn’t risk anything else happening to his family because of him.
“I guess you know Portia and Jonny are out riding. She loves that boy, Beauregard, and he loves her too. He didn’t tear up her dress.”
“How do you know that? Did he tell you? He sure as hell ain’t told me anything.”
“Have you given him a chance? You’re not even around him long enough to have a conversation should he start talking.”
Beau’s shoulders tensed so much his wound threw a current of pain down his arm. The hammer fell to the stable floor. He bent down, snatched it up, and brushed by Pa without a word. “I told you I have work to do. I don’t have time to
argue.”
“Fine, but you’ve broken Po’s heart. And there ain’t no amount of nails can put it back together.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, turned around, and walked back toward the house.
Beau took the ladder down from the hook. Ezra’s disappointment hurt more than the constant ache in his shoulder. The old man had no idea how much he longed for things to be different. In another time and place, he might have been able to follow his heart and marry the woman he truly loved. He might have been able to look at and talk to his son without feeling like a complete failure.
Fighting against a knot in his throat, he clambered up the ladder beneath one of the barn’s sagging shutters. Staying busy was the only outlet he had to keep from losing his mind again. He pried up one corner of a shutter, started on another, and dropped the crowbar. It landed on the dirt below with a thud.
“Damn it!”
He made his way down the ladder, and his feet had just hit the ground when he heard Portia’s frantic call. “Beau!”
Peering in the direction of her voice, he finally saw Jonny leading Jack up the hill, with Portia walking her saddle horse beside him. Jack was limping. Not good.
Beau met them halfway. “What happened?”
“Snake. Just a big old rat snake, but it scared Jack, and he threw Jonny,” Portia said.
“Are you all right, son?”
Jonny nodded and with a trembling hand, pointed to Jack’s right front leg.
“He got his foot stuck in some roots,” Portia said, dread filling her words as though she expected the worst.
Beau bent down to take a look. As he feared, it was broken just below the knee. He took the reins and led the pony slowly to the stable and into an empty stall.
Jonny followed and stood in the doorway. His chin quivered. His eyes brimmed with fearful tears. It reminded Beau of the day he had returned from the war, how he had shaken Jonny and screamed those awful things at him before falling to his knees at Claire’s grave.