A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  Beau laughed. “I’m glad your opinion of me has improved, though I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  “I’m a sixty-six-year-old spinster with a roof over my head and plenty to eat. What the hell else can I spend my fortune on besides helping folks who need it?”

  “Point taken, and thank you, Amelie. Now our problem lies in whether Oliver will even accept the trade.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. But his language is money, so you’ll have a leg up there. Pity we can’t wait just a few more weeks.”

  “Why’s that?”

  McKee shifted in his seat and glanced at Amelie, who gave him a nod. “We have evidence on him. Evidence that we’ve reported to the authorities in both Washington and Philadelphia.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Mr. Clemons had his hand in all manner of things. Arson for one. Last February, back in Philly, a warehouse owned by Blackburn and company went up in flames like nothing the city had ever seen before. It housed hundreds of barrels of coal-oil. The fire spread all down ninth, Washington, Ellsworth, and Federal, taking with it innocent families as they slept. Dozens died. Little children were found in the streets, burned to a crisp.”

  “I read about that. Why in God’s name would he orchestrate such a thing?”

  “Mr. Blackburn won a munitions contract that Oliver wanted for Clemons Ironworks.”

  Closing his eyes, Beau gritted his teeth, trying to tamp down his loathing for now so he could concentrate on the matter at hand. “What else?”

  “Ever hear of an actor named Booth?”

  Beau shivered, instinctively touching the back of his head. “You mean as in John Wilkes?”

  “The very same. We believe he helped fund that assassination. We followed the paper trail and thought we had something when Booth’s diary was found. But several pages were missing. We still have enough on him to get a conviction for other crimes, not necessarily the hanging he deserves.”

  Amelie crushed her cigarette butt into the ashtray. “And now that a government physician has proven me mentally stable, I’ll be able to stand as a witness and get that bastard put away. They could be coming to arrest him at any time. The bad thing is time isn’t on your side.”

  Beau stood and paced across the thick Oriental carpet. She was right about time running out with less than two weeks until the wedding. And who knew when Oliver would be arrested. He’d played by the rules so far, kept his end of the bargain, because he didn’t have any other strategy. But now he had the money to back his counterattack, and he had the knowledge that Oliver Clemons wouldn’t be an issue at all for much longer.

  “Then it’s time to move,” Beau said. “We get Lucy and Tipp away from him, and we don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  Still, his conscience warred with his heart. Lydia knew nothing about any of this. He’d almost resigned himself to the marriage, and she had proven to be more loving and mature than he ever thought she could be. But she deserved someone who could truly love her, who wasn’t forced into marrying her, and that someone wasn’t him. Once he’d dealt with Oliver, he would tell her everything and hoped she wouldn’t be devastated.

  Chapter Thirty

  The next two days crawled by, with Lydia’s wedding plans going full steam ahead during the day and insufferable dinners at Oliver’s table by night. Luckily, all those plans distracted her too much for her to notice the missing horse or his preoccupied mind. Beau longed to tell Ezra and Jonny about his plans, but he couldn’t risk word getting out. He ‘just happened’ to run into Tipp during a visit to Isaac and Bessie’s house.

  The two of them played a long overdue game of checkers. Lucy, of course, wasn’t there. She wasn’t allowed to leave the main house until Beau had handed over his freedom for hers. He hated having to tell Tipp what Lucy had lived through, but he did anyway, though he left out the possibility of their unborn child being Oliver’s.

  “Jesus, I shoulda killed him already,” Tipp said, drawing his lips in tight. His brown fingers squeezed themselves into rock-hard fists.

  “You know what would happen if you did.” Down to three checkers. Beau jumped one of Tipp’s ten red ones.

  “Maybe so, but damn it, Beau, I ain’t much of a man if I can’t protect my family.” Tipp slammed a fist on the table, rattling the checkerboard and pieces. His chest rose with a deep breath; his tense muscles relaxed as he exhaled. Then he caught Beau’s mistake and jumped two more of his checkers in one move.

  “But that’s what you’ve done. You’ve protected them from seeing you hang. Now we have the opportunity to turn things around.”

  “She should have told me he was beatin’ her again. I would have found a way for us to get out.”

  Beau took his last move, having to choose between two spaces that were both guarded by Tipp’s red checkers. “To hell with it.” He slid the checker into enemy territory. “She was worried for you and Sallie Mae, and she really wanted you to have the land Oliver promised, though I doubt he had any intention of keeping his word.”

  “Once we get out of here, we ain’t settin’ foot in Tennessee again. But you know I’m gonna miss you, Beau. We ain’t had near enough time to visit.”

  “I know, but maybe we can visit you someday wherever you end up.”

  “I hope so. We’ll play more checkers, too. You sure ain’t got no better at it.” Tipp jumped Beau’s last piece and sat back in his chair with a sigh. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can use that money for yourself and marry Miss Lydia. Live happily ever after.”

  Beau shook his head and stacked a few random checkers. “Hanging might be the better option there.”

  Tipp finally managed to crack a smile. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but yes, I think you’re right. Now tell me how you’re plannin’ on getting’ Lucy and Sallie Mae out.”

  Beau couldn’t help smiling as well when he started putting their plan into words. “Well, first we’ll need an Irishman and a great many bottles of whiskey…”

  ~~~~

  Beau didn’t sleep a wink at night in his bed, where he kept imagining Lydia lying there wearing even less than she had on the other night. He managed a couple of cat naps in the barn, but then he dreamed of Portia and how good she felt in his arms and how sweet her lips tasted when they kissed. He was in this sleep-deprived state on day three after his visit to Amelie. He heard a rider approaching, and with hay in his hair and stubble on his chin, he sat up and blinked into the sunlight.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Mr. Stanford,” Reverend McKee called in an Irish brogue as thick as mashed potatoes.

  “And to you,” Beau said, brushing hay from his pants as he rose to greet the visitor. “So…?”

  “It’s all here,” he said with a wink, patting a leather satchel that hung at his side. “I feel like a bloody leprechaun carrying this much treasure.”

  He handed the bag to Beau, who tucked it under his arm.

  “Tonight, then? Are you sure you can distract Oliver’s minions?”

  “Aye, and don’t worry. I’m as gregarious as any Irishman you’ve ever come across.”

  “Actually, you’re the first one I’ve met.” Beau laughed, but his mind drifted west, to Brentwood and Portia. What was she doing right now?

  “Then it’s especially true.” His cheery face turned serious. “You’re thinkin’ about the other lass, aren’t you?”

  Beau nodded.

  “Bring her back here and marry her, then send her to me, because I could still use a good teacher or two.”

  Beau couldn’t help but laugh that time. “If by some miracle she would come back, I don’t think I’d let her go for anything.”

  “I understand. Now, I’m off to procure some libations for the night’s festivities.”

  He rode away while Beau flipped through the pile of cash in the bag. More than he’d seen in ages. Certainly more than enough to compensate Oliver for Lucy and Tipp’s departure. Yet even if tonight’s plan proved a success
, he still had little chance of Po coming back to him. Not after everything he had done. At least McKee had promised to offer her a teaching position when all this was over.

  ~~~~

  Jonny slept soundly in his bed. He held the handkerchief Portia had embroidered with his name. Beau touched the expert stitching and kissed his son’s forehead.

  Pa caught him before he could get downstairs. “Be careful, Beauregard.”

  Beau stood there looking at him, uncertain if he should agree or play dumb.

  “Isaac told me your plans and why you were gonna marry Lydia. I’m sorry I doubted you, son.”

  “It’s all right, Pa. I’ve done plenty to make you doubt me. I just hope I can make some of it right.”

  “You got your Colt, should any trouble arise?”

  Beau nodded. It hadn’t occurred to him that if everything went completely wrong, it might be the last time he saw Pa and Jonny. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think about it.

  Pa descended the steps until he landed on the one where Beau stood. He hugged him and whispered, “I’m proud of ya, son, and I love ya. Now go do what ya gotta do. And when it’s all done, go fetch Portia and bring her back to us.”

  “You remember what I told you about Jake? She won’t come back, not after everything I’ve put her through.”

  “You did the right thing at the time. There was no way for you to know who he was or who she was, and with everything else messing with your mind, it’s no wonder you couldn’t put two and two together. Don’t underestimate her, Beauregard. A woman like Portia don’t hold them kind of grudges. And a woman like her don’t show up on your doorstep every day. Don’t do what I did. Don’t let fear of gettin’ hurt hold ya back from lovin’ again. I love you and Jonny more than anything, but that bed of mine’s been a cold and lonely place for too long.”

  Beau took a deep breath and looked down the stairs at the front door and the unknown future that waited on the other side. “Watch over Jonny for me.”

  “I will, but you’ll be back before mornin’.” His words were layered with worry and warning.

  “I’ll be back,” Beau said, and he hoped to God he could keep that promise.

  ~~~~

  He and Isaac took the buggy out to Paradise Plantation, thankful that Lydia and Polly were at a party in town. He didn’t expect them back until at least midnight. In one of the barns close to the big house, light spilled from the open doors and windows, along with a rousing Irish jig on a fiddle. Oliver’s hooligans were inside, whooping and hollering. A couple of them had linked arms and danced around in a circle, holding tin mugs with liquid that sloshed out onto the dirt floor.

  Beau chuckled. McKee was good. No wonder Amelie had partnered with him.

  They drove the buggy around back, parking by the kitchen door. They sat there for a couple of minutes, listening and watching carefully to make sure there were no guards lurking about. A short whistle preceded Tipp’s appearance. He jogged toward Beau from the slave quarters. He wasn’t allowed in the big house at night, but he’d instructed Lucy to leave the door unlocked. Beau patted the pistol in his holster and nodded to Tipp, who carefully and quietly opened the door. Lucy and Sallie Mae would be waiting on their pallets in the kitchen.

  They dared not carry lanterns, so Beau had to stand still a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

  “Lucy,” Tipp whispered. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

  Squinting toward the cold hearth where the pallets should be, Beau could see only one lump. His doubts flared — the plan was to sneak Lucy and Sallie Mae out to the buggy where Isaac would take them to the designated ally house on the road to Nashville to await Reverend McKee. In the meantime, he would be offering Oliver that wad of cash and trying to sweet-talk him into a peaceful submission. If he refused, Tipp, Lucy, and Sallie Mae would still have enough of a head start to get away.

  But something wasn’t right. Tipp crept over to Sallie Mae and shook her gently until she woke and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

  “Where’s your mama?” he whispered.

  She looked around sleepily and then shrugged.

  Tipp picked her up, along with her doll and a little bag of belongings. He carried her out to the buggy, where he placed her in the back seat and kissed her forehead. Beau followed him.

  “Where’s Lucy?” Isaac whispered.

  “I’m about to find out,” Tipp said. He walked back in the house, eyes flashing with murderous anger that would get him killed if he wasn’t careful.

  Beau kept his hand on the Colt as they crept through the dark house. No one stirred in the great hall or any of the adjoining rooms. They sneaked up the stairs; thankfully the carpet muffled their steps and the creaking wood. They had almost reached the top when they heard a woman screaming.

  “Lucy!” Tipp leaped up the final two steps and ran toward the sound.

  Shit. Beau pulled his pistol and ran behind him to a door with a tiny sliver of light underneath. A woman — it had to be Lucy — screamed and yelped on the other side, along with a repeating thwack, thwack.

  Tipp tried the knob then banged on the door. “Lucy!”

  She screamed again. “No, Tipp, get out of here! Get Sallie Mae and go!”

  “Lucy! I’m coming!” Tipp backed up to the wall and ran toward the door, ramming his shoulder against the thick oak slab. It shuddered but didn’t budge.

  “Stand back,” Beau said. As soon as Tipp stepped aside, Beau lifted his leg and threw all of his body weight into a wood-splintering kick.

  The door surrendered, swooshing open to a horrendous sight. Oliver, in a rage, stood over Lucy. She crouched on the floor, her arms crossed over her head in an attempt to shield herself. Oliver was shirtless. Suspender straps hung loose at his sides, flopping as he struck her again and again with a riding crop. Lucy was naked from the waist up. Bloody welts striped her back and arms.

  “You don’t tell me no, you useless nigger whore!” He kept beating the shit out of her and in his blind fury, didn’t seem to notice the interruption.

  Oliver raised the riding crop to strike again. Tipp stepped forward and caught it right on the palm of his hand with an agonizing snap.

  He didn’t even flinch.

  The madness in Oliver’s eyes turned to bewilderment. Tipp wrenched the riding crop from his hand and struck it across the old man’s face. Oliver stumbled back. A nasty red welt made a diagonal stripe on his wrinkled cheek.

  Tipp roared, “I’ll kill you!” and sprang at his prey, knocking Oliver to the floor.

  His fist pounded into Oliver’s face once, twice, three times.

  Beau holstered his pistol. He sped over to Tipp and hooked one arm around his neck. Grabbing the bedpost for leverage, his boots fought for traction on the rug-covered floor. But he might as well have been fighting a goddamn solid wall of muscles. Grinding his teeth, pain knifed through his wounded shoulder. Finally he managed to pull Tipp off Oliver. Beau dragged him far enough to get between them.

  He spread his arms as far as he could in the hopes of keeping them separated. “Tipp, get Lucy out of here! He ain’t worth it.”

  Oliver writhed on the floor, groaning like a dying bear. His hand covered the right side of his face. Beside him lay a couple of tobacco-stained teeth with bloody roots. Beau scanned the area around the bed and rug for more weapons but saw none.

  “Tipp, you have to go,” Beau said, lowering his voice to the calm, even tone he used on his most stubborn horses. “Don’t be like him. You’re better than this.”

  Blood dripped from Tipp’s clenched fist. Chest heaving, his upper lip curled over his teeth. He glared down at Oliver as though he could murder him with one blow if Beau gave him the slightest chance. Finally he tore his attention from the beaten old man and focused on Lucy. Rage melted into anguish as he knelt beside her and took her face in his now-gentle hands.

  Arms crossed to cover her bare chest, she whispered, “You came for me.”

  He nodded and wiped her tear
-streaked cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll never let nobody hurt you again. Come on. I’m gettin’ you and Sallie Mae out of here.”

  He yanked a quilt or shawl or something from nearby — Beau didn’t take his eyes off Oliver to see exactly what — and threw it over Lucy. He helped her to her feet and led her out the door.

  Oliver rolled to his knees, held to the footboard of his bed, and stood on shaky legs. Nose swollen and mouth dripping blood, he turned to Beau. “You’ll regret this.”

  “No more than I’ve regretted ever knowing you in the first place.”

  Beau pulled the money bag from his coat and threw it down at Oliver’s feet. Crisp new dollars flew out, scattering on the floor around them. “Here’s your thirty pieces of silver. Enjoy it while you can.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “None of your damn business.” God, how he wanted to tell him he would likely be rotting in jail very soon, but he bit his tongue and said, “I came here tonight with more than enough money to buy their contracts, hoping we could resolve this in peace. Instead I come here to find you breaking your end of the contract over Lucy’s back. We’re done, Clemons. You don’t own me or anyone else.”

  From the corner of his eye, Beau caught light glinting through Oliver’s window. Coach lights. Shit, Lydia and Polly. He’d have to tell her tonight if he could figure out where and how.

  Oliver wiped his mouth with his bare hand, smearing blood and spit across his chin. “I don’t think you understand…”

  “I understand plenty.” Beau couldn’t resist any longer. “You’re a power-hungry bastard and you’re gonna be brought to justice any day now. The U.S. government doesn’t take kindly to those who conspired with Booth.”

  “Bullshit,” Oliver spat, returning the dangling suspender straps to his bony shoulders.

  “They also don’t take kindly to arson. I recall hearing about a terrible fire at a warehouse owned by Blackburn and Company in Philly. Last February, wasn’t it?”