A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  Settling into bed after extinguishing the lamp, she wiggled into the comfort of her feather mattress with a contented sigh. For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t felt the crushing weight of loss. Instead, hope had reignited, allowing her to clearly see a future full of possibilities, with a home and husband… maybe even more children.

  Smiling, she drifted into dreams of babies and Jonny graduating from the university and sitting with Beau on the front porch while they watched their grandchildren play. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, she woke to the sound of her door creaking open.

  She sat up and squinted into the darkness, laughing softly. “Beau, can’t you wait just a couple of nights?”

  Her eyes caught a silvery flash and a man-shaped shadow. A second later, she was knocked flat to her bed and pinned down under a crushing weight. She tried to scream, but a large hand clapped over her mouth, and all she could utter were muffled shrieks. Something sharp pinched her neck. Her eyes adjusted enough in the darkness to identify exactly who her killer would be.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, darlin’.” Harry Franklin’s breath reeked of whiskey and brought with it every childhood memory she had tried to suppress. “But I ain’t Beau, and I ain’t waitin’ for you no more.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Paralyzed with fear, Portia whimpered as Harry lifted his body off her just enough to loosen his belt. He jerked the covers from between them. A rush of cool air jolted her into action. She thrashed her head to one side and let loose the loudest scream she could. But it was brief. Harry’s hand smashed down on her mouth, cramming her lips against her teeth. The knife slipped along her skin, leaving a searing hot pain and rendering her silent once more. Did Beau hear her? Did anyone? Or was she meant to die like this — at the hand of the man who killed her brother?

  “Shut up!” He yanked her gown up to her hips and started to wriggle out of his pants. “I gave you the chance to be with me proper-like. But no. All you wanted was Beau. You know what? He can have you for all I care, but I’m gonna have you first.”

  He hooked his fingers into her drawers and ripped them from her body, wedging himself between her legs. She screamed beneath his hand again, the muffled sound mixing with her sobs as hot tears streamed from her eyes. Oddly enough, she worried less about her own life than she did about Beau — if he woke to find her raped and murdered, he might lose his mind. And Jonny would be without him…

  Someone crashed through her door. “Get off her!”

  Everything happened in a nightmarish blur of movement. Beau grabbed Harry by the shirt collar and threw him to the floor. Circling around, he positioned himself between Portia and her attacker, crouched and ready. Harry sprang and slashed out with his knife. Beau caught his wrist and rammed him backward into the wall. A picture of Ezra and Beau’s mother fell from its hook. Glass shattered onto Harry as he bashed his head into Beau’s. Beau stumbled, and Harry tackled, knocking him to the floor.

  Wild-eyed Harry strained over Beau, neck tendons bulging. He tried desperately to sink a knife into Beau’s chest. Beau clenched Harry’s arm with both hands. His arms quaked. The knife inched closer.

  Portia had to act now — she would not let Beau die by Harry’s hand. Her eyes locked on the bottom dresser drawer.

  Frank’s pistol.

  She flew off the bed and dove for the dresser. Yanking it open, she fumbled inside for the gun, found cool metal, and closed her hand around the grip. She swept it out. On her knees, she turned to face the chaos. Her thumb cocked the hammer, her finger hugged the trigger. Harry broke loose from Beau’s grip, recoiled his arm, and brought the knife down in a sudden strike.

  In a split second, Frank’s terse instruction bolted through her mind: ‘“Point, aim, fire — don’t think, just hold it steady, line up the sights, and pull the trigger.’”

  And that’s what she did.

  The gunshot reverberated through Portia’s body. Her ears rang like she was standing inside a clanging church bell. The knife fell from Harry’s hand and clattered silently to the floor. Blood bloomed across his shirt.

  He lifted his head and looked at Portia. A million unspoken questions swam in his eyes. He toppled off Beau and hit the floor.

  Beau flipped to his hands and knees and crawled to Portia. Blood wept from a nasty red gash on his bare chest. “Po — look at me! Are you all right?”

  His voice shoved past the ringing in her ears. She tore her sight from the first man she’d ever shot and met Beau’s frantic eyes. Trembling, she set the gun down and let him gather her in his arms. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Ezra and Jonny in the doorway.

  Jonny didn’t need to see this. She waved at them to get back. “No, get out of here. Go!”

  But Jonny’s attention was focused solely on the window. He pointed and screamed, “Pa — the barn!”

  ~~~~

  Yellow light flickered across the ceiling. Panic ignited in Beau’s veins. Steeling himself for what he was about to see, he scrambled to his feet and peered through the glass. Down the hill, flames engulfed the stable roof. He scooped up Portia’s pistol, took off down the hall, and snatched the rifle from his room. He thundered down the stairs with Pa, Jonny, and Portia right behind him.

  Gesturing for everyone to stay back, he flung open the door. His stomach churned at the sight of flames licking the night sky. Rifle ready in his left hand and pistol in his right, he flattened himself against the wall and sniffed the air. The house, for now, seemed to be unscathed. Leading with his rifle, he peeked outside to see if Harry acted alone or brought reinforcements. No one else was in sight.

  Turning to Po, he cupped her cheek with one hand. “Stay here with Jonny.”

  She shook her head, crying frantically. “No, Beau, please!”

  “For now, you’re still my employee, and I’m not asking.” He pressed the pistol grip into her hand and closed her fingers around it. “Keep our boy safe. If you have to, run out the back and to Bessie and Isaac’s house. Understand?”

  Tears still streaming, she nodded reluctantly. It was all he could do to not take her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. But he couldn’t spare anymore time. He pulled Portia and Jonny into a quick embrace and raced out the door with Pa. They had to save the horses if they could.

  The old man could still run when he needed to and was only a step or two behind Beau when they reached the stable. The fire hadn’t engulfed the whole structure yet. It was contained to the roof and left side of the building.

  “I’ll get Scout, you get Crazy Girl,” Beau said.

  Pa shrugged out of his night shirt and ripped it down the middle. He tossed one half to Beau. Both men dropped their rifles just inside the door. Pa headed straight for Crazy Girl’s stall, while Beau went for Scout. The horses whinnied in terror.

  Scout reared. When he landed on all four hooves again, Beau caught his bridle. Flames reflected in his terrified brown eyes. He pulled Scout’s head to his, shushing and rubbing his neck before quickly wrapping the piece of Pa’s nightshirt around his eyes. Infernal heat curled Beau’s eyelashes and scalded his bare skin. A burning timber tumbled into the adjoining stall as Beau led Scout outside. Pa had already gotten Crazy Girl out. She remained surprisingly calm as he unwrapped her head and shooed her into the paddock.

  “Come on, boy,” Beau encouraged, trying to pull the stubborn stallion through the paddock gate. He’d never acted like this before.

  “Walk on now, Scout, walk on,” Pa hollered, holding the gate open wide.

  Scout tugged against his master, neighing and huffing, locking up his rear legs. This wasn’t like him. Under the sweat and ash, hairs prickled on the back of Beau’s neck. He ripped the cover off Scout’s eyes, but before he could let go of the bridle, the horse jerked his head to one side and reared back. Beau pitched forward.

  A gunshot split the smoke-filled air. A bullet whistled by Beau’s head. He hit the dirt, bit his lip, and tasted blood. He didn’t have time to marvel
over how Scout had saved him. The horse galloped down the drive toward the main road, but other hoof beats came from the wagon path behind the house. Riders were gaining on them fast. Harry hadn’t been alone, after all.

  Lying flat on the ground, Beau waved at Pa, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t been hit. “Get down!” Spotting the rifles they’d left in the barn, he belly crawled to the doorway and grabbed them both. He looked over his shoulder. Pa had followed him from behind the paddock fence, crouching as low as his knees would allow. Thank God.

  “Give it here, Beauregard.” Pa reached through the fence slats.

  Beau handed him the rifle butt first. “Take cover.”

  Beau wanted to run straight to Portia and Jonny, but he knew better. War had schooled him in more than just pain and agony. Running across open ground for the house would make him easy pickings for any shooter. It could also draw unneeded attention to his son and soon-to-be wife, particularly if his conspirators assumed Harry would handle that end of things. Beau clenched his fists. He’d come too close to losing her already. He had to keep a clear head.

  I promised Frank I’d keep her safe. I’m a man of my word. He had to trust Portia, had to believe she would survive — she knew how to shoot and would keep both herself and Jonny alive.

  He dove behind two rain barrels that sat at the corner of the stable and paddock fence. Pa hunkered down between the fence and the corner of the stable. Everything they’d worked for was burning down behind them. The horses and mules they couldn’t save whinnied and screamed, still trapped inside. It strangled his very soul, knowing they were helpless to escape. But he had to deal with the intruders first, or he could lose much more than his horses.

  Rifle held ready, Beau peered around a barrel and counted one… two… three riders veering away from them and headed across the front side of the house. Two of them had covered faces, but one hadn’t bothered to hide. Beau recognized him right away — Randal. The authorities had arrested him and the others the night of Oliver’s suicide, but they didn’t have enough evidence to charge them with any crimes. They had bellowed and bawled so much when they were hauled to jail, Beau didn’t think they’d cause any more trouble. Not with their lifeline, Oliver, severed for good.

  By God he wouldn’t make the same mistake of underestimating Randal twice. He took aim, zeroing in on that stringy, greasy hair. His finger hugged the trigger. Until he saw something that sent a river of ice down his spine.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Stay down!” Portia whispered to Jonny. She tried to keep the fear from her voice but did a terrible job of it. The poor boy wept pitifully, tucked under her arm like a frightened chick.

  With the pistol barrel, she pulled back the curtain and peered outside, pressing herself against the wall like Beau had done. Light and various shapes moved around but were hard to make out.

  At first.

  Squinting past the distorted glass into the night, she recognized men on horseback carrying torches. Bandanas covered their faces from the nose down. Dark hoods hid them from the eyes up. They rode toward the giant oak tree in front of the house. Something bounced along the ground behind one of the riders.

  “Oh, God, no.”

  That something was a man.

  “What’s happening, Po?” Jonny cried. “Is Pa all right?”

  “I don’t know.” Was it Beau, Ezra, Isaac? Fear coiled itself around her insides and squeezed. She wanted to vomit.

  Windows shattered in the study. Portia screamed. A torch landed on Jonny’s desk. Flames ignited the curtains, climbing up the fabric faster than she thought possible. Either those intruders were trying to flush them out or were simply bent on destroying everything Beau owned. The fire reached the ceiling, crawling across the plaster. Burning pieces of it landed on Shakespeare’s bust and her desk, catching fire to her stationery. Smoke clogged the air.

  The intense heat melted into her reasoning. They had to get out and quick, but which way? Sweat glued her nightgown to her skin and dripped into her eyes. Jonny’s panicked wailing didn’t help either.

  Portia grabbed his shoulders and gave him a solid shake. He quieted down long enough for her to say, “Jonny, I need you to stay calm. You’re the man of this house right now, so we have to work together. Understand?”

  Lip still quivering, he nodded and took her hand. She couldn’t rush out the front door with everything happening out there, but they had to flee from the fire. Beau said run out back to Bessie and Isaac’s house. She dragged Jonny along through the kitchen and to the back door. Nothing was burning in there, but it wouldn’t take long for the fire to reach it. She took a final glance at her beloved water pump, reached for the door, but hesitated.

  Another one of Frank’s brisk lessons surfaced in her memory. Expect the unexpected. Holding the pistol ready, finger on the trigger, she pushed Jonny behind her and took a deep breath. Then she yanked the door open.

  Someone stood there on the other side. Not Beau or Ezra. A large man, face covered, his huge hand reaching toward her. Not thinking twice, she stuck the gun in his face and fired. He toppled backwards and hit the ground with a thud.

  Two bullets down. Four to go. Keeping the gun ready, she scanned the backyard and saw nothing moving. She pulled Jonny’s hand, but he wouldn’t move. He stood frozen, staring at the dead man with huge, frightened eyes.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Come on. We have to get you to Bessie and Isaac’s house.”

  “What about you, Po?”

  Smoke plumed from the barrel of her gun. She had enough bullets to take down the rest of the intruders if she was lucky. “I have to help your pa and grandpa.”

  “No! I want to go with you. Don’t leave me, please!”

  “Come on!”

  Still transfixed on the dead man, he let her drag him away. Heading toward the wagon road that led to Bessie and Isaac’s house, her lungs ached. Fear wedged itself in her throat. She gasped for air. She’d never been to war, knew nothing of strategy. What if she was doing this all wrong? What if she got everyone killed? First Harry, then that man she’d shot in the face. Was it necessary? She could have aimed to wound, not kill.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  A sudden scream shook her from her doubts. Someone ran along the wagon path. Portia kept her gun pointed and finger hovering over the trigger. She would shoot only if she must, but then she recognized the voice and the anguished cry.

  “Isaac!”

  Bessie flew past, nightclothes fisted in both hands. The wind caught her nightcap and stole it from her head. She paid no heed to it or to Portia. Her legs pumped as hard and fast as they could. But it was the pure horror in Bessie’s voice that threw an icy lasso around Portia’s heart.

  “Isaac!”

  He must have been the man bouncing along the ground behind the horse. They aimed to lynch him. Harry had gone mad from jealousy and drugs and had taken his revenge. Bessie and Isaac’s house was no longer an option. Changing course, Portia led Jonny to the side of the house. She spotted the root cellar. No matter what, she had to keep Jonny safe. She led him to the cellar, flung open the door, and pushed him inside.

  She gripped his shoulder and bent to look him in the eye. “Listen to me. I want you to hide. Get behind those crates and don’t make a sound. Don’t come out no matter what you hear, understand?”

  Tears drenched his cheeks. “I can help.”

  “You can help by doing what I say.” Pulling him to her in a tight hug, she fought back tears of her own. “I love you, Jonny. Stay here.”

  Soon as she shut the cellar door, Portia sprang into action. She ran after Bessie, trying to wave her down without yelling and giving away her position. But Bessie had already crossed in front of her, heading into the fray. Portia opened her mouth to scream when a shot exploded into the night. Bessie spun a half turn and fell limply to the ground.

  No… Portia skidded to a stop.

  She hadn’t made it around the house just yet and thought
she must be out of sight from the intruders. So she dropped to her hands and knees to close the distance between her and Bessie. She peeked toward the front yard as she cleared the house. The men had a rope around Isaac’s neck, and they’d slung the other end around a thick limb in the oak. Another man sheltered behind the wide trunk, firing his rifle toward the burning horse barn. More shots answered, perhaps from Beau and Ezra?

  Portia itched to put a bullet in one of the attackers, but she had to get to Bessie first.

  They weren’t looking her way, so she crawled the remaining few feet to where Bessie lay crumpled on her side. She wasn’t moving…

  She rolled Bessie to her back. The older woman groaned. Teeth bared, her mouth gaped open in a silent scream. She’d been shot in the shoulder. Warm, sticky blood soaked the top half of her nightgown and coated Portia’s palm.

  “I’ll get you out of here.” She wiped the blood from her hand the best she could on her own nightgown and tried to take Bessie’s uninjured arm so she could drag her to safety.

  “No. Help my Isaac,” she begged, swatting at Portia.

  Another gunshot. The man with the rifle crumpled to the ground. Thank God. Beau or Ezra, hopefully both of them, was still alive.

  Isaac already hung off the ground, hands tied behind his back, spinning in mid-air and kicking his legs. He managed to nail one of the men right in the teeth. With a flurry of cursing and blood-spitting, they finally hoisted him over their heads. The intruders’ torchlight and the light from the burning house danced across Isaac’s face. Clearly in agony, but still alive. The one Isaac kicked held the loose end of the rope, while his companion skirted around the tree to take the fallen man’s place. She finally recognized him as that disgusting man who had leered at her when she was in town with Harry. What was his name? Randal?

  Another gunshot shook the night, with a returning one from the barn.

  Portia’s jaw clenched tight. She wasn’t about to let them take her family without a fight. Squatting as low to the ground as she could, she tried to lock one hand around Bessie’s wrist to drag her toward the house.