A Time for Everything

by Mysti Parker

  “No… Isaac,” she groaned, pulling back against Portia’s attempt.

  “We’ll help him,” Portia said, straining against Bessie’s weight and her resistance. “Stop fighting me.”

  She dug in her heels and pulled for all she was worth. Bessie cried out in pain, but Portia managed to drag her around to the side of the house and out of view.

  Four bullets left. Portia had to make them count. She inched to the corner of the house and behind a pink rosebush, its blooms muted to a dull grey there in the shadows. Thorns scratched her arms as she angled her torso just enough to see around the house and aimed the pistol over the top of the foliage.

  She fired. The rope slid from the limb, Isaac’s body hit the ground, and the man who had almost hanged him fell to the dirt. Dead, she hoped.

  Three bullets left.

  The man with the rifle aimed his gun right at her. She ducked behind the house as the bullet hit the siding. Wood splinters flew; Portia squinted as they struck her face.

  Another shot tore through the rosebush. Leaves and petals went flying. Back flattened against the siding, Portia gulped air into her lungs. She tasted rose blossoms mixed with smoke and gunmetal.

  Is Beau dead? Is Ezra? Dear God, don’t let them find Jonny.

  Portia dared a peek around the corner. The rifleman was gone. Isaac was still tied and struggling to free himself on the ground beneath the oak tree. She had to untie him and find Beau and Ezra. She launched herself off the wall and broke into a run.

  But an arm clothes-lined her from behind, trapping her in a choking headlock. She dropped her gun. “Well, now lookie here. Harry’s been wantin’ a piece of you for a long time. He must not have got his wish. Maybe I will, huh?” He squeezed her breast. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  The smell of Randal’s greasy hair and his violating touch made her cough and gag. She clawed at his arm. “Let me go!”

  “Not until I get a little smooch.”

  His wet lips and tongue slobbered on her cheek. He held a pistol in the hand he had captured her with. She tried to grab it, but he tightened his other arm around her waist and wrenched his gun arm away. He jabbed the barrel beneath her chin.

  “Oh I got me a feisty one,” he said.

  Someone ran up the hill from the horse barn.

  “Beau!” Portia screamed.

  He glanced at Bessie where she lay nearby and stopped running. “Let her go, Randal!”

  “Why? She feels so good. No wonder you want to ride this little filly.”

  Slowly, Beau inched toward them, his rifle held solid and level against his shoulder. His finger hovered over the trigger. His eyes projected more rage than she’d ever seen before. But Portia felt his fear. He must have wanted so badly to kill Randal, but he was probably afraid he’d shoot her instead.

  “You best not shoot, nigger lover,” Randal growled. “Might hurt your little sweetie here. Thought you had it all, didn’t ya? Always thought you was better than the rest of us, better than Harry, too. He got tired of your shit like we all did. I reckon we’re even now. You gonna put that gun down and let me ride off like nothin’ happened or your bitch here’s gonna die.”

  From the corner of Portia’s eye, she caught a quick movement from Bessie. Portia turned her head away just in time. A shower of dirt hit Randal’s eyes. Though she trembled and groaned with the pain, the satisfied light in Bessie’s eyes was priceless.

  “Argh… shit!” He released Portia and tried to slap away the blinding dirt.

  Beau leapt forward, catching Portia’s arm as she reached for him. He pulled her behind him and aimed his rifle. But Randal, blinking through muddy tears, shot first. Beau cried out and wobbled backward.

  “No!” Portia steadied him. The bullet had struck his arm. Blood poured down his sleeve.

  Randal regained his focus and pointed his gun straight at Beau’s head. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

  Suddenly, he arched his back and let out a horrendous howl. Beau and Portia ducked as the gun fired. He missed.

  But Harry didn’t.

  Randal toppled face first on the ground. The handle of a knife bobbed around where Harry had plunged the blade into Randal’s back. Then it went still. Randal was dead.

  Clutching his chest, Harry fell to his knees. Beau rushed to his side, and with one hand behind Harry’s neck, helped him lie down on the ground. Portia kneeled beside them.

  “I’m sorry, Beau,” Harry whispered as he locked eyes with Portia. His breath came in shallow gasps. The skin on his face and arms was red and blistered, seared from the fire he must have crawled through to reach them.

  “I know.” Beau took Harry’s hand and held it tight. “You saved my life.”

  “I owed you that.” A weak smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I couldn’t… let my brother… die.”

  “Harry…” The pain on Beau’s face broke Portia’s heart. She wept for these brothers who had lived through hell together, though one of them had never recovered.

  Harry’s head fell to one side. His bright eyes dulled as he breathed his last breath.

  Jonny ran out of the darkness and straight toward his father. “Pa!”

  Beau caught him in his arms and held him close, crying softly.

  Ezra had cut the ropes from Isaac, and the two hurried toward them. Isaac recoiled like he’d been shot himself when he saw Bessie on the ground and broke into a stumbling run to get to his wife.

  “You’re all right?” Bessie reached for him. He bent down and gently picked her up in his arms.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Better than fine. I still got you.” He kissed her tenderly.

  Isaac carried her away from the house. The rest of them followed. They stood on the wagon path, watching their home and horse barn go down in flames.

  As if God felt their loss, the sky opened up with a merciful downpour of rain. It wouldn’t be enough to save the house, though there might be a few things left to salvage. Portia held her family close, knowing things could have been so much worse.

  They still had each other, and that’s all that mattered.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Three months later…

  Besides the wind, the weather could not have been nicer for an August wedding at sunset. Holding Ezra’s arm, Portia walked down the grassy aisle between the two sides of the small congregation, feeling so blessed by all the people who had come to their aid after the attack. Amelie sat on the front row, no longer hiding behind her senile guise. She had paid their debts and shared her home for them to reside in until theirs was rebuilt. Mrs. Peabody donated the most beautiful wedding gown Portia had ever seen — fine white linen with a v-shaped neckline and loose, lacy sleeves. The train and bodice were adorned with purple silk taffeta ribbons and embroidered white lace. From the look on Beau’s face, she might have been an angel fallen from heaven. Anxious joy warmed her cheeks.

  Instead of a church wedding, they chose to be married on their own land, in front of the newly-built horse barn. Beau’s wounded arm needed time to heal, so with donated lumber and labor, nearly every able-bodied man in town pitched in to help with the construction. They even let Scout and Crazy Girl take shelter in their stables.

  The house still wasn’t much more than a bare foundation, but they’d managed to recover a few treasures — Jake’s picture, Beau’s chest, and Portia’s beloved water pump. They had buried Harry in the Stanford family cemetery. He might not have been blood kin, but he was still Beau’s brother, mistakes and all.

  Now they stood before their family and friends and Reverend Joseph McKee. He brushed his overdue-for-a-haircut locks from his eyes and angled his body to face the strong breeze. He cleared his throat and smiled across the yard at the small congregation.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…”

  The rooster crowed obnoxiously from atop his roost on the horse barn. A sudden gust shoved him from the timbers in a flurry of feathers and crazed wings. Beau laughed when the sill
y bird hit the dirt and ran, flapping and squawking in humiliation.

  “If he wasn’t our only rooster, I’d have fried him up for the reception,” Bessie proclaimed.

  Portia giggled and winked at her. Poor Bessie had lost a lot of blood, but by God’s grace, had survived. Since the main house wasn’t finished yet, Mrs. Peabody and a few of the other ladies from town volunteered their services to prepare the meal. After much protesting, Bessie finally gave in. So a big dinner awaited everyone, laid out on a few long tables in the new barn’s wide alleyway.

  Portia squeezed Ezra’s arm, and he gave her one of his curled-up mustache smiles. He wore a nice suit, but at her request, his pipe hung in its place from his mouth, lending cherry-scented familiarity to the day. Ezra Stanford was by far the best daddy she could have ever asked for.

  Reverend McKee cleared his throat again, loudly. “We are gathered here for the uniting of two like souls. Who gives this woman to this man?”

  “I do,” said Ezra, with unmistakable pride in his lifted chin and puffed chest.

  Portia handed her bouquet of lilacs and wildflowers to the maid of honor. Ellen took them in one hand and wiped tears with the other. Then she sneezed.

  “Bless you,” said McKee. “Now, join hands.”

  They didn’t waste time with that part, though Beau’s arm still rested in a sling. It had healed well, but his grip wasn’t quite what it used to be. Portia didn’t mind. His hands still felt so wonderfully warm and strong, and she could easily imagine how they would feel on her bare skin…

  “Um…” Jonny spoke up from his place in the front row. “Baby Jake is wet and he smells.”

  He’d practically begged to hold the baby during the service, which tickled Portia near to death. She looked up at Beau’s smiling face, and from the intensity of his gray eyes, she knew he was thinking the exact same thing. She couldn’t wait to try for another addition to their family.

  Just a few hours. A few lonnnng hours… focus!

  “I’ll change him,” Frank grumbled. He engulfed the baby in his great big hands and carried him to their wagon.

  “For the love of our dear Lord in Heaven,” McKee said, waving his Bible in the air, then pointed it at Beau. “Beauregard Stanford, do you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Beau answered, grinning from ear to ear.

  “And Portia McAllister, do you?”

  “Of course I do,” she said.

  “Good! Then kiss the lass already and be done with it.”

  Beau lifted her veil and smiled. “You heard the good reverend, Po.”

  He kissed her like nobody was watching, and no one had a cross word to say about it. Instead, they cheered.

  At the reception, Beau and Portia sat together at the head of the table. Bessie proudly presented the white-frosted wedding cake. She wiped tears from her eyes and laughed as they fed each other. Beau kissed a dollop of icing from Portia’s lips.

  Reverend McKee sat across from them. Frank sat beside him, dwarfing the Irishman.

  “Mrs. Stanford, I hear your brother-in-law lent his Samson’s strength to the barn raising,” McKee said, pointing his fork toward Frank, who responded with a rare chuckle. “Pity you didn’t relocate to Nashville. I could have used a fine teacher like you.”

  Portia snuggled against Beau’s arm. “With all due respect, Reverend, this is our home, and we’d be remiss to leave it behind. Besides, Amelie has offered to fund a new school here. I’ll begin teaching in September.”

  McKee peered down the table at the many guests. He leaned in close and spoke softly, “I must say, I’m not surprised to see this town pull together in your time of need. They’ve finally remembered God’s call to love our neighbors, now that the war is over and Clemons has no power over them. How’s your boy dealing with everything?”

  “He took it hard at first, but he’s a strong young man. He’ll be just fine.” Beau smiled toward the stable door, where Jonny and the other children caught fireflies.

  Isaac and Bessie’s sons and their families had come back to stay. Their children played right along Jonny, Jimmy, and little Louise. They were a mix of black and white, but they shared the same innocence as they chased one another, laughing and squealing in delight.

  McKee nodded, holding Beau’s gaze for a while before digging into his own cake.

  “Have you heard from Mrs. Clemons?” McKee asked.

  “We received a letter just a few days ago. She handed their property over to the government in exchange for Oliver’s crimes. She’s grieving, but I’m glad she’s back in Philly with her son and grandchild. Hopefully, she can live out the rest of her days in peace.”

  Portia finished her second piece of cake and wiped her mouth. “What about you, Reverend? Why don’t you stay in town for a while longer?”

  “No, Mrs. Stanford, God’s called me to do his work in Nashville, and the battle is not yet won until every child, no matter their color, has access to proper education. I won’t surrender until this body of mine breathes its last breath.”

  “Thank you for everything,” Beau said.

  “My pleasure. Now, go and be happy.”

  Epilogue

  Lebanon, Tennessee — April 7, 1869

  Beau strode from the porch to check on the new foal for the fifteenth time. Ezra stopped him at the barn door. “Son, you’re gonna make Crazy Girl a nervous wreck, lookin’ in on her so much. You’ve gotta calm down. Bessie would have told us if something’s gone wrong.”

  “But it’s been…” Beau pulled out his pocket watch and stared blankly at the Roman numerals. “…a long time. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  He leaned on the paddock fence, forehead resting on the top slat, trying to coax his stomach into keeping his breakfast down. Scout snorted and nudged him, blowing warm horsey air across his neck.

  Beau raised his head and rubbed Scout’s velvety nose. “Thanks, boy. I wish I could be a calm papa like you.”

  The yearling Crazy Girl had birthed last summer frolicked with the purebred mare Lydia had given him. Amelie had arranged to have her returned. Her first foal had brought them enough money to repay Amelie. Now, she showed signs of her second breeding.

  Beau gazed in wonder at the well-paid field hands in the distance, plowing neat rows for tobacco and cotton. He smelled the fresh paint on the house and fences. He listened to the horses running through the tender spring grass in their pasture. Finally, his farm was thriving like it had been before the war.

  Jonny rode by on the back of his new Appaloosa. He’d paid for it himself, giving riding lessons to the local children. Quite the young entrepreneur. Though only thirteen, he already matched Beau in height and had become a handsome young man. It wasn’t any wonder that most of his students were young ladies.

  “Any word, Pa?” Jonny rode up to the fence.

  “No, not—”

  He jumped when Bessie yelled from the porch, “Beau, Ezra, y’all come here! Come here quick!”

  “Oh God, please dear God… let them be all right.” Breathless, Beau ran hard as he could to the house, barreled past Bessie, and flew up the stairs.

  He met the doctor just outside their bedroom door. “Are they…?”

  Dr. Barton chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Just fine. You’ve got a beautiful little girl.”

  “Hallelujah!” Beau threw his arms around the doctor and gave him a bear hug. “Thank you, Doc. Jonny! Where’s Jonny?”

  “Here, Pa,” he answered, laughing as he reached the top of the stairs. “I can’t believe I have a little sister!”

  “I know. Now, see if you can wake your brother from his nap without making him too cranky and bring him here to meet her.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jonny ran down the hall to the nursery.

  Ezra climbed the stairs and met Beau on the landing. Though out of breath, the old man smiled from ear to ear. He loved being a grandpa, and Beau thanked God his pa was still around to see the little ones and enjoy them.

  Bessie had a tray of t
ea and cookies ready, so Beau opened the door and let her in. Then he hurried to the bed, where Portia held their new baby girl. Sweat dampened Portia’s hair, but she smiled, looking down at the baby with the heart-rending sort of love only a mother can have for her child.

  “She’s beautiful.” Beau settled himself gently on the bed and kissed Portia tenderly. He stroked the baby’s feather-soft cheek. She wiggled and cooed and wound him completely around her little finger.

  “Yes, she is.”

  Portia handed their daughter to him. He took her gently and laid her on his lap, in awe of her tiny, perfect features. Jonny walked in, carrying two-year old Sam, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. Ezra chuckled and wiped a tear from his cheek.

  “Look, Samuel,” Beau said. “You and Jonny have a little sister.”

  Jonny knelt by the bed so Sam could see her better. Sam pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, leaning in close, as though he wasn’t quite sure what this funny-looking, pink, wrinkled thing was doing on his daddy’s lap.

  Then his face relaxed, and he looked at Beau with a dimpled smile. “What my sisser’s name?”

  Portia took his chubby hand in hers and touched the tarnished locket on her necklace. “I think we’ll call her… Faith.”

  Beau looked at his beautiful wife, their two sons, and their new daughter, thankful beyond words for their blessings. There in the quiet magic of their room, he and Portia had created miracles. No more running, no more hiding from their troubles. However long God allowed them to be together, they would do more than survive.

  They would live.

  THE END

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