The Heavenly Surrender

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  The screen door to the house screeched open, and Genieva stood inside her new home once more.

  “I raise meself from sleep at five in the mornin’ sharp. I like bacon and eggs and fried potatoes for breakfast best. Biscuits, honey, or whatever else will do though. A man needs a good breakfast if he’s expected to work through the day. I eat me lunch at noon and me supper at dusk,” Brevan informed her—exactly as if he were instructing a new kitchen servant.

  “I only know how to cook beans,” Genieva responded with obvious sarcasm.

  “Then you’ll learn how to cook what I like,” Brevan growled.

  “Yes, I will. And you’ll learn how to like beans.” She watched as Brevan inhaled a slow, calming breath. Still, she was right, and he nodded—having accepted her countering.

  He continued his instruction. “I like me house to be clean…well kept.”

  “Does that include your personal room?” Genieva asked, grinning.

  “Me room is me room, Genieva. Ya can leave it to me.”

  “Don’t you worry about things taking root in there and growing into wild, uncontrollable vines…creatures that will gobble you up in the middle of the…”

  He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her inquisitively. He seemed puzzled by her exaggerated description of the possible consequences of bad housekeeping.

  “Me room is mine, lass,” he firmly repeated.

  “Yes, sir,” Genieva agreed, nodding. She was puzzled. For some reason she enjoyed teasing him. She liked the look of barely controlled irritation that crossed his face when she did. At the same time, however, she knew she would not want to be involved in a serious battle with him. She did not doubt the repercussions would be tempestuous—in the least.

  “Brenna has shown ya the room that will be yars now, hasn’t she?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll be bringin’ yar trunk in for ya,” he stated. He turned, leaving Genieva alone to consider the consequences of her rash decision making. Married to a complete stranger? What had she been thinking? Still, a more attractive, more interesting stranger there had never been. At least she was sure of that.

  

  Brevan McLean had eventually ceased in giving instructions, and Genieva found her first quiet moments to reflect on the day. The sun was setting—sending waves of pink and lavender radiance across an endless ocean of sky. Travis, Brian, and Brevan sat on the front porch talking—their low, masculine voices lending a warm sense of safekeeping to the evening. Yet this sound did little to settle Genieva’s uncertainty—for the deep, commanding intonation of Brevan’s voice only served to remind her of the far-reaching consequences of her actions.

  Brenna seemed to notice the look of uncertainty no doubt blatant on Genieva’s face.

  “It’ll be fine, it will,” Brenna whispered kindly as the three women sat at the table. She placed a comforting hand over Genieva’s.

  Genieva forced a smile and said, “Thank you, ladies…for the fine dinner. It was so kind of you to…”

  “We’re not ladies, amiga,” Lita explained, placing her hand over Brenna’s. “We’re your sisters now—tus hermanas.”

  Brenna nodded—smiled at Genieva with reassurance. “He’s brought up his battlements, he has, Genieva,” Brenna whispered. Lita nodded and smiled in agreement. “He does it when he’s tryin’ to close himself away, ya see. He’ll soften up, he will. Believe me—’tis well I know me brother.”

  Genieva shook her head—tried to smile. “He’s fine. He’s just fine. A little bossy, but…I’ll learn to work around it.”

  “Brevan,” Lita spoke softly. She dropped her gaze for a moment. “He would not have married with you if he had not liked you at once.”

  “Yes. He would’ve,” Genieva argued. “He’s not the kind to go back on his word.”

  “That is true,” Lita confirmed. “Still, Brevan would not marry with someone he did not want to. Yes, Brenna?”

  Brenna nodded. “He talks as if he’s a heartless soul, Genieva…but he’s not. You’ll find it in time. He would not have brought ya home if he hadn’t taken to ya right off.”

  

  An obsidian sky glistening with stars replaced the lavender of sunset, and Genieva Bankmans McLean lay in her new bed in her new home. Unable to sleep—for uncertainty gripped her in its cold, heartless fist—Genieva thought on the assurances of her new friends. Still, she felt so terribly alone—frightened. Days ago, when she’d left Chicago, it had all seemed so clear in her mind. This was her chance—her only chance at the life she wanted. In truth, it hadn’t really been the life she had wanted—only better than the one previously placed before her. Yet now—now that she was here—married to the man who, through his letters, she’d secretly come to care for—she knew with all her heart—Genieva knew this was the life she wanted. More than that—this was the man she wanted.

  Chapter Two

  “The sun be nearly breakin’ the horizon, Genieva.” Brevan’s heavy brogue drifted through Genieva’s mind—through her dreams—and woke her. “The day begins early in this house, it does.”

  Genieva stretched with the contentment bestowed by a good night’s sleep. She opened her eyes and slowly pulled herself to sitting. The sight of Brevan’s serious, unsettlingly handsome face caused her to gasp. Her husband stood just there—in her room—just beside her bed—powerful arms folded across his broad chest.

  “Oh!” Genieva exclaimed, realizing she had slept far later than Brevan had intended—and on her first night in his house. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to…” she began.

  “Well, be gettin’ used to it, lass,” Brevan grumbled, his brow furrowing as he glared at her. “I’ve had me breakfast already this mornin’, and I’m off to get the milkin’ done. Brenna used to milk the cows, and I think that be somethin’ you should do from now on. So, if ya’ll be quick and put yar clothes on…ya can come to the barn with me and learn the task, ya can.”

  Genieva’s temper flared to red-coal hot at his condescending manner. Still, she knew she was late getting up. She must give him some slack in the rope, or he might send her packing after all. Therefore, when he’d left the room, she quickly dressed, and pulled her hair back into a braid. Hurrying to the kitchen, she found him leaning against the sink—waiting for her with obvious impatience. Working the pump, she filled a glass with water and drank it as quickly as she could. Without a word, Brevan strode through the front door—and Genieva followed.

  The first rays of sunlight were breaking across the orchard. Pink and orange, yellow and purple flittered across the bluest sky, and Genieva marveled at the beautiful sight.

  Brevan began striding toward the barn. His stride was so long Genieva nearly had to run to keep up with him. “Now, there be three cows that need milkin’ in the mornin’. Have ya milked before?” Genieva shook her head—feeling ashamed somehow as he frowned down at her. “Well…it be easy enough to learn.”

  Brevan showed Genieva where the milking buckets were kept and where to place the milking stool beside a cow. He sat down on the stool and began milking. Genieva felt her eyebrows arch—thinking the process looked easy enough—though somewhat uncomfortable for the cow. Brevan seemed to be pulling fairly hard on the nipples hanging from the cow’s udder, and Genieva grimaced—compassion for the animal washing over her.

  “There now,” he said. “Ya see…’tis an easy task, it is.” Rising from the stool, he gestured she should take his place. Genieva drew a deep breath of determination and sat squarely on the stool. With not just a little trepidation rising in her, she reached out, taking hold of one of the cow’s nipples with her thumb and index finger. Closing her eyes, she winced—turning her head as she tentatively pulled on the appendage. The cow remained still. Genieva opened her eyes and looked to the nipple. It did not spray milk into the bucket as it had under Brevan’s efforts. Gritting her teeth, she looked at the nipple as she pulled again. Still nothing happened.

  “There’s a trick to it, I guess,
” she muttered, turning to look up at Brevan.

  In that moment, Genieva was nearly awestruck as she witnessed a broad smile break across the Irishman’s handsome face. His smile made him even more attractive—just the way the sunrise bathed the already bounteous and beautiful orchard in far deeper splendor. His smile was a brilliant sight, and Genieva was momentarily stunned silent.

  Brevan chuckled—adding further charm to his already fascinating presence.

  “Ya keep pullin’ on the teat like that, lass, and she’ll kick ya square in the stomach, she will.” Still chuckling, he hunkered down directly behind her, reaching out and gripping the teat next to the one she’d tried. “Start up just under the udder…like this. Then squeeze as ya pull.”

  Genieva nodded and took hold of the teat once more—this time trying to imitate Brevan’s actions. His hand cupped her own in an effort to assist her—sending her mind whirling—void of all rational thought. His very touch sent a wave of rapturous delight washing over her.

  “No, no, no,” he corrected. He must’ve felt her hand tighten—her body’s reaction to his touch and proximity. “Relax yar hand, lass.”

  Reaching up with his other hand, he patted the cow reassuringly on the belly as he once again demonstrated the technique. Genieva closed her eyes for a moment—inhaling a deep, calming breath. She couldn’t let this happen! She couldn’t start thrilling every time he brushed her hand or smiled. Strengthening her will, she attempted to milk the cow again. This time she was successful in her effort. The quick stream of milk hitting the bottom of the bucket attested to it.

  “I’ve got it now,” she informed him—almost too curtly. “Thank you.”

  “This one…she’s Matilda. Milk Macy and Mona, too. All right?” he asked, rising to his full height once more.

  “Yes,” Genieva answered, as she began milking.

  “When ya’re done with it, bring the milk in and put it in the three crocks ya’ll find inside. Brenna and Lita will be over later for one each, and the other is ours,” he instructed, turning to leave. Pausing he added, “When ya’ve finished that, I’ll be in the east field. Come find me, and I’ll show ya what to do next.”

  “Very well,” Genieva responded without turning to look at him. She reasoned for a moment that her own father had been less parental in his tone than Brevan.

  By the time she had finished extracting the milk from all three cows, her hands ached—throbbing from the efforts of unfamiliar work. After having poured the milk into the crocks, she rinsed the buckets thoroughly in the sink before slicing a wedge from the loaf of bread she found in the breadbox. Finding some bright red jam in a nearby cupboard, she spread it generously on the surface of the bread—her mouth watering excessively as she tasted the first bite of her breakfast. The bread and jam were delicious! She’d nearly finished her third helping when she heard the screen door screech open and turned to see Brevan enter the house.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized after quickly chewing the morsel in her mouth and gulping it down. “I hadn’t eaten anything.”

  “Breakfast is important…for sure and for certain,” he commented, going to the sink and inspecting the buckets. “And Brenna’s strawberry jam is the best I’ve ever had in me life, it is.” Taking the three buckets by the handles in one hand, he resumed his instructional tone. “When ya’ve rinsed them in the mornin’s, just hang these back where ya saw me get them from. Now…are you ready for a new task?”

  Genieva quickly swallowed the last bite of bread and jam, nodding as she did so. “Then wipe the jam from your face, lass, and follow me,” he said. A handsome grin softened the otherwise serious expression on his face.

  Genieva quickly licked the corners of her mouth with her tongue. She was horrified—entirely embarrassed at having had jam on her face. Still, Brevan only chuckled. Reaching out, he wiped at her cheek with his thumb. To her utter astonishment, he licked the jam from his appendage. The gesture delighted Genieva—delighted her near to giddiness. Yet she forced her appearance to remain calm.

  “Come along, then,” he said, licking his thumb a second time. “There’s much to be done today since I was gone for so long yesterday.”

  

  The day had been ever so long and fatiguing. Gratefully, Brenna had come over late in the afternoon and helped Genieva to get acquainted with the kitchen, stove, smokehouse, vegetable cellar, and cupboards. By dusk, the mouth-watering aroma of a beef stew permeated the house. Genieva wondered if she would be able to keep her eyes open long enough to enjoy it.

  “Ya look so tired, ya do, Genieva,” Brenna noted as they sat at the table together. “Ya’ve done too much for yar first day.”

  “No, I’m fine. Really,” Genieva assured Brenna—though she covered her mouth as she yawned.

  “Well, ya go to bed as soon as ya’ve eaten. And don’t let him work ya so hard.”

  “I’ve got to earn my place here, Brenna,” Genieva explained, yawning again.

  “Brevan’s got to earn the right to have ya, Genieva. He’ll bully ya blue if ya let him. Ya make him not just a wee bit nervous, ya do.”

  Genieva smiled. Although she was tired nearly beyond clear thinking, she fancied that being worn out from hard physical labor was abundantly preferable to fatigue of the mind. “Clearing out that field was the hardest thing,” she admitted.

  “Oh!” Brenna agreed, rolling her eyes. “I hate that worse than spinach, I do.” She shook her head, sighed, and continued, “Every year we have to clear the fields for the corn and gardens. But come summer when all the food starts comin’ in...mmmmm! Brevan grows the best corn I’ve ever in me life tasted, he does.”

  “That I do, Brenna,” Brevan affirmed as he entered the house. “It be worth the hard work. I think I can start the plowin’ next week. Then when the corn is in, we’ll start on…”

  “Oh, preserve us, Brevan!” Brenna sighed. “The sun has gone down. Let her be for now.”

  “I’ve no doubt Travis is home waitin’ on his own dinner, he is, Brenna. Off with ya now. Let me eat without yar eternal naggin’ blisterin’ me ears,” Brevan grumbled.

  Brenna stood and smiled at Genieva as she walked toward the door. She paused before leaving the house—looking at her brother.

  “Ya let her rest, Brevan. It’s not a mule ya’ve married,” she said.

  “I know that, Brenna. And remember, we won’t be about in the mornin’. I’ve got to take Genieva into town for a new shoein’,” he chuckled.

  “Beast that ya are!” Brenna scolded, winking encouragingly at Genieva just before the screen door slammed shut behind her.

  As Brevan dried his hands on a towel after washing them at the pump, Genieva raised her aching and tired body from the chair at the table and went to the stove.

  “I’ve made stew for your dinner. I hope it meets with your approval,” she announced. Her feet ached so thoroughly that she nearly limped back with the pot of stew, setting it down in the middle of the table.

  As Brevan pulled a chair out, gesturing for her to sit in it, Genieva raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “I may be a beast in Brenna’s eyes,” he began. “But me manners can be polished when I want them to be.” Genieva sat down and let him slide the chair in for her.

  When they’d finished their meal, Brevan leaned back in his chair and sighed with the contentment of having enjoyed a good supper.

  “A hard day’s work feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  Genieva nodded. “I suppose if you’re used to it, it feels better than if you’re not.”

  “Ya’ll adjust to it, ya will. New boots will help. Yar feet won’t wear out as fast then.”

  Genieva covered her mouth as she yawned. “Excuse me,” she apologized. “I will adjust. I assure you of that.”

  “I know. Ya’ve worked hard today and proved yarself to be capable, ya have,” he admitted as he pushed his chair back from the table. “Ya learn well and quick, ya do, lass.”

  Genieva sighed w
ith relief. At least she had been able to prove herself for one day. But as her back and legs began to throb and ache with the unfamiliar strain of the work on a farm, she wondered if she would be able to keep up such a pace for an extended period of time.

  “I’ve got a bit to do before I wear out, so ya go on to bed now. In the mornin’ bright we’ll go into town and find ya some suitable shoes. Good night then, Genieva,” he said.

  “Good night,” she said. She yawned—watching him leave the house.

  Every muscle in Genieva’s body screamed with overexertion as she removed her day clothes and replaced them with nightwear. How different this life would be than the one at home. Hard work—work that would be almost unendurable at first would be what she would come to know. But far better it was than what she faced at home. Far better was a life married to a fantastically attractive man—a man who was ignorant to the fact—than life married to…Genieva laid her head on the fluffy down of the pillow and tried to think no more of it.

  

  The next morning Genieva woke and rose as soon as she heard the front screen door slam, indicating that Brevan was about. The moon still shone in the dark morning skies, and Genieva shivered slightly as her feet touched the cold floor. If she were to have Brevan’s breakfast before him when he returned, she did not have the time to dress properly. She simply tied her robe snugly at her waist and quickly braided her hair. She was pleased and relieved when she entered the kitchen to find that she indeed had beaten him to fixing his own breakfast. Working quickly, she lit the wood in the stove and put the cast-iron skillet on to heat. She beat four eggs and thinly sliced a large potato.