The Heavenly Surrender

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  By the time Brevan had returned from his first chores of the morning, a fragrant and hearty breakfast greeted him.

  “You see, I only needed to adjust to the earlier hour,” Genieva informed him as his eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Well then join me for breakfast, lass,” Brevan invited, sitting himself at the table.

  At the first savory taste of the breakfast she had prepared for him, Brevan was impressed with Genieva’s cooking. Although he hated to admit it, it was a finer-tasting breakfast than Brenna had ever cooked for him. He glanced up at Genieva—mesmerized for an instant when he noticed that the delicate color of her eyes had changed somehow. He could’ve sworn they’d been a hazel brown the night before. But in the bright morning light, as her eyes met his across the table, Genieva’s eyes had somehow assumed a deep green hue.

  The freckles sprinkled lightly across Genieva’s nose gave Brevan’s lips to forming an involuntary smile. Misunderstanding his grin, she nodded and asked, “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  “That it is,” he admitted. All the signs of fatigue she had worn to bed the night before had disappeared, and Brevan noted how radiant and cheerful her very countenance was. “Did ya sleep well, then?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she assured him brightly as she spread jam on a slice of bread for herself. “It’s so quiet at night here. One can completely relax…eventually.”

  “I guess the city was a bit loud,” he commented.

  “Yes. And stinky. I hated the odors of it. It’s fresh out here, you know.”

  “I know,” he agreed. Then, changing the subject, he said, “Lita and Brian were plannin’ to go into town with us today. But I’ve just been over and Lita’s feelin’ a bit green, she is.”

  “Is it serious?” Genieva asked. Brevan watched, frowning in wonder, as the girl’s green eyes slowly changed to an odd grayish blue.

  “Uh…” he stammered, preoccupied by the transformation of her eyes. “No. In fact, though Brian’s a fool at times and too blind to guess at it, I suspect that…”

  “What?” Genieva prodded. But Brevan had already decided to keep his suspicions to himself.

  “I suspect it’s just adjustin’ to this new life somehow,” he finished.

  “Oh, I see,” Genieva muttered. Brevan knew by the expression on her face that she did not believe him.

  “She’s ripe from Mexico, ya see, lass. It’s different here. Her English is good, but she’s still havin’ trouble once in a while,” he babbled as he focused his attention on his breakfast.

  “She’s a rare beauty, isn’t she?” Genieva asked.

  “Yes. She’s a bonny lass, that one.” Brevan looked up to see Genieva’s gaze was emerald colored—and intense on him. “How do ya do that anyway, lass?” he blurted out.

  “What?” she asked—her eyes still emerald.

  Brevan returned his attention to cleaning his plate. “Lita’s father owns some land not far from here. Her brothers help him in the workin’ of it. Maybe she’s a bit homesick, is all.”

  “Well, I hope she feels better soon. When we’ve returned from town, you can show me how to get to Brian’s place, and I’ll check in on her,” Genieva suggested. She rose from the table without finishing her breakfast and crossed the room to the sink.

  Genieva scraped her plate of unfinished breakfast into the scrap bucket for the chickens. Her nerves were seething. “Yes. She’s a bonny lass, that one,” he had said of Lita. Genieva recognized the sharp burn of jealousy smoldering in her bosom. She silently scolded herself—but it did little to chase the emotion from her mind and body.

  “I’ll ready the wagon,” Brevan said. “We’ll leave in a few minutes, all right?”

  Without turning to face him, Genieva nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes.”

  “’Tis a fine breakfast ya make, Genieva,” he quite sincerely complimented as he let the screen door slam behind him.

  “And what would be botherin’ ya so early in the mornin’,” Brevan asked, holding the lines loosely in his hands. The trip to town would take at least three quarters of an hour, he’d told Genieva as they had left the house.

  “Not a thing. Why do you ask?” Genieva sighed—feigning ignorance. She was unnerved terribly by the fact Brevan could read her moods so well after less than forty-eight hours.

  “Ah, it’s lyin’, ya are,” he chuckled. “But, I suppose ya’ve got the right to keep to yarself when you feel like it.”

  “So,” Genieva chirped happily—an attempt to change the direction of their discussion. “Why did your family leave Ireland?”

  “That’s a forthright question, it is…still, I’ll be givin’ ya an answer.” Genieva watched as Brevan smiled the smile of a man reminiscing on pleasant things. “Me father wanted his own place, he did. He was tired of rentin’ and payin’ the landlord for land that he worked so hard. So, he asked me mother five or six years back what she thought of movin’ all of us to America. Mother was more than a wee bit scared to come. We all were. All of us except me father. Dad knew what he wanted, and he usually got it. So…we came to America, and Dad sold every piece of silver and jewelry the family owned so he could buy the orchards. After he died two years ago, our mother divided the land and orchards between Brenna, Brian, and me. Mother took ill and died only a few months later. Nothin’ excitin’ or adventurous about our story, lass. Plain and simple, it is,” he finished. Genieva stiffened at the question he posed next. “And what brings ya out to this secluded land from Chicago, Genieva? I have to say straight out that ya’re not what I expected to see gettin’ off the train.”

  “I hated the city,” Genieva answered honestly.

  “Well, that I can understand. But have ya no family? Are ya orphaned then?”

  Genieva swallowed hard and crossed her fingers where they lay in her lap—hoping he would let the issue go by as she answered, “I…I’d rather not speak of it, if you don’t mind.” She looked to him, her gaze boldly meeting his narrowed and curious eyes.

  “Very well. I’ll respect yar right to keep yar secrets,” he grumbled.

  “What…what…” she stammered, “what kind of person were you expecting to get off the train?” she asked.

  Brevan shrugged—was quiet for a moment. “A woman of years beyond yars, for sure and for certain. Perhaps large and plump. Ya know, a woman who may have had a difficult time in findin’ a husband for various reasons, ya see.” Genieva nodded. “I know me reaction to ya wasn’t with any manner becomin’ a gentleman, lass. But don’t think I’m disappointed. Ya’re a hard worker. That’s important in this kind of a life.”

  “I see,” Genieva muttered.

  “What were ya thinkin’ when ya first set your eyes on me?” he asked, grinning with obvious amusement.

  Genieva reflected on the moment she had first seen Brevan McLean—standing handsome and alluring in the corner of the room at the train station. Those moments before she had known he was Brevan were indeed moments worth thinking on. His astounding good looks had unnerved her to the point she had been thankful that the stranger was not the man she was meeting. He had appeared to be a man who would be controlled by no one—held back by nothing. And now, sitting next to him on the wagon, she realized her assessment of him had been correct.

  “I…I was frightened of you,” she forced out honestly.

  “What?” he exclaimed. Genieva looked at him, finding he appeared sincerely surprised. “Frightened of me? Why would ya be frightened of me, lass? Ya didn’t behave as if ya were.”

  “Well, it’s just that…well, you can be very daunting. I think you’re greatly aware of that fact too,” she stated.

  “I suppose I’m what ya might be callin’ harsh lookin’, I am,” he muttered almost to himself. “Brenna talks me brain loose a tellin’ me that people think I’m mean…that I’ve no humor or kindness about me.” He looked intently at Genieva and said, “Ya’ve no reason to be fearin’ me, Genieva. I speak hard because I work hard, and I guess I expect too much fro
m others at times. But I’ve the things in me for laughin’ and dancin’ and relaxin’ just like any other man. I won’t have ya fearin’ me temperament, or me words.”

  It wasn’t his temperament or his words that Genieva feared. Rather, it was his attractiveness and charisma—the kind of things that turned a woman’s rational thought to oatmeal and her knees to water.

  Still, she nodded and said, “I understand.”

  “Are ya in need of anythin’ other than boots today, lass?” he asked unexpectedly.

  “I…to what do you refer?” she countered, not understanding completely.

  “I mean, do ya have clothes enough? Clothes that won’t be gettin’ too hot as the weather warms up? Gloves for workin’ and the like?”

  “I’ve clothing enough. Gloves, however…”

  “We’ll buy ya some boys’ gloves. They should fit ya right and straight.” He looked at her then, and she straightened where she sat when he added, “Cheer up there, lass. It will be a good life for ya, it will.”

  “I know that. I wouldn’t have come otherwise,” she assured him.

  “Here then,” he said, handing the lines over to her. “’Tis time ya learned to drive me team. Though they’re a picky pair at times, they are.”

  

  When at last Genieva walked into the store in town, it was to face the storekeeper and his wife with windblown hair and a rosy face. The team had bolted when they neared town, and Brevan had insisted Genieva be the one to gain control of them. Thus, the moments just before entering the township were wild and windy as opposed to the rather slow pace of the ride previous.

  “Hello,” Genieva greeted, smoothing her wild-looking hair. She’d entered the store to find an older man and woman gawking at her.

  “It’s me new wife, Mrs. Fenton. This be Genieva McLean,” Brevan decreed as he entered the store behind Genieva.

  “Oh!” the woman exclaimed as a broad smile spread across her face. She came forward and offered a hand to Genieva. “It’s so nice to meet ya, honey!”

  “Thank you,” Genieva answered, taking the woman’s hand. “What a lovely store,” she added, looking around.

  “She’s won me over, Gerard,” the woman chimed, turning to wink at her husband. “I’m Lilly Fenton, darlin’. And this is my husband, Gerard.”

  “Hello,” Genieva greeted, nodding in Gerard’s direction.

  “We’re in the market for a pair of boys’ workin’ boots, Mrs. Fenton,” Brevan announced. “She’s got blisters already, she has.”

  “Oh my, yes, dear,” the woman exclaimed as dramatic concern filled her features. “Shoes are so important. You come on over here, and we’ll fix ya up.”

  Genieva followed the kind woman to the far corner of the store while Brevan remained behind with Mr. Fenton.

  “So,” Lilly Fenton began as she sat down and started rummaging through several boxes of boots. “You’re the one who has finally cornered our Mr. McLean, eh?” Genieva looked at the woman—surprise readily apparent on her features. “I guess you know that every unmarried female in these parts has had her cap set for him since the McLeans moved out here…even a couple of married ones, if my memory serves me. But he’s too smart to fall for any of them. You’ll hear things now and again, I’m sure. People do gossip so terrible in these parts. But you don’t pay them any mind, ya hear? It’s all just gossip and nonsense…especially where that Amy Wilburn is concerned. Oh, how I wish her parents would send her away to have her…anyway,” Lilly sighed, changing the direction of her babble, “I guess ya know we’re all pretty concerned about the lack of rain hereabouts. No doubt you all will be lugging water from the crick for the crops if we don’t see a change here soon. Here now,” she said, holding out a pair of boots at last. “These look about your size.”

  “Thank you,” Genieva agreed, nodding her head. “They look just right. May I…may I try them for certain, though?” Genieva studied the woman, amused at her exact resemblance to the elderly gossips she had always imagined small towns would harbor. Mrs. Fenton was short, round, and white-haired, with smiling eyes and chubby cheeks—a delightful-looking woman.

  Lilly Fenton laughed. “Of course, honey! We have to make sure they fit right…else Brevan McLean would tan my hide, and don’t I know it.”

  The boots did fit comfortably, and though they weren’t in the least bit flattering to look upon, Genieva could see the sense in their practicality.

  “We’ve got to have you a quilting bee, Mrs. McLean! It just won’t do to have a young bride hereabout without a quilt for her new home! You have Brenna come in and talk to me about it,” Lilly chimed. Her very voice held a tinkling quality that was soft on a person’s ears. Yes, Genieva thought, Lilly Fenton would make such a perfect gossip.

  “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I’m fine, really,” Genieva assured her.

  “Nonsense! It’s bad luck to break with tradition, sweetie.”

  “I’ll be waitin’ in the wagon, Genieva,” Brevan called to her as he left the store.

  “Not one to sit on his backside too long, is he?” Lilly smiled.

  Genieva returned her smile. Lilly Fenton was a kind woman even if she was a little generous in her conversation.

  “How much do I owe you then, Mr. Fenton?” Genieva asked as she walked to the counter.

  Mr. and Mrs. Fenton looked at each other with raised eyebrows—then back to Genieva.

  “You’re not serious, are ya, ma’am?” Mr. Fenton asked.

  “Yes…actually,” Genieva stammered.

  “Your husband has paid for them already, dear,” Lilly explained—her smile somehow sweetening even further.

  “Oh. Of course.” Genieva blushed at her own presumption.

  As Genieva turned to leave, three young women entered the store. Each young woman appeared to be near her own age. They stared at Genieva—studying her from head to foot with obvious disapproval.

  “Um…hello,” Genieva offered. Each of the women forced a smile and nodded. “You’ll excuse me,” she mumbled as she moved past them and to the door. “Thank you again, Mrs. Fenton…Mr. Fenton,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Is that’s Brevan McLean’s new wife? Well…she’ll never be able to keep a man like him at home,” one of the young women whispered as Genieva left the store. Genieva’s ears burned at the assuming remark. Still, she kept her eyes forward and her head high as Brevan helped her into the wagon.

  “I had no idea you were such a ladies’ man, Mr. McLean,” Genieva snapped as the wagon bolted forward. She found her anger was somehow directed at Brevan—not the young women in the store. She was angry with him for being so handsome—so entirely attractive to women—especially to herself!

  “What?” Brevan asked.

  “Who’s Amy Wilburn?” Genieva inquired.

  “Amy?” he mused. “Poor Amy. I suppose it was to be expected that Mrs. Fenton would mention the town scandal, it was. I feel sorry for the lass meself.”

  “Who is she?” Genieva repeated, irritated.

  “She’s a young lass in town who has unfortunately found herself…in the family way. It’s unfortunate because there is no husband to her.”

  “Oh. I-I see,” Genieva gulped. It was such a sensitive subject to be discussing with a man, and she suddenly felt very uncomfortable for having asked him about Amy Wilburn.

  “And are the new boots tolerable then?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. They’re very comfortable. Thank you for paying for them.” Genieva swallowed hard and mounted her courage. She was not one who enjoyed being left ignorant of certain facts—especially when they concerned her. Therefore she abruptly blurted, “Those other women…the ones who came into the store just before we left…they don’t think I’m capable of keeping you at home, as they put it. Are you a philanderer, Mr. McLean?”

  Instantly Brevan pulled the team to a halt. He turned to Genieva—glaring down at her with a furious expression on his handsome face.

  “I’m sorry to be so
bold, sir…but I would like to know exactly where I stand and what to expect. If I’m to be the object of great ridicule and gossip, I would like to be as prepared as possible and…”

  “I should turn ya over me knee and paddle yar bum, I should!” he shouted, and Genieva knew at once she’d been too blunt. “And I see now why ya’re so interested in Amy Wilburn’s story as well! I leave ya alone for two minutes in the store, and ya come out accusin’ me of…of…” He was so angry that his face burned a fierce shade of red—his breathing labored. “The last man to accuse me of bein’ father to Amy Wilburn’s baby is still nursin’ a broken nose! Aye, I tell ya me mother’s spinnin’ in her grave over hearin’ me own wife accusin’ me of…”

  “I merely asked a question, Mr. McLean. It was a perfectly legitimate one at that. After all, I’ve no experience with you other than through letters and just these past couple of days. I just wanted to be certain…”

  Her words stopped as he reached out and firmly took hold of her chin. With his teeth tightly clenched, he growled down at her, “I’m no slimy snake, Genieva. Me parents raised me to be a good, moral man! I don’t run around after women no matter what the storekeeper’s wife says. Never have I done so, and never will I! And should me manly desires get the better of me, which they won’t, then take comfort in the knowledge that I hold fully to the scripture tellin’ a man to keep only to his wife!” He released her—pushing her chin ever so slightly as he did so.

  Genieva cleared her throat and straightened her posture once more. “Very well,” she said. “But in the future, I would ask that you please handle me with a bit less aggression.”

  She could feel the seething in him at such a reprimand and actually winced—for she thought his powerful grip would take hold of her once more. Instead, he inhaled deeply, and exhibiting great restraint, barked, “I will handle ya in whatever manner I feel is necessary, I will.”