The Heavenly Surrender

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “He wanted me to tell you! He wanted to draw you out…to make you mad so that you’d confront him so he could…”

  “Draw me into a trap and be rid of me like I was a skunk in his cabbage?” he finished.

  Genieva could only nod. “It will all come together horribly one day, Brevan. Juan Miguel is greedy, and he wants this land. I believe…though he meant at the time to sacrifice her…I believe he wants Lita back as well.” Throwing aside her covers, she stood before Brevan as he simply dropped his head for a moment and sighed. “And…and…” she stammered.

  Looking to her once more, an expression of extreme dread on his face, he prodded, “There’s more ya haven’t told me, isn’t there, lass?”

  “Coming home from Brian and Lita’s,” Genieva began, “the day my family arrived, I was coming home along the path, and…and Cruz…” Her words were lost as a flame of anger leapt again to Brevan’s eyes.

  “Come now, Genieva. Let it all be told,” he growled.

  “Cruz…he threatened me. He thinks that Lita and Brian’s baby is yours, and he threatened to…oh, Brevan!” she cried then, burying her face in her hands. “He’s done no less to poor Amy Wilburn than he intended to do to me!” Looking up at him, shame washing over her for not having told him the truth at once, she added, “If it had not been for Joaquin’s intervention…I don’t know if I could’ve…”

  Genieva gasped—covered her ears with her trembling hands as Brevan reached over, then, picking up the washbasin sitting on a table nearby. Raising the basin above his head, he threw it to the floor. The sound of the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor was deafening, and tears burst from Genieva’s eyes. Finally, she found the courage to look up into his angry and tortured expression. Brevan was looking about, as if searching for some other poor thing to smash.

  “I’m sorry, Brevan,” Genieva sobbed. “I know I should’ve told you right away. B-but...it’s what Cruz wants, and I don’t want you hurt. I thought it better to keep silent. Everyone told me I should and…”

  “Who?” he shouted. “Who told ya to keep the truth from me, Genieva?”

  “Lita. Lita and Joaquin…for they both know what Cruz is capable of and don’t want to see you…”

  “I’m no slinkin’ slug, Genieva. I’ll not stand here and let Cruz get away with…”

  “You promised me, Brevan!” Genieva cried, taking hold of his powerful arm once more. “You promised me that you wouldn’t act if I didn’t think you should. Remember, you promised me!”

  Brevan’s chest rose and fell with his angered breathing as he glared down at her. “Cruz Archuleta has dared to touch ya…to harm ya and to think of…how can I let that go, Genieva? It’s a man I am! Not a weasel! I can’t just…”

  “You can. You promised me. If you break your promise to me now…how will I ever find the courage to tell you things I should in the future? Promise me you won’t act like a madman, Brevan. Promise.” Genieva released his arm—let her eyes plead with them.

  Brevan gazed into the stormy blue of Genieva’s eyes—the blue telling him her soul was grieving. As he gazed into their pleading color, visions of Cruz Archuleta laying his hands on her flashed in his mind. How could he stand firm? How could he not act? But he had promised the lass. He had promised, and he would not damage her trust in him.

  With an angry, defeated sigh, he growled, “’Tis tired I am. More tired than I’ve ever been. I promised not to act on whatever it was ya were to tell me, lass. And though me mind and heart and soul tell me to mount me horse and hunt the blackguard and his family down…I’ll wait. No doubt he’ll come for me soon enough. But ya must promise me, Genieva…never to keep a thing from me again.”

  Genieva nodded. “I won’t. I promise it to you,” she whispered. She wondered—should she tell him? Should she tell him now, as he stood, tired from work and life—should she tell him she had fallen in love with him—that he was life to her—that without him she would shrivel up and die? Without Brevan, Genieva knew she would become nothing—die for lack of his sunshine smile—his precious scent—his quenching kiss.

  “All right then. We’ll both to bed. It’s behind in me chores, I am. And I need yar help more tomorrow since ya were gone today. I’ll be up all the earlier in the mornin’…for I need to visit with me brother first thing.”

  Brevan turned, storming out of the room. When he’d gone, and she heard the violent slam of his bedroom door, Genieva let the tears run freely down her cheeks. The tears were not accompanied by loud sobbing but simply streamed profusely in silence as her mind accepted that Brevan would be in more danger than ever now. She knew he meant to visit Brian the following morning in order that he might tell Lita to speak to her family concerning her baby. Then Cruz would have no reason to dally about going after Brevan finally—and fatally.

  Chapter Eleven

  Strangely, as the summer weeks wore on, Genieva began to worry a bit less with each passing day. Not only was Brevan safe and unharmed by mid-August but there had been no more threats from the Archuletas. Genieva had seen Cruz several times, just beyond the orchards, but he had never approached her or Brevan. She wondered at the reason—for she knew how completely he hated Brevan and how carnally he felt toward her. Yet he stayed at a distance, and she could only assume his father had forbidden him to interfere with them again. She surmised Joaquin must’ve indeed been wrong about his brother. Cruz must still hold some respect for his father’s wishes. It could be the only explanation.

  Joaquin had made some peace with himself as well. Genieva saw him several times during her occasional visits to check on Mrs. Wilburn, Amy, and baby Marcus. Mrs. Wilburn seemed to have eased some of the inner pain once so apparent on her features before the baby had been born. Amy was radiant—seemed hopeful once again.

  Lita and Brenna both anticipated the arrival of their babies. Even though a great sadness would sometimes overwhelm Genieva in wondering whether she would ever bear children of her own, she harbored a great happiness for each of them.

  Genieva had never known work as hard as harvesting the corn had been. She’d never imagined what the growers went through to produce the fine ears of yellow sweetness the kitchen help had bought at the markets. She’d always simply eaten it and never given a thought to where it came from—until now.

  Harvesting the corn took insight, hard work, and a bit of luck. She had been so fearful in early summer—wondering whether or not Brevan’s crops would live through the lack of moisture. She’d prayed daily for rain, and when it had come at last, it was the most beautiful sight, sound, and scent on earth. Still, the two days the corn sat in piles after being harvested were the most unnerving. Brevan had explained that were the rains to come before he got the crop sheltered or preferably to town to sell, the entire crop would be lost because of the rain, and not for lack of it.

  “How can you stand it? How can we keep from losing our minds over worry?” she had asked him at dinner the night before he would take the corn to town.

  Brevan shrugged as he took an overly large bite of mashed potatoes. “I don’t know,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “Ya can’t be worryin’ yarself sick, Genieva. If we lose the crop…we’ll go from there. But we won’t lose it…I know.”

  “The clouds are dark and thick tonight, Brevan. It may rain,” she commented. She, for one, was nearly ill with worry. It was funny though—she didn’t worry about the loss of profit should they lose the corn—she was worried because she feared it would harmfully affect Brevan.

  “It won’t be rainin’ tonight, lass. I promise ya that,” he said. Wiping his mouth, he pushed his chair back from the table. “To bed with ya now, Genieva. We go to town early in the mornin’.” He left the house to check on the stock then, and she was alone.

  Genieva was tired. Her body was tired, and her mind was tired. She fancied even her very soul was tired. The thought entered her mind that she wished she were heavy with expecting a child. Then she wouldn’t have to work so hard. She envied L
ita in that moment, and not only because her condition confined her from such hard work. Lita and Brenna didn’t work as hard as Genieva did anyway. Well, at least not at the same chores. They sewed and mended, washed and cleaned house. They canned the food ripening in the garden and entertained their tired husbands with interesting conversation and affectionate flirting. Genieva envied their callings in life compared with her own. As she sat, rather depressed, her hands came to rest across her belly as they often did. As often was the consequence, her mind rushed back to the moments weeks before when Brevan had held her tightly against his strong form. She thought of him pressing his own hand to her tummy—implying to her father that she carried his child. So many times since then she had wished it were true. She could think of no greater joy than to have a baby of her own—a baby who was part of Brevan. At least a part of him would love her then—and she would have something to rain her own love on.

  Shaking her head to dispel thoughts of the impossible, Genieva rose from the table. After having washed the dishes, she retired to her bed.

  

  Upon awaking the next morning, she was unable to remember having changed to her nightdress—for the extremeness of her fatigue the night before had been unparalleled.

  As the team of horses labored to pull the large, heavy wagon laden with corn, Genieva covered her mouth as she yawned. The sunrise was indeed beautiful that morning—pinks and blues rivaling heaven itself.

  “Clear and lovely skies we have this mornin’, lass,” Brevan said, inhaling deeply of the fresh morning air. “I’m glad ya chose to come to town with me, Genieva. It will do ya good to get away. And we’ll get a good price for this corn, I know. ’Tis some of the best I’ve ever seen! And it’s due to the diligence of the planter,” he chuckled, winking at her. Genieva smiled, too—dazzled by his happy countenance and profound good looks. His undue cheerfulness left Genieva feeling deliciously warm inside.

  She still felt tired, and her arms still ached from the harvesting two days earlier. Still, as they rode on, Brevan seeming to talk endlessly about the upcoming apple harvest and how plentiful the apples would be, Genieva’s own discomforts were lost mid her attention to his charming ways.

  “Ya see, ’tis a good life out here, it is,” he said just before they entered town. “Ya’re not lackin’ for anythin’ ya left back in Chicago, now are ya?”

  “No,” Genieva admitted. She had left no great love of her life back in Chicago. The love of her life was here—sitting next to her—traveling into town to sell his corn. No, she lacked nothing—missed nothing of Chicago. At least here she was in love—whether or not it was returned upon her.

  Helping her down from the wagon, Brevan grinned.

  “There now, lass. You go on into the store and pick up whatever it is ya’re needin’. I’ll be back within thirty minutes with a bundle of cash the like ya’ve never seen!” With a quick wink, he leapt back into his seat and urged the team on.

  “Genieva!” Mrs. Fenton cried, nearly flying from the store and out to meet Genieva. “How wonderful to have you for a visit! I was telling Mary Clawson just yesterday…I said, ‘Mary, you mark my words…Brevan McLean will be in town before the week’s end with the best load of sweet corn of the year!’ And I hoped you would come! It’s been so long since you’ve been in for a visit.” Putting a friendly arm around Genieva’s waist, she led her into the store. “How’s Lita? She should be about ready to burst by now.”

  Genieva giggled and nodded. “Yes, I think she’s quite ready for the baby to come, Lilly. The summer heat has been very hard on her.”

  “Brenna was in…oh, maybe two weeks back. She’s looking healthy and rosy with her baby on the way, too.”

  “Yes. It’s so fun to have two babies to look forward to in the family.” Genieva braced herself—for she sensed what was next.

  “Well, just think of all the more fun it would be to have three on the way, eh?” Lilly Fenton winked slyly at Genieva. Genieva only smiled sweetly. She released the woman, going to stand before the bolts of fabric on a table just inside the store. “Patience, my dear, patience. Your day will come.” Genieva closed her eyes for a moment, nearly unable to endure the powerful aching in her heart.

  “We’re completely out of cinnamon, Lilly. Nutmeg too. I hope you have some in,” Genieva said, redirecting the conversation.

  “Oh my, yes! Plenty, Genieva. Plenty. What else, dear?”

  “I’ve a list. Just let me…” Genieva fumbled around in her handbag for her list. She looked up as she heard Amy Wilburn squeal in delight.

  “Genieva! Hello!” Amy greeted happily.

  “Amy!” Genieva exclaimed, drawing her list from her bag as the girl approached. “You look wonderful. And look at Marcus!” Genieva could not believe how the baby had grown. “He’s ready for school nearly!”

  “He has grown, hasn’t he?” Amy said, holding the baby up proudly for Genieva to see. “Mother,” the girl called over her shoulder, “it’s Genieva. She’s in town.”

  Mrs. Wilburn entered the store—her face lighting up at seeing Genieva. “Mrs. McLean! It’s been some time since I’ve seen you in town.”

  “Yes,” Genieva admitted. “We’ve been so busy…the corn crop and everything.”

  “The man works you like a mule, I hear,” Jenny Evans intruded as she too entered the store.

  Genieva’s heart sank instantly. She could tell by the irritated expressions on Amy’s and her mother’s faces that they were not pleased either.

  “Brevan and I work together on the farm, Jenny. Someday, when you eventually marry, you’ll understand that more completely,” Genieva told the snip, flashing a false, but very friendly looking smile.

  Mrs. Fenton was unable to entirely suppress her snicker, and Jenny’s glare shot daggers at the woman. “Mother has a list for you to fill, Mrs. Fenton,” Jenny announced, holding out a piece of paper to the woman.

  “As soon as I’ve finished filling Mrs. McLean’s, Jenny,” Lilly told her, taking Genieva’s list from her hand.

  Genieva was surprised when Amy suddenly leaned forward and whispered, “Joaquin has been to call three evenings this week, Genieva.”

  Genieva’s eyes widened with delight. “How wonderful, Amy,” she whispered in response. “Does he…does he like little Marcus?” she asked in a tentative whisper.

  “I think so,” Amy beamed. “I think he’s forgiven me…”

  “He had nothing to forgive you for, Amy,” Genieva reminded.

  Amy nodded. “I think…I think he’s found his peace. He blamed himself, you see, Genieva.”

  Yes. Genieva understood. Joaquin had felt as if he had failed his Amy in not having been able to protect her. Perhaps that was one reason he had been at hand to protect Genieva when she needed protection. Joaquin knew Cruz’s intentions toward Brevan and toward Genieva. No doubt Joaquin had promised not to let any other young woman suffer the same fate as Amy.

  “I hear the McLeans are just bursting with expectant mothers,” Jenny interrupted. Genieva looked to her. It was obvious the girl was miffed at being excluded from the conversation.

  “Yes. We’re growing in generations,” Genieva replied.

  “And how does Brevan feel about your inability to provide him with a son…to further the McLean name?”

  Amy’s and Mrs. Wilburn’s mouths both gaped open in astonishment as Mrs. Fenton erupted, “You do beat all, Jennifer Evans. What a question! To utter such a thing in public…I can’t believe what flies off that sharp tongue of yours sometimes.”

  “Come now, Mrs. Fenton. Would you pretend that you haven’t already asked her the same thing?”

  “I most certainly did not, and if you had any manners at all…”

  “Brevan does not beat me because I am not expectant, Jenny, if that’s what you mean,” Genieva said calmly—though her stomach burned with angered indignation at such a question. “I know that because you could never capture his attentions, you like to imagine he is some frightening, mer
ciless brute. But he is far from it and is a great deal more patient than most men, I assure you.”

  Snatching the list from Jenny’s hand, Mrs. Fenton said, “On second thought, I think I will attend to your list first. Then you can be on your way.”

  Jenny smiled malignantly and went to look at the few pieces of jewelry on display in a nearby curio cabinet.

  “She’s unbelievable,” Amy whispered.

  “Pay her no mind, Genieva,” Mrs. Wilburn added. “She’s just insanely jealous. She used to chase Brevan around like a motherless kitten.”

  Genieva nodded, but it was still taking every ounce of control she had not to simply slap the snip hard across the face. It was as if the young woman sensed Genieva’s thoughts were often occupied with despairing in the knowledge of being childless.

  “Ah, look at the lovely ladies about today!” Brevan flattered as he stepped into the store. Genieva was awash with relief at the sight of the handsome man before her. “Mrs. Wilburn, hello,” he greeted, shaking the woman’s hand. “And Amy and the little laddie,” he said, shaking Amy’s. “My dear Mrs. Fenton,” he greeted, going to the woman and bowing low. “And even Miss Jennifer Evans,” and he shook her hand as well. Genieva was astounded at the obvious blush blazoned across Jenny’s face as she smiled up at him. “I’ve a few things to add to me wife’s list, I do, Mrs. Fenton,” Brevan announced as he leaned casually on the counter. Mrs. Fenton handed Genieva’s list to him, and, taking a pencil from the woman’s ear, he scribbled quickly on the paper. Then, turning to Genieva, he raised an eyebrow and smiled as he walked slowly to her. “I told ya, I did. Ya remember that I told ya I’d be sellin’ that corn for a good price, Genieva?”

  “Yes. You did tell me, and I never doubted you,” Genieva agreed.

  “Well, my plum…ya’ve no idea!” He took her hands, holding them tightly against his chest. “It’s the harvestin’ time of year, lass, and it’s me favorite.”