A Time for Everything (30 page)

She stepped aside for him to enter.
“Is Lucy any better? Mama said she was sick.”

“
Bessie’s taking care of
her. I’m sure she’ll recover soon.”

She looked and sounded sincere enough.
Either she was making excuses for her father’s behavior, or she
really didn’t comprehend the situation. He hoped for the latter,
because he didn’t want to believe she could be anything like
Oliver.

“
I do hope it’s nothing
serious. I would hate for you or Jonathan to become ill,” Lydia
said.

“
We’re fine. Sorry if I
woke you.” Beau shut the door behind him, glancing at his boots to
make sure they weren’t too filthy to step off the rug onto the
newly polished floors. They’d do.

“
You didn’t. I had just
come down for a drink of water before bed.” She twirled both sets
of fingers through her hair and tilted her head to one side,
flashing her winning smile. “But I
was
thinking of you.”

“
Were you?” Beau removed
his hat, trying to smile and play the gentleman, though he felt
more like a peasant now than ever before. “Nothing bad, I
hope.”

“
Of course not. My
sweetest dreams are of you.” She came to him, reached up, and
gently touched the stitches on his head. Her fingertips drifted
down over his cheek, traced along his neck and lingered on his
collarbone. “Daddy’s in his study. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see
you.”

He caught her hand and held it in a
neutral position, trying to cool the embers her touch ignited
before he answered, but his shaky voice betrayed him. “Thank
you.”

It dawned on him, then —
the reason she thought he had come to call
.
She would be disappointed, but it
couldn’t be helped. Or would she? How badly did Oliver want his
daughter wed? Beau suddenly felt unsteady on his feet, like he’d
drunk two shots of whiskey on an empty stomach. He released Lydia’s
hand before she could tempt him further and strode down the
expansive hall to the second door on the left.

No second thoughts. Just
knock.
The door opened, and Beau took a
step back, grimacing from the sudden whoosh of body odor.
Grungy-headed Randal stood there, grinning at him with those rotten
teeth. What that no good waste of bones was doing there, Beau could
only imagine.

“
What an unexpected
surprise,” Oliver said, rising from a chair across the room.
“Randal was just leaving.”

As if on cue, the nasty visitor
brushed past him. “Heard ya got shot. Can’t be too careful these
days.” He whistled at Lydia, who retreated into the nearby sitting
room.

“
True, and we can’t be too
careful about who we let into our homes.”

Randal’s raspy chuckle followed him
out the front door until it shut solidly behind him.

“
Don’t be a stranger. Come
on in.” Oliver chewed on the end of an unlit cigar and gestured for
Beau to take a seat on the interrogation side of his big mahogany
desk.

Beau settled into the chair and wrung
his hat so hard he thought it might actually produce water. His
stomach churned, and a bead of sweat ran down his temple over the
wound Portia had so painstakingly sutured. A cuckoo clock hung on
the wall above the desk, with a tiny carved woodcutter frozen in
time with his axe held high, waiting for the clock to strike ten so
he could chop his firewood. Beau still had no idea how he would
secure Lucy and Tipp’s freedom. Buying it wouldn’t be an option. He
would have to appeal to Oliver’s humanity, if he had any at
all.

Instead of taking the captain’s seat,
Oliver perched on the left front corner of the desk. One
expensively shoed foot brushed the Oriental rug, and the other
swung lazily back and forth, uncomfortably close to Beau’s leg. The
tick-tock of the clock filled the awkward silence with a sense of
impending doom.

Oliver lit his cigar and peered down
from his seat on high. “What brings you here at this time of
night?”

No sense beating around
the bush about it.
“I want to know what
you’d take in exchange for releasing Lucy and Tipp from their
contracts.”

Brief shock registered on the old
bastard’s face. He scratched at one bushy gray sideburn. Cigar
smoke puffed out in spurts as he chuckled. “I should have known
this was coming.”

“
How much do you
need?”

“
Did you come into a
sudden inheritance, my boy?”

“
No.”

“
Then I fail to see how
you’d have a leg to stand on in this conversation.”

“
Tell me how much you’d
take, and we can work something out.”

“
Twenty thousand
dollars.”

“
That’s twice what their
contracts are worth.”

“
I’m a businessman,
Stanford. Can’t stay ahead by breaking even. Besides, taking them
off my hands in such short notice would be a great inconvenience.
Tipp’s the best field hand we have, and Lucy’s our only house girl
right now. It takes time to find good people. Can you supply me
with replacements?”

“
No, and I wouldn’t, even
if I could. The war’s over, Oliver. Let them go.”

“
I have to ask — why them?
I have a number of Negroes under contract.”

“
You know why.”

Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.

“
I don’t make deals based
on differing ideas of morality, son. You’ll have to do better than
that.”

“
I’ll trade the
Standardbred for them.”

“
You’d give back my
daughter’s gift to you? Well now, at least you’re starting to sound
like a businessman, but I’ll have to pass. We bought that horse for
a pittance. It wouldn’t bring enough.”

“
Then you can put
me
under contract. I’ll
give you a portion of everything I earn until their contracts are
paid for.”

Tick-tock,
tick-tock.
The minute hand slid ever
closer to the Roman numeral twelve.

Oliver slid off his perch and laughed.
“You’d really trade your soul for two worthless niggers? I knew you
were an unrealistic idealist, but I never thought of you as stupid.
Shame my niece isn’t alive to talk some sense into you. But then,
had you not gone off to fight for the damn Yankees, she might still
be here.”

“
How dare you bring Claire
into this, you son of a bitch!”

“
Temper, temper. Tell me
this — how many times have you tried to borrow money or run a tab
since you came home? How many times have you been turned
away?”

Too many damn
times.
Beau couldn’t say it out loud, but
he didn’t have to.

“
That’s what I thought.
You’re traitors to the Cause, you and Harry. Left a bad taste in
everyone’s mouth. They don’t get a little pension like you do, and
most of them don’t have the means to loan you anything. Those who
do answer to me.”

Tick-tock,
tick-tock.
The woodcutter shuddered once,
as though he couldn’t wait to bring down that axe.

“
What do you
mean?”

“
Why do you think I went
up north before the war started? Not for my health, certainly.
Winters are brutal. I accumulated a great deal of wealth, and I
bided my time, made connections. Our economy is in shambles, and my
associates and I have ensured its survival. The South is desperate,
as is Lebanon, and you’d be amazed how eagerly people will pledge
allegiance to those who can feed them.”

“
You’re buying them
out.”

“
I practically own the
town. All that’s left are a few nobodies and you.”

“
So all this talk of
coming back here to fulfill your daughter’s wishes…”

“
There’s the bright young
man I once knew. I wouldn’t come back to this hellhole just to
secure Lydia’s fairy tale prince. The entire South is one big
business venture for the taking now. How could I
not
take advantage of
it?”

“
When did you stop being
human, or were you
born
a monster?”

“
Oh, come now. Most folks
are grateful for my protection.”

“
What
protection?”

“
Protection from
unfortunate mishaps, untimely demises — whatever you want to call
it. From what I hear, Lebanon’s become quite the lawless town, more
than poor Deputy Bandy can handle. We had that attempted
bank-robbing — your stitches can attest to that. Some niggers
strung up, too. It’d be a real shame, wouldn’t it, if something
happened to yours? Or to that little teacher you’ve taken up
with.”

Beau’s blood turned to fire, burning
its way from his gut to his toes, which propelled him out of the
chair. This man had a seat reserved at Satan’s left hand, and Beau
was ready to escort him to it. Randal and those other imbeciles
were his lackeys, of course. He had no doubt they were the ones
responsible for the lynching and who knows what else. Proving it
would be another matter.

He had to force himself to stay rooted
to where he stood and hoped his words conveyed how badly he wanted
to break the bastard’s wrinkled neck. “You lay one finger on my
family or Portia, and I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

Oliver seemed nonplussed
and waved his cigar at him in a
calm-down
motion. “Easy now,
soldier. This isn’t the battlefield. I’m just an old man who wants
to maintain the peace and ensure I live in comfort for the few
years I have left. So let’s strike a deal, shall we? Come up with
twenty thousand dollars by Friday, and I’ll let Tipp and Lucy go
wherever they want.”

“
That’s
impossible.”

“
Then marry my daughter
and give me the deed to your property. I’ll even forgive Harry his
debts.”

The blood-soaked dummy swung through
Beau’s mind. “I should have known.”

“
He’s run up quite a big
tab here and elsewhere. I’m not the only one he’s got to worry
about. But I’ll try to call off the other dogs if you and I can
come to some agreement. Time’s wasting, Stanford.”

Tick-tock,
tick-tock.
Beau knew it would come down to
this, no matter how many futile bargains he tried to strike. The
worst part was knowing this snake wasn’t giving him the choice
simply because he wanted to make his daughter happy. He wanted to
own him in every way he could. Giving Oliver his land would mean he
controlled everything, and Oliver knew Beau was a man who would
never break a vow of ’til death do us part. Beau would be his new
slave.

“
Come now,” Oliver said.
“She’s not repulsive to you, surely. She’s young. She’ll give you
more children, and her dowry will pay off your debts. It’s a rather
generous offer, don’t you think? How badly do you want their
freedom? You know, I think I’ll go fetch Lucy. Mrs. Clemons and I
haven’t shared a bed in years. It gets rather lonely at
night.”

Ambushed, caught in a trap with Oliver
on the high ground. Beau’s heart danced a drunken jig in his chest,
and he felt plumb dizzy. “Give me a few more days…”

“
Can’t do it. We have to
close the deal tonight. Either you agree to find a source for the
money by Friday, or you marry Lydia and hand over your deed. Or you
do neither, and they remain for me to use as I please. And you
forfeit any protection I could provide. The choice is
yours.”

Beau looked toward the door. Each tick
of the clock grew louder, more urgent, pounded in his head,
counting down the final seconds…

“
Don’t worry. She can’t
hear you. I’ve made certain this room is completely sound proof.
Now, I want you to go out there, put on your best smile, get down
on one knee, and propose to my daughter. You’ll say nothing to her
or to anyone about our deal. You’ll get rid of that stubborn little
teacher and carry on like before. And soon as you say ‘I do’, I’ll
let them go.”

Oliver Clemons couldn’t be trusted to
do anything unless it was in ink, and even then, it was a long
shot. But he had no other safeguard left in this battle. Beau was
out of ammunition.

“
I want your word, on a
contract, that you won’t lay another hand on Lucy between now and
the wedding, and you will not interfere in nor will you threaten
the lives of anyone in my household.”

Sweat dampened every inch of Beau’s
skin. He might as well have been standing just outside the gates of
hell as he waited for the axe to fall.

“
We might make a
businessman out of you, after all.” Oliver extended his hand. “It’s
a deal.”

Beau swallowed hard, but his mouth was
devoid of spit. He stared at Oliver’s hand for a few tense seconds
before raising his own. They shook. Deal closed. The old man’s grip
was as strong as the devil’s.

“
I’ll get my lawyer over
here first thing in the morning.” Oliver mashed the end of his
cigar butt into an ashtray. “Be here at eight o’clock
sharp.”

The cuckoo popped out the door and
announced the ten o’clock hour. The woodcutter lifted his axe and
brought down jerky mechanical arms to hit the pretend chopping
block. Beau flinched.