A Time for Everything (8 page)

“
I’m tired.” He wasn’t
really lying, but it was more than lack of sleep. He’d never forget
all those things he said to Jonny, how he’d screamed like a madman
and drove his son to muteness. He couldn’t bear to sit on the creek
bank, staring at the child he had created with Claire, with the
silence between them screaming the ugly truth. Jonny hated him, and
probably always would.

Ezra blew a sigh that ruffled his
mustache. “We’re all tired, son.”

Harry walked out carrying a basket in
one hand and a blanket in the other. He laughed, and Portia
responded with a shy smile. She wore a yellow dress with a flowered
print. A white bonnet haloed her head, and she held a Bible in her
ungloved hands.

Ezra leaned closer to Beau and
whispered, “Looks like Harry’s making her feel welcome.”

“
Good,” Beau answered. He
raised his voice toward the latecomers. “I’m glad you could finally
join us, Mrs. McAllister.”

She looked him in the eye and gave a
curt nod. “Thank you, Mr. Stanford.”

Beau’s eyes widened a bit. He had
expected her to be more unsettled after last night, especially if
she was a co-conspirator in Pa’s matchmaking plan. He had certainly
done his best to ruffle her feathers. Either she was a good actress
or maybe he really was a heartless bastard.

“
It’s not getting any
earlier. Let’s go,” he snapped.

“
Keep your pants on,
Beau,” Harry said as he placed the picnic supplies in the carriage.
He helped Portia to her seat beside Jonny, and his hand lingered on
hers a little longer than necessary before he climbed in next to
her. Beau rolled his eyes. Did Harry realize he was flirting with
his mail-order bride?

Harry answered him with a wink. No
woman was safe from his flirtations. Of course, in this situation,
Beau couldn’t have cared less. He faced forward again and snapped
the reins.

~~~~

They pulled up
to the church a few minutes later. Carriages
lined the street, emptying their burdens of Lebanon’s townsfolk.
Women and children filed into the bright white Presbyterian church
with the newly rebuilt steeple. Of all the town’s structures, this
one came first on the list of repairs after the war.

Men congregated in groups of twos and
threes on the sidewalk, chatting before the church bells sent them
to their seats. Like every Sunday since Beau’s return, most of them
cast bitter glances his way and turned their backs toward him.
They’d never forgive him for joining the Federals. But he couldn’t
have lived with himself had he not. If he and his family had to
forever endure the town’s disdain, then so be it, though
resurrecting his business would be even more difficult without
their support.

Harry jumped out and helped Portia
down. He offered his arm, and she took it lightly before they
strolled inside the church together. Beau watched them until they
disappeared into the darkness beyond the doorway.

Ezra climbed out with Jonny at his
heels and turned back to Beau. “Still glad Harry’s making her feel
welcome?”

“
Couldn’t be
happier.”

Beau flicked the reins and drove the
carriage behind the church to park. At least he had answered
honestly. If Harry and Portia took up together, he’d be happy for
them. Harry had been single for long enough and needed a decent
woman to straighten him out, not to mention a relationship between
the two would prove she wasn’t conspiring with Ezra.

When Beau stepped through
the church doors, Mrs. Murphy was warming up the organ with the
dulcet chords of “
Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord
God Almighty.
” Portia and Harry were
already standing in place at the traditional Stanford bench — right
side, third row from the front. Jonny and Ezra filed in beside
them. The place was packed — a sea of black for those still in
mourning, with a little color thrown in by those who were more
fortunate.

Some visitors occupied the
old widows’ bench on the second row. The little hunchbacks squeezed
in by Ezra, mumbling and grumbling about being ousted from their
favorite roost and having to sit beside those
“Yankees.”
The only space left for
Beau was on the aisle end beside Portia. He considered turning back
to endure the service while standing beside the door, but Ezra
spotted him and waved for him to come sit.

He could either squeeze in beside this
young woman he wasn’t quite sure about or risk a slew of stares
from the rubbernecked congregation all morning. He chose the
former, and with hat in hand, stepped in beside Portia. She glanced
up at him. He acknowledged her with a quick nod before she averted
her eyes. Her cheeks were rosy, and she gripped her Bible with
trembling hands. Maybe he really had ruffled her feathers. Why did
he suddenly feel so guilty about it?

From the pulpit, the pastor sang with
his throaty bellow, waving his hymnal along with the organ music.
The congregation joined in.

“
Holy, holy, holy, Lord
God almighty

Early in the morning, our
song shall rise to thee!”

Beau’s eyes drifted back to Portia and
took in a few more details. Not bad-looking, certainly. The yellow
print dress she wore was probably her best gown, but she had taken
good care of it. Strands of honey-brown hair had escaped her bonnet
to lie on the nape of her neck. She couldn’t be much taller than
Jonny. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

“
Holy, holy, holy,
merciful and mighty

God in three persons,
blessed Trinity!”

He felt the stares before he found
their source. Sure enough, the town gossips, young and old, had
honed in. Soon as he turned his head toward them, they looked away.
Portia was about to be the talk of the town — a young widow living
without a chaperone in the Stanford home. So scandalous! He pinched
his lips together so he wouldn’t laugh. Even the war hadn’t
silenced these busybodies.

The preacher hollered, “Page 152 —
Nearer My God to Thee!”

Mrs. Murphy’s round jowls shook as she
sang from her organ bench. Beau mouthed the words, but he never
really sang. He couldn’t hear over the women crowing to his left
anyway. He stopped moving his mouth and listened to Portia
singing.

“
Though like the
wanderer,

The sun goes
down,

Darkness be over
me,”

Her eyes were closed, and though her
singing voice wasn’t perfect, it was pleasant and soft. Maybe an
octave lower than Claire’s used to be.

“
My rest a
stone;

Yet in my dreams I’d
be

Nearer my God, to
thee!”

Tears escaped from the corners of her
eyes by the time the song ended, drawing him ever closer to the
conclusion that he was indeed the heartless one, not Portia. Beau
fumbled for his handkerchief, but Harry found his first. Portia
took the cloth and dabbed her eyes. Beau started to ask her if she
was all right, but Harry wrapped one arm lightly around her
shoulders and whispered the question instead. She sniffed and
nodded.

Adjusting the shirt collar that
suddenly seemed too tight, Beau forced himself to focus on the
pulpit.

Once the hymns were sung, the service
dragged on for an eternity. The preacher bellowed his usual fire
and brimstone while a few stray, “Amens,” arose from the
congregation. Portia stared at her lap most of the time and fiddled
with her gloves, nodding and glancing up as Harry whispered to her.
Ezra’s head drooped down to his chest, while Jonny had fallen fast
asleep on his arm by the time the preacher started losing his
voice. An onerous snore from the old man finally stalled the
sermon.

The preacher snapped his Bible closed
on the pulpit. “Well, now,” he said, dabbing the sweat from his
brow and smacking his fleshy lips, “let’s all be dismissed for
dinner on the grounds.”

With Beau bottlecapping the row, he
had to go first, so he stepped into the aisle and stood aside to
let the others out. Harry, with his hand flitting over the small of
Portia’s back, led her toward the doors. Ezra and Jonny ambled out,
both of them yawning and rubbing their eyes.

He tried to follow right behind them,
but the town gossips, led by Mrs. Peabody, crowded in front of him.
He hoped Harry could at least keep Portia out of their talons long
enough for them to settle apart from the crowd and have a peaceful
meal.

The preacher slapped him on the back
before he could make his escape. “Brother Stanford, what’s all this
about a young lady coming to your home? Should I
assume…?”

“
No, you shouldn’t.” At
the preacher’s taken-aback look, Beau added, “We’ve just hired her
on as a housekeeper and tutor for Jonny. She’s a war widow from
Brentwood and had nowhere else to turn.”

That last part was a stretch, but he
figured God didn’t mind a little stretching when the moment called
for it so long as the basic truth remained intact.

“
I see, I see. Confederate
or Federal?”

Beau crossed his arms. When would the
time come that such distinctions weren’t needed? “Confederate,” he
admitted, hating the feel of that word on his tongue.

The preacher slapped Beau on the back
again, this time hard enough to make him wheeze. “Glad to see your
Christian charity extended even unto thine enemy. You Stanfords
have always done good in the sight of God, no matter what other
folks say about it. Why, where would Harry Franklin and them
Negroes of yours be without y’all? Speakin’ of… looks like Harry
might have taken a shine to her.”

One more backslap, and he
elbowed past Beau and out the door. Nothing moved that man faster
than the prospects of cold chicken, molasses, and hoecakes. With
his back stinging from the repeated assaults, Beau continued down
the aisle and over the threshold, ignoring a few people who scowled
at him on the way out. He couldn’t let Portia face all those
biddies alone.
Not alone, of course.
Harry’s taking care of her.
The thought
didn’t bring him any comfort. He wasn’t sure why, except that
Harry’s intentions weren’t always good, especially with
women.

Rounding the side of the church, he
groaned. Mrs. Peabody and the rest of the gossip flock had swarmed
around Portia. They ushered her off under a cedar tree for further
pecking. Harry, Ezra, and Jonny were setting up the picnic. He
started to step in and save her, but she smiled and chatted with
them and didn’t seem too flustered. More hair had fallen onto the
graceful line of her neck. She twirled a lock of it around her
finger and glanced at him. He nodded in return.

Harry sauntered over with a
conspiratorial look on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me that Lydia
is coming back?”

Beau pulled his gaze from the women.
“What?”

“
Lydia Clemons is coming
back from Philly, and you didn’t tell me. She’s got to be what,
twenty, twenty-one by now?” Harry slicked his hair down as though
Lydia were standing right in front of him.

“
I haven’t thought much
about it since Pa told me. They’ll be staying with us until their
home is renovated.”

“
You’d better be thinkin’
about it, Beau. Lydia’s had her eyes set on you ever since she was
a child.”

“
She’s Claire’s little
cousin, for goodness sake. I can’t think of her that
way.”

“
Yeah, well, Claire’s not
coming back, and you’re not getting any younger.”

Beau clenched his jaw and bit back
words that were not at all appropriate on church property. He
managed to strain a more neutral statement through his gritted
teeth. “I really don’t want to talk about this right
now.”

“
Come on, man, think about
it. Why would they come back at all, if not for you? Oliver owns
half of Philly already. It’s not like they have to come back here
to
this
mess. I’d
bet my bottom dollar they’re coming back because of
you
.”

“
Nonsense. They’ve got
roots here, that’s all.”

Beau scuffed up some grass
with his boot. Harry’s notion had to be way off. His memories of
Lydia consisted of pink ribbons and curly blond hair, skipping
around Paradise Plantation back in its heyday. He could hardly
imagine her as a woman now, especially one interested in
marrying
him
.
Then again, she had written him several letters since his
return.
I’ll forever cherish those days
when you taught me to ride. They were the happiest of my
life…

Harry shrugged. “I guess we’ll see
then, won’t we? It’ll be fun having old Oliver back in town. He
always had the best smokes.”

“
We’ve got a lot of work
to do,” Beau said. “I’m not exactly looking forward to entertaining
house guests.”

“
Portia can help with
that, right?”

Beau craned his neck to check on her.
She wasn’t smiling anymore, but crossed her arms and fiddled with
her dress collar. The ladies had her cornered against the cedar’s
trunk, all of them gesturing and nodding passionately among
themselves.