A Time for Everything (23 page)

~~~~

Church service the
next morning was more circus than sermon with the
Clemons family back in town. In a way, Portia was glad to have the
gossipmongers off her back and swarming around Lydia instead. Yet a
twinge of envy gnawed at her, especially with Beau standing at
Lydia’s side, graciously accepting the town’s approval. Everyone
expected the two would soon be engaged.

It shouldn’t have bothered her in the
least, but… the crowd and chatter were too suffocating. The weather
wasn’t great — with chilly air and drizzling rain — but anywhere
was better than inside. And though Beau had assured them over
breakfast that everyone would be safe, the prior day’s incident
still plagued her senses. Portia made her exit around the crowd and
waited outside near the carriage. Someone touched her shoulder from
behind, and she jumped.

“
Sorry to startle you,”
Harry said. “You all right?”

“
I’m fine. Just a little
crowded in there.”

“
With the richest family
in Lebanon back in town, it’s no wonder. You’re really pretty
today.”

“
Thank you.” Why did
Harry’s compliments always make her want to wrinkle her nose? He’d
been nothing but kind to her, handsome to boot. Any other woman in
her position would have probably welcomed the attention.

“
Say, why don’t we take a
walk around the square while we’re waiting for the excitement to
die down?” He offered his arm and winked.

Portia glanced toward the church,
still crowded with spectators dying to get a glimpse of Lebanon’s
most-talked-about couple. “Sure, why not?”

Harry led her across the square, down
a sidewalk by the general store, and around the corner down a
narrow alley. They ended up at a little bridge over Barton Creek
where it ran through town. Portia looked over the rail, catching
flashes of minnows as they schooled together in the shallows. She
sucked in a breath when Harry touched her cheek.

He gently lifted her chin and turned
her head toward him. “Beau’s lucky. He managed to snag two wealthy,
beautiful women.”

She arched one eyebrow. If he had
meant to brighten her spirits, he sure picked a strange choice of
words. Averting her eyes from Harry’s heartfelt expression, she
turned her head, but he guided her back until she faced him
again.

“
But I’m luckier,” he
said, cupping her cheek and moving in until they were just a breath
apart. “I found
you
.”

Just as his lips brushed hers, she
heard someone running toward them.

Portia pulled back, putting a hand on
Harry’s chest to ensure some distance. “We have to go.”

Before he could say anything, Jonny
came into sight. He threw up a hand in greeting, and relief flooded
through her veins, competing with her confusing guilt for hurting
Harry again. She wished she knew how she felt about him so she
wouldn’t be the cause of such pain in his eyes. But she
didn’t.

They reached the front of the church
as the crowd dispersed. Beau helped Lydia into the Clemons’s fine
coach. He looked up just as Portia and Harry were about to pass by
him on the way to the less-fine buggy. He caught her in his steady
gaze as he watched their progression. Goose pimples pricked across
her skin, followed by a strange ache in her chest.

Tamp it down; don’t raise
eyebrows.
She forced herself to look
straight ahead and let Harry help her into the buggy, where Jonny
and Ezra had already claimed the front seat. She took one last look
over her shoulder to see Beau climbing in beside Lydia. Gritting
her teeth, she let Harry hold her hand while Ezra flicked the
reins. She would
not
allow her heart to go where it had no business
going.

~~~~

Back at the
house, after lunch, everyone gathered in the
parlor. Harry sat beside Portia on the settee, chatting with Ezra
and Oliver, who acted like an almost-civil gentleman, except for
the occasional obnoxious quip. Harry kept his arm draped across the
top of the seat; his fingers brushed her shoulder now and then, but
Portia resisted the urge to flee. She couldn’t bear his hurt
puppy-dog expression again today. His attempts at courtship were
not mean-spirited, but all this flirtation and mixed emotion had
taken her to a new and awkward territory. She would have to figure
out what to say to him before she confronted him one way or
another.

Amelie nodded off by the fire,
emanating gentle snores from her drooped head. Polly sat in the
window seat and worked on an embroidery sampler, glancing at Lydia
and Beau. The couple sat in the corner, laughing about some story
from the past.

Harry’s wandering hand found a piece
of her fallen hair and wound it around his finger. Ezra’s bushy
eyebrows lifted, and he cleared his throat.

Portia sat up enough to untangle
herself and addressed Polly. “Mrs. Clemons, do you miss
Philadelphia?”

Polly looked up with her hound dog
eyes and sighed. “I always had something to occupy my time there.
Socials and opera, that sort of thing. And our son Charles and his
wife had our first grandchild and are expecting
another.”

“
That’s
wonderful.”

“
Charles runs the business
there now. I suppose it will take some time to reacquaint ourselves
to the slower pace here.” She turned her sad eyes to her daughter.
“Lydia has always wished to return, and we want to see her happy
and settled.”

To be uprooted for the sake of a
daughter’s wishes seemed like an unnecessary sacrifice. Yet, from
her short time as a mother, Portia understood how one’s world could
revolve around a child. She regarded the couple in
question.

Lydia reached across the little table
and took Beau’s hands in hers. “The sun is coming out — it looks
like a fine afternoon for a ride. What do you say?”

Beau glanced out the window. “I
suppose, but there’ll be mud.”

Lydia waved her hand at him. “That’s
what my plain riding habits are for. Lucy!” At the servant’s
appearance, she added, “Can you fetch my gray riding habit? And the
black boots? Not the high heeled ones, though. I’d rather not get
stuck in the mud, though I’m sure Beau would rescue me.”

With that last bit, she winked at him.
Portia squirmed in her seat as Lydia turned her way.

“
Do you ride, Mrs.
McAllister?”

“
Not much, but I’ve been
getting some fine lessons.” She smiled down at Jonny, where he
played with his marbles on the rug. He didn’t look at her, but the
corners of his mouth turned up for a brief moment.

“
Pity. I have two plain
riding habits, and you are welcome to borrow one.” She touched the
edge of her dress right above her ample cleavage and added, “Though
it would have to be taken in, especially in the chest. Now, if
you’ll excuse me, I’ll go change.”

“
I’ll be waiting.” Beau
said.

The nerve of that…
Anger burned her cheeks, while she slumped to
hide her lacking assets.

He turned to Portia. “You all
right?”

She forced herself to regain her
straight posture. “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

Something flashed in his eyes that
made her feel less ashamed, maybe even pretty, before he hid it
with a neutral smile. “How are the lessons going?”

“
Fine, except for the
gelding I’ve been riding.”

Beau sat forward, brow creased in
concern. “What’s wrong with him?”

“
Forgive my bluntness, but
riding that horse is like pouring cold molasses from a
jar.”

“
Really?” Beau chuckled
but looked relieved. “He’s the gentlest one we have. But I think I
know why he’s being so hesitant.”

Warmth climbed her neck and gathered
in her cheeks, but she sat on the edge of her seat, ready for the
challenge. “Why is that?”

“
My son can hardly keep
his eyes open at supper. The poor horse is afraid you’ll work him
to death.”

Amelie snorted herself awake. “Who’s
Beth?”

Beau’s hearty laughter filled the
room, while Ezra cackled and slapped his knee. Portia found herself
laughing along, too. Everyone else looked at them like they were
crazy, except for Oliver, who sneered at them through his cigar
smoke.

Clearing her throat, she said primly,
“I promise to be gentle.”

Beau’s warm smile thawed the awkward
atmosphere, and she wanted to bask in it a little longer. But this
sort of familiarity could raise a few eyebrows if they weren’t
careful. As if he realized this too, Beau resumed his
straight-faced expression when Lydia came back downstairs and
fetched him moments later.

The mood turned awkward
again as soon as they left, and she didn’t want to be subjected to
Oliver’s scrutiny, so Portia excused herself and headed upstairs to
her room. Through the window, she watched Beau and Lydia, walking
arm in arm toward the stable. Spoiled and materialistic she might
be, but what man
wouldn’t
want her? Not only was she beautiful, but the
money she would bring to their union must be especially tempting to
a man struggling to make ends meet.

Portia pulled herself from the view
and opened the top dresser drawer. She picked up Jake’s tintype.
When they were married, money wasn’t a concern, though they’d never
had much of it. They grew and made most of what they needed. All
that changed when the first shot at Sumter was fired. With
everything in short supply, taken at will to feed both invading
armies, money became the only sure ticket to survival.

With nothing to her name, Portia
realized how undesirable she must be, especially for a man like
Beau. Her mouth twitched as she stared down at Jake’s pretend stern
face. She never had cause to compare herself to anyone before. Jake
had been her one and only, and she had been his. They were going to
grow old together and watch their grandchildren scamper across the
yard from the comfort of their front porch rocking chairs. That
dream now lay scattered in her memories like the dust of a summer
draught.

She hugged Jake’s picture to her chest
and whispered, “I miss you.”

Monday morning flew
by as Portia and Jonny studied the metaphors
behind Shakespeare’s plays. She hadn’t planned on going into such
in-depth topics, but Jonny kept proving to be the brightest student
she had ever encountered. The challenge of challenging
him
made her eager to
wake up and start each school day. It felt beyond good to look
forward to a new day for a change.

Of course, now that he had let down
his guard, he proved to be a typical boy who’d rather go fishing or
riding than sit in a classroom. After some moaning and groaning on
Jonny’s part, he perked up when they turned to Hamlet.

“
What metaphors do you
hear in this one?” Portia asked before quoting what might be
Hamlet’s most famous lines.

“
To be, or not to be; that
is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the
mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a
sea of troubles,

And, by opposing, end
them
.”

Chin in hand, he pondered this awhile
and then answered tentatively, his voice halting as he composed the
right words. “I think the metaphor is war or fighting… Hamlet’s
upset with all the troubles in his life — that’s the sea… The
slings and arrows are him being hurt by all of it… and he can’t
decide whether he ought to just live with it or fight
back.”

“
Very good. Can you come
up with your own metaphors in a short paragraph?”

He shrugged, turning wistful eyes to
the sunny day outside the window. With a long sigh, he picked up
his pencil and chewed on the tip of his tongue as he wrote. After a
few stops, starts, and scratching out discarded words in place of
better ones, he slid the paper toward Portia.

She read it
silently.
Pa saw how the chains of slavery
held people like animals. Their sadness speared his heart and hurt
him real bad. He hoped the chains would be loosened without
fighting, but he saw it wasn’t meant to be. So he picked up his gun
and fought against injustice.

Portia’s lip quivered as she laid the
paper back on the desk. For years, she’d been amazed by the insight
of children, but this was almost more than her heart could bear.
Despite Beau’s distant behavior, Jonny’s admiration and respect for
his father was undeniable. His understanding of why his father went
to war, even if Beau’s real intentions weren’t so pure, made her
question everything. Why did Jake fight for the Confederates when
he didn’t like how slaves were treated? Why would Beau consider
marriage to a former slave owner? What point in her own life did
she stop thinking like a child — seeing the good in people, seeing
a clear division between right and wrong? She had to dab her eyes
to keep the tears from falling.

Jonny touched her hand. “Po? Did I
write something bad?”