A Time for Everything (25 page)

She linked one arm in his, effectively
staking her claim, and glared at Portia.

“
Perhaps we could speak
privately about the matter,” Portia whispered.

Lydia let out an exasperated breath.
“Well, if it’s so important as to leave your student to come find
Beau, you might as well say what you wanted to say and get it over
with.”

Beau raised an eyebrow toward the
blonde on his arm, who stood there tapping her riding boot
impatiently. What happened to that sweet, vulnerable woman he had
just kissed? An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his
stomach.

With a sidelong, and irritated, glance
at Lydia, Portia’s voice was cool, but steady. “I have spoken with
Lucy, and she has given her blessing for me to teach Sallie Mae for
an hour each day. I wanted to ask your permission as
well.”

“
What of Jonathan’s
lessons?” Lydia asked.

“
She will sit in on them,
nothing more. And as he’s working on his assignments, I would like
to teach her to read, for she would very much like to do
so.”

So, she’s taking Oliver up
on his challenge. That’s my girl.
Beau’s
mouth twitched, tempted to offer her a proud smile. But he wondered
if she’d thought about the consequences.

“
I know you want to help
her, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said. Disappointment
clouded her eyes and wounded his sensibilities. But he had to make
sure she remained safe while she lived under his roof. “We should
probably let her family handle that, Po. Teaching a black child
could be risky, if word got out.”

To Beau’s surprise, Lydia said, “You
know what, Beau — I think you should let her teach Sallie
Mae.”

He and Portia both uttered a
simultaneous, “What?”

Smiling a little brighter than the
situation called for, Lydia added, “Really, it’s a charitable idea,
considering she’s not being paid for the extra work. And if… Po… is
willing to take it upon herself, then why not? Poor Jonathan is
still mute, but perhaps she’ll have better luck with my maid’s
child.”

Beau winced. Lydia’s challenge, though
veiled, was a challenge nonetheless, and she had slighted Portia’s
abilities to teach his son. How could he deny her the chance to
take it on now? He could tell by the stubborn set of her chin, red
cheeks, and flashing eyes that she would teach the girl to spite
the devil, if nothing else.

“
Fine,” he conceded, since
these two strong-willed women had effectively usurped his power in
this situation. Still, he couldn’t ignore the edgy wariness
tickling his senses. “Just keep it quiet. No one in town needs to
know right now. And no more than an hour a day. All
right?”

Portia’s face relaxed into a tight
smile. “Understood. And thank you.”

She headed up the hill and entered the
house, as Beau and Lydia took their time along the same path. Lydia
lessened her death grip on his arm, allowing blood to flow again to
his tingling fingers.

“
Well now, isn’t she
something,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, but he answered
anyway. “Yes, she is.”

He felt Lydia flinch but pretended not
to notice. Her jealousy was unwarranted, and he knew better than to
keep poking a mad horse. Still, seeing her get all riled up over
that tiny spitfire of a teacher made him smile. Yep, Portia
McAllister sure was something all right.

Portia stole a
bit of time for herself between the end of
lessons and the start of supper. Bessie had soup on the stove
already, and Lucy had the laundry on the line, so she wasn’t needed
and wouldn’t likely be missed. With a notebook and charcoal pencil
in hand, she headed to the creek. She needed solitude, just a
little while to sort out her thoughts and to forget what she’d
witnessed at the barn. That hungry look in Beau’s eyes, the way he
held Lydia with such burning desire…
Stop
it! Just walk.

The late afternoon sun danced on the
creek, making it look like liquid gold. Portia settled beneath the
cedar tree where she and Jonny had skipped rocks and where she and
Beau had taken refuge from the rain a few days before. Propping the
sketch pad on her knees, she looked for a subject to draw. About
ten yards away on the other side of the creek sat an old icehouse.
A little wooden bridge spanned the creek in front of it.

She began to sketch the little
structure with its arched stone set back into the creek bank. Ivy
grew from above and drooped lazily in front of the door. Dark green
moss carpeted the walls. Her pencil recreated the pointed outlines
of the ivy leaves, the tall cedars on the bank, a squirrel on a
stump nibbling his lunch. With the gentle bubbling of the creek and
the melodic birdsong above, and with nothing but her and her
notebook, she felt truly at peace.

Footsteps approached, and Portia
turned to see Ezra strolling down the hill.

“’
Ey there, sorry if I’m
interruptin’ you. I didn’t think anybody was here.”

“
It’s all right. It’s your
land, after all.”

“
Mind if I sit with you a
spell?”

Though she had hoped to have some
quiet time to herself, she didn’t mind Ezra being there all that
much. She gestured for him to have a seat. Holding his pipe with
one hand, the old man lowered himself cautiously to the ground. He
rested his back on the tree with his legs sprawled out in front of
him.

“
Nice here by the creek,”
he mumbled through his mustache.

“
Yes, it is,” Portia
agreed.

“
I come down here often
just to sit and listen. It’s calm and peaceful-like.” He took two
puffs from his pipe. Cherry scented smoke mingled with the damp,
mossy air. “You know, it’s been nice having a young lady here
again.”

“
Miss Clemons is quite
comely.”

Ezra chuckled and smoke billowed
toward the sky. “I meant you.”

“
Oh… well, thank you.” She
smiled, but her cheeks didn’t catch fire like they usually did when
someone said such a personal thing.

“
Seems you and Jonny are
gettin’ on good.”

“
He’s such a bright and
sweet boy. I’m fortunate to be his teacher.”

“
He’s started talkin’ to
you, hasn’t he?”

Uncertain whether he’d be upset with
her for keeping the news to herself, she nodded slowly, watching
for his reaction.

“
I thought so. He almost
spoke to
me
this
mornin’, made a little peep then snapped his mouth shut. I told him
to start talkin’ to me when he was ready, that I ain’t gonna rush
him. But I don’t blame you for not telling Beauregard.”

“
You don’t?”

He shook his head. “Naw. It’s up to
him and Jonny to work things out. They’re both as stubborn as can
be, but I know it’ll happen.” A quiet pause hung between them,
filled only with the gentle bubbling of the creek water before he
spoke again. “I hear you’re gonna teach Sallie Mae to
read.”

“
I am.”

“
I’m proud of ya. Takes
guts to do what you did, to stand up for others who ain’t treated
right.”

She set her notebook and pencil down
on a dry patch of cedar needles. “I don’t know about that. It just
felt like the right thing to do. Every child deserves an
education.”

He took another puff and grinned,
looking at her through the corner of his eye. “Beauregard is
impressed. He didn’t think you’d be quite so
forthright.”

She scrunched her face. “I’m…
sorry?”

Ezra slapped his knee and laughed.
“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for. Beau needs a few more
straight-talkers around here.” He pointed down at her notebook.
“That’s a real good drawin’.”

“
Thank you.”

“
I was quite the finger
painter when I was a boy.”

“
And quite the fence
painter now, I hear.”

“
An artist’s gotta move up
in the world, I reckon.”

He winked, and Portia laughed, feeling
relaxed enough to resume her sketch. A few tranquil minutes passed
with Ezra puffing his pipe and the creek bubbling over mossy
stones. Above them, a mockingbird sang a stolen chickadee melody
from his invisible perch in the tree.

Ezra finally broke the
silence. “So what about
you
, Po?”

“
What
about
me?”

“
I reckon it’s been hard
comin’ here to live with folks you don’t know. Must have been hard
losin’ your family like you did. So… are you all right?”

“
I’m fine.” Her mouth
twitched, and she had to focus on something — anything else — to
keep from choking up. She stared out at the icehouse and at the ivy
swaying in the breeze.

“
If you ever need to talk,
I’m never too far away.” Ezra drew in his knees and shifted his
body as if he was about to get up. But she realized she didn’t want
him to. His presence added as much comfort as a warm
hug.

She took a deep breath and decided to
let a few memories loose. “Jake was a farmer.”

The old man settled back onto the
mossy earth and rested against the tree trunk again.

“
He grew corn, soybeans,
wheat — whatever the soil would take.”

“
Honest profession,
farmin’.” Ezra refilled his pipe from the can in his bib
pocket.

Portia rubbed her hand along the
velvety moss between them. “He never was that good of a farmer. His
brother Frank shared the land with him. He was better at it. Jake
would have rather been hunting or fishing than plowing a
field.”

“
We’d have got along
good,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “I hate farmin’.”

She had to laugh at that, and
discovered she really liked Ezra. He reminded her of her own daddy,
before he became a drunken monster.

Portia drew her knees to her chest and
rested her elbows on them. “Jake was a good man and a good father.
He never should have left.”

“
That seems to be a pretty
common sentiment nowadays.” Ezra took his pipe from his mouth to
rest it against one knee. “I didn’t think Beauregard was gonna come
back to us either, and when he did… well, he ain’t been the same
man since.”

“
It must have been hard
raising him on your own.”

“
It was. Hadn’t been for
Bessie, he might have starved to death. Lucky for Beau, her
youngest boy Curtis was born just a few months before. And Isaac
was a real big help when Harry came to live with us. Them boys was
a handful.” He grinned as though remembering some of their
adolescent capers. “Tell me about your folks. I knew a few people
from Brentwood back in the day.”

“
They were Sullivans —
Charles and Iris.” She waited for any sign of recognition on his
face, but his expression didn’t change. She wiped her palms on her
skirt, and her heart raced, uncertain how much she should reveal
about them. “Daddy was a good carpenter. I think every home in
Brentwood had a piece of his furniture. But he stopped working and
turned to the bottle when my older brother died. Nothing was the
same after that.”

He took a long draw from his pipe,
lowered it from his mouth, and let the smoke out slowly. The gentle
warmth in his eyes eased her spirit. “Ain’t right for a man to
mistreat his family. I reckon everyone handles grief different,
like you and Beau and Jonny. But you know somethin’? I still
believe in the good Lord, and I think he brought you here for a
reason.”

“
Do you? And why’s that?”
She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice but failed
miserably. God’s reasons didn’t seem to serve any purpose but to
take whatever He wanted when He wanted it.

Ezra’s mustache curved upward like a
fuzzy gray caterpillar arching its back. “I guess we’ll just have
to wait and see.”

~~~~

After supper,
everyone
settled in the parlor as a spring
storm raged outside. It didn’t faze Aunt Amelie, who nodded off not
five minutes after she sat down. Beside her sat Polly, hunkered
over some knitting. Lydia was upstairs somewhere, as was Jonny.
Oliver lit a cigar as he, Pa, and Harry discussed politics or some
such thing.

Beau was in no mood for it, so he
sipped some whiskey and tuned out their conversation. What had
politics done but tear the country apart, leaving honest working
folks like himself broke while filling the pockets of opportunists
like Oliver? His foundry in Philadelphia supplied the steel for
railroads — those same railroads and locomotives the Rebels had
destroyed.

He threw back the rest of his whiskey,
savoring the burn. A good distraction is what he needed — some
pleasant conversation to take his mind off his finances, or a
friendly verbal sparring.

Portia sat a couple yards
away.

An open book lay on her lap, but she
wasn’t looking at it. She stared out the window, lost in her own
thoughts. He let his eyes linger on her — watched the lightning
flicker in her eyes, and the way she tucked her thick hair behind
her ear only to have it escape again a moment later. He wanted to
ask her what was on her mind when Lydia came in, carrying a large
framed portrait. Tipp followed behind at a respectful distance and
waited near the door. Beau gave him a friendly nod in greeting, and
Tipp returned the gesture. He’d have to snag him for a checkers
game soon.