A Time for Everything (27 page)

Circling her way back toward the front
of the store, she spied Beau perusing some jewelry and other
baubles at a glass merchandise case. The man behind the counter was
young, probably in his teens. He placed a few brooches and rings on
a swatch of velvet when Portia came up beside Beau.

“
Those are pretty,” she
said.

A flash of surprise registered on his
face, but then he smiled. “Which one do you like best?”

“
Um…”

The shopkeeper held up a pretty bronze
charm with a white cameo of a woman in the center. It hung from a
gauzy lavender ribbon.

“
It’s the Greek goddess
Athena,” the young man said. “And it would look lovely on your
missus here.”

Portia’s eyes flicked from him to
Beau. “But I’m not—”

“
A woman to flaunt fine
jewelry,” Beau added with a mischievous grin. “But you really
should let me spoil you from time to time, my dear.”

The shopkeeper nodded like he was
truly an expert on the subject. “Oh, I see — your wife is a modest
woman. That’s a commendable trait, but I can assure you that many a
fine Christian lady has adorned her neck with this very
necklace.”

“
See?” Beau gestured at
him and winked at Portia.

What is this crazy man
doing?
Embarrassment burned her cheeks.
She had half a mind to clear up the confusion there and then so no
one could label her a charlatan. But she had to admit, this little
role-play was fun.

She forced a sweet smile. “That’s very
kind of you… darling, but our money would be better spent on those
less fortunate.” Slipping her arm through Beau’s, she pulled him
away, adding, “Thank you, though,” to the young fellow, who looked
quite discouraged.

Once they stood near the door and out
of earshot, she whispered, “Why did you do that?”

“
Do what?” There was that
naughty boy smile again — it did look good on him, though she knew
better than to think such things.

She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You
don’t play ignorant very well, you know.”

“
All right, all right. It
just seemed to fit the mood, that’s all. I can’t afford it right
now anyway, so might as well have some fun. Besides, it wasn’t all
a lie.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which
part?”

“
The part where I said you
should be spoiled.”

“
What? I don’t… I mean…”
Was that smoke coming off her face?

“
You deserve it. Jonny’s
really taken to you. Heck, even Sallie Mae loves you.”

She studied the floor, not sure how to
respond to such a compliment, when she realized she still had her
arm tucked into Beau’s. He covered her hand with his, where it
rested on his sleeve.

“
You’ve got nothing to be
embarrassed about,” he said. The deep smoothness of his gentle
words calmed her nerves and cooled her cheeks.

She raised her head and
really examined his eyes for the first time. They were actually
hazel, a mixture of brown, green, and gray, but most of all, they
were kind and honest. And they made her feel alive,
he
made her
feel…

Pulling away, she tried to reroute the
direction of this conversation. “So why were you looking at jewelry
in the first place? Where’s everyone else?”

“
Jonny went with Pa to
look for some candy. Lydia’s with her mama at the milliner or some
such place.” He averted his gaze, squinting into the sunlight. “I
thought… I might need something soon, provided I can come up with
the money.”

“
Oh.” Swallowing hard, she
felt like such a fool. Lydia, of course — he would need an
engagement ring.

“
You rode with Harry,
right? Where did he wander off to?”

She shrugged. “Said he had to run an
errand.”

“
I guess he bought you
that drink.”

“
Yes.” She looked down at
the bottle, having forgotten she still had it.

His usual scowl returned. “Maybe you
should…”

“
Maybe I should
what?”

“
Maybe you should let
Harry court you.”

All the air left Portia’s
lungs. The change took her by surprise — one minute she was
laughing with Beau, lost in his eyes even, and the next, he was
pushing her into Harry’s arms. Harry, whom she’d just rejected. She
wasn’t sure why it hurt, except that she’d grown to enjoy Beau’s
company, to actually
like
him. Had she gone too far? Said too
much?

She pushed past him and out the door,
intending to walk the two miles back to the house, to be alone with
her thoughts and sort things out. But a wave of screaming echoed
from her left. Folks ran in all directions. One man had a bag, and…
was that a gun?

He leapt onto a horse and kicked it
furiously. It reared up and whinnied. Then its front hooves hit the
ground, and it broke into a run. From the corner of her eye, Portia
spotted Jonny — right there in the street — in the path of the
fleeing man on horseback. Her sarsaparilla bottle fell with a clunk
on the sidewalk. All the blood drained from her head in one swift
rush, leaving her sick and dizzy like dreams she had of
falling.

Move!

Skirts in hand, she sprinted to Jonny
and flung herself at him, knocking them both to the ground, while
the horse bore down like a thundering brown tempest. She held Jonny
tight against her chest, using her body as a shield.

Beau’s shout came out of nowhere.
“Whoa, back, back!”

Portia dared a look over her shoulder
just in time to see him waving his arms, sweeping them forward as
though shooing the horse away. Mere inches from them, the horse
changed directions and veered left.

A gunshot exploded overhead. The horse
thundered past. Wind ruffled Portia’s dress and hair. Dust pummeled
her face. She rose to her knees, scared to look, but Jonny was
fine. Trembling all over, but fine.

“
Are you hurt?” she asked,
quickly looking him over. A crushed bag of candy seemed to be the
only casualty.

Jonny shook his head.

Portia stumbled to her feet and turned
around. “Thank you, B—”

Beau lay sprawled on the dirt. He
didn’t move. Blood trickled down his temple.

She dropped to the ground and shook
him. No response. “Beau? Oh God, someone help us!
Please!”

This dream was
a familiar one. There was the smoke for one thing
— suffocating, thick smoke — that burned his eyes and made him
cough. He thought the onslaught was over, but he lay very still,
just in case. His ears rang so much he had to rely on his body and
eyes for clues. The ground didn’t tremble anymore. Bullets weren’t
cutting streaks through the smoke.

Time to go. He clawed his
way up to level ground and stumbled into a run. The Rebels had
never broken their line, but the aftermath was nothing to
celebrate. Within a few yards, his path became an obstacle course
of shrapnel and parts of men. After all these months, he still
gagged at the sight, but he made his way through them. His feet
slipped on blood and entrails, but he regained his balance and kept
running.

Weak fingers brushed his
ankles, and men moaned, “Help me please,” but he couldn’t. God
knows he wanted to, but he had to keep going, he had to find
Harry.

Stupid fool jumped out of
the trench soon as the first shot rang out. Was he trying to get
himself killed?

“
Harry!” he screamed,
aware that it might draw a sniper’s attention, but his voice was so
hoarse, he doubted anyone farther than a few yards could hear
him.

“
Here.” A weak plea
floated through the smoke.

As soon as Harry came into
focus, Beau could see his mangled leg. It looked like a bear had
torn off a chunk of Harry’s thigh for lunch, leaving behind
shredded muscle, skin, and uniform. Blood flowed from the wound,
soaking into the trampled grass. He’d be lucky to keep that leg if
he survived.

“
Come on,” Beau said,
dropping to one knee as he slipped his rifle strap over his
shoulder. “I’ll carry you.”

“
No,” Harry shook his
head. His voice was raspy, his face paler than hardtack. “Leave
me.”

“
I’m not leaving
you.”

Beau started to slide an
arm under Harry’s back so he could pick him up, but Harry shoved
him away.

“
No! Get out of here. Save
yourself, Beau, go!”

“
I’m not going anywhere
without you.”

Harry tried to push him
away and to kick him with his good leg. Beau took the weak blows,
and being careful to keep Harry’s injured leg facing away from him,
he lifted him from the ground and stumbled to his feet.

“
I said leave me.” Harry
sobbed against Beau’s chest. Tears left pale streaks through the
dirt and blood on his cheeks. “Leave me here, just leave
me.”

“
I didn’t… come all this
way… to leave my brother… here to die.”

Beau couldn’t catch his
breath. Constant fatigue and hunger had weakened him more than he’d
realized. He wanted to run but only managed a slow jog as he wove
his way through body after body. At every step, his feet hit uneven
ground, blown off hats, abandoned guns, and severed body parts.
Ahead at the fort, their company waited. Some of their brothers in
arms ran to meet them. He could reach them… just a few more yards…
Harry still wept against his chest, and he felt like a full sack of
feed in Beau’s arms.

“
We’re going to make it,”
Beau panted, driven on by the men hollering, “Come on,
hurry!”

Twenty yards from safety,
a loud pop followed by lancing pain cut through his right shoulder.
He pitched forward. Harry landed just out of his reach. More
gunshots — fire exchanged on both sides, right above their heads.
Beau couldn’t move his right arm — it was pinned beneath his body.
He lifted his head and tasted blood.

Harry’s trembling hand
reached for him, and Beau reached back…

Smoke billowed in,
blinding him, but unlike the other dreams, a voice drifted through
the swirling cloud.
“Po? Where is
Po?”

It was desperate and full of pain,
that voice, and he felt it welling up inside him, felt his own lips
forming the words, “Po? Where are you, Po?”

~~~~

Dr. Barton emerged
from Beau’s room to the expectant stares of
everyone in the hallway. “Bullet just grazed him. The horse
probably knocked him unconscious, but he’s waking up and asking for
someone named Po?”

Lydia, who had started forward,
stopped short. “Are you… sure?”

“
Quite — he’s repeated it
over and over. If this Po person goes in and talks to him, it might
help him come around fully. By the way, whoever stitched him up did
a fine job.”

Portia looked to Ezra for permission
to enter. “May I?”

“
Go on in,” he said.
“We’ll wait out here.”

She hugged Jonny against her side,
happy to see the relief on his face. Stepping past a fuming Lydia,
Portia opened Beau’s door and entered his room.

~~~~

Beau smiled.
Not
a dream.
Portia shut the door quietly and walked to his
bedside. Talk about a sight for sore eyes — literally. His vision
blurred with each throbbing pain in his head. But he still noticed
the blush on her cheeks. He scratched his bare chest, not entirely
ashamed of letting her see him so exposed.

“
You’re awake,” she said.
The relief in her red, puffy eyes surprised him. How long had he
been out? Was he worse off than he felt?

“
Po.” He tried to sit
up.

She held him down. “Lie still, now, or
you’ll start bleeding again.”

Slowly, he lifted his fingers to find
bandages wrapped all the way around his head. “Jonny?”

“
He’s fine.”

“
And you?”

She nodded. “You’re
worried about
me
?
You’re the one who was shot.”

“
You been crying for me?”
He touched her face, brushing his thumb over the smooth skin on her
cheek. He hadn’t noticed her freckles until now.

“
No.” She pulled up a
chair and swiped at her cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

Pain still pounded an insistent drum
in his head. “I’ve felt worse. Where’s everyone?”

“
Outside in the
hall.”

“
Lydia?”

She exhaled and rolled her eyes. “She
fainted when she saw the blood. Had to lie on the sofa while Harry
and Ezra found Dr. Barton. She’s fine now.”

“
Figured as much.” Lydia
didn’t seem the type to handle body fluids with any measure of
grace. Yet her absence didn’t upset him. He wanted to spend a
little time with the woman who had saved his son’s life.

“
The bullet only grazed
you, so we brought you back here, and I stitched you
up.”