A Time for Everything (16 page)

He took advantage of her close
proximity and slid an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.
Though other women might welcome such a gesture, guilt clawed at
her conscience and burned her cheeks, as though Jake could come
around the corner at any time and catch them in the act.

Hugging her basket of eggs, she
stepped away from him, shrugging one shoulder to release his hold.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some shopping to do.”

His frown didn’t go
unnoticed.

~~~~

April 20, 1866

Dear Ellen,

These two weeks have flown
by, but they have brought a few blessings. Jonny is talking to me
more every day, and to Bessie some, though he will still not speak
to his father or anyone else. We were able to trade a few eggs for
heavy drawing paper, charcoal pencils, and a used leather
portfolio. I’m looking forward to sketching again, though I am most
assuredly not looking forward to riding. I promised Jonny, however,
so I must keep my word. It will help him to spend time with
someone.

Mr. Stanford possesses a
gift for training horses. I watched him perform this act, and it
was like watching a different man. His cold nature had departed,
and I saw the warm, unburdened man he must have been before the
war. I only wish he would spend time with his son. I’m not certain
as to why they have grown apart, but I want to help them reunite if
I can. Doing that may prove more difficult than turning water to
wine. Mr. Stanford and I haven’t spoken since I stumbled upon his
open chest and army jacket. At the very least, I am encouraged that
Bessie seems to have warmed to me. Knowing I’m not viewed as an
enemy will make my time here more pleasant.

However, even as I write
this, I shudder to think of the hatred she and Isaac could come up
against. Mr. Franklin and I were in town earlier today and we heard
of a dreadful lynching in a nearby town. I fear for their safety,
though he assured me it was likely a rumor. Mr. Franklin seems
rather fond of me, but I cannot fathom entertaining such thoughts.
I know what you’re thinking, Ellen, but I’m not ready for a
courtship with anyone yet.

I’ve just finished a book
Bessie gave me about a freed slave named Frederick Douglass. He was
born into slavery, barely knew his mother, and suspected his owner
had fathered him. This poor man was so abused, he was thankful to
be sent to a “negro-breaker” because there he would at least be
fed. Poor and abused as Sam and I were, we were never hungry for
very long, and we had the choice to leave.

What hurt me most is that
Mr. Douglass was denied the right to an education. He took it upon
himself to learn to read and write, and even those endeavors were
risky. If I ever get the chance to teach a black child, I will do
so in a heartbeat…

Portia lay in
her bed the next morning, half-awake, watching
the sun’s pink light brighten her window. It was Saturday, so there
were no lessons, and Bessie had told her to sleep in if she wished.
She felt a tad guilty leaving Bessie to prepare breakfast, but the
bed felt particularly comfortable this morning. Sighing in
contentment, she pulled the quilt up to her chin and let the downy
softness of the pillow and mattress caress her back to sleep. Just
a few more minutes. Surely no one would mind…

A soft rap sounded on her door. Portia
groaned and sat up. Bessie must have needed her help sooner than
later.

“
Just a minute,” she
called. After a short yawn and stretch, she got up and cracked
opened the door. “I’m sorry, I’ll get dressed and…
Jonny?”

He stood there, smiling and bouncing
up and down on his toes. After glancing over his shoulder, probably
to make sure no one else could hear, he whispered, “We’re going
riding today, remember? That is, if you still want to.”

Lowering his head, he bit his lip and
shuffled his feet. Though she had halfway hoped he would forget
about their deal, she couldn’t say no to him now. Not when he
looked so excited and eager. She liked this side of Jonny and
wanted to encourage him to stay that way for a while, even if he
wasn’t taking full advantage of his voice.

“
Of course I still want
to.”

His face brightened like the sun that
had just popped over the horizon. “Can we go after
breakfast?”

“
I’ll have to see if
Bessie needs some help with chores first. Then we can.”

“
Oh,” he said, and his
face clouded over a bit. “That’ll be fine. I can get the horses
ready while you’re doing that.”

“
You should wait for me to
go with you.”

“
Grandpa’s going out with
me.”

“
You… spoke to him?” She
tried not to sound too eager, but couldn’t help the upbeat lilt in
her tone.

Digging the toe of his boot into the
floorboards, he whispered, “I wrote him a note.”

“
I see.” Her voice
deflated a bit. “And have you gotten your father’s permission?” The
last thing she needed was another confrontation with Mr. Stanford.
She still hadn’t spoken directly to him since the army jacket
incident and had taken all her meals either in the kitchen or
study. He hadn’t questioned her absence, either. An invisible wall
of tension existed between them that neither dared to
cross.

“
Yes, ma’am,” Jonny said,
nodding assuredly. “Grandpa asked him. See you outside.”

~~~~

Portia swallowed
her
last bite of biscuit and gooseberry
jam then wiped her mouth with her napkin. She rose from the kitchen
table and carried her dishes to the basin, where Bessie was busy
scrubbing.

“
Are you sure you don’t
need help this morning?” she asked again.

Bessie chuckled. “You’ll do more good
out there with Jonny than in here with me. You really that scared
of ridin’?”

“
No…” She pulled at the
cuffs on her sleeves. “Yes, a little.”

“
He ain’t lyin’ when he
says those saddle horses are gentle. You’ll be fine. But we did get
word that the Clemonses will be here this coming Tuesday, so I’ll
need your help this afternoon and tomorrow.”

“
All right, we can cancel
lessons and I’ll help with whatever you need.”

“
It’s been a long time,”
Bessie said, wringing her hands, “since we’ve had company around
here.” At Portia’s smile, she added quickly, “Except for you, of
course.”

“
Of course,” Portia said
with a chuckle. “But why all the worry?”

“
They’ve been city folks
for a long time. Rich, too. I don’t know if what we got will be
good enough.”

“
If you’re talking about
our cooking, think about it this way. They might be looking forward
to some good Southern food after all that fancy Northern
fare.”

Bessie’s face brightened, and she
abandoned the hand-wringing. “I never thought about it that way.
Maybe you’re right. I’ll get a list ready of things we need to do.
Now you go on out and have a nice ride with Jonny.”

~~~~

Gentle proved to
be an understatement for the saddle horse Portia
rode. The animal plodded along at a snail’s pace, while Jonny had
to keep slowing Jack, his pony, to let them catch up. Soft kicks to
the horse’s sides and flicking the reins helped for about five
seconds. The gelding wasn’t much taller than Jack — maybe fourteen
hands if she were to make a generous guess. At least if she fell
off, she wouldn’t hurt much more than her pride. Not at this
speed.

Jonny led them past one of the plowed
fields and along a well-worn trail through the woods. Flowing water
mixed with birdsong played a soothing melody as the trail
descended. They stopped at a sparkling creek that wove its way
along mossy green rocks. Upstream, the water crashed into the foamy
white mist of a miniature waterfall. Portia breathed in the fresh
forest air, closing her eyes to savor the moment.

“
That’s Barton Creek,”
Jonny said. “We used to picnic down here all the time. Upstream a
ways, there’s good fishing.”

He fell quiet and his face looked
somber while he scratched Jack’s mane.

“
What’s wrong?” Portia
asked.

“
I was just wondering… do
you miss your husband and little girl?”

Her chest tightened at the mention of
Jake and Abby, but Jonny needed someone to talk to now that he’d
found his voice, so she had to open up to him. “Yes, every single
day. I think of them from the moment I wake to the moment I go to
bed.”

Jonny’s shoulders rose and fell with a
heavy breath.

She could guess who was on his mind,
so she ventured the question. “What was your mama like?”

“
She was real pretty and
kind to everyone.” He slid off his saddle, dug into his pocket, and
pulled out a sugar cube. It must have been risky for him to swipe,
since sugar was in such short supply. Jack gobbled it up greedily,
while Jonny rubbed his ears. “She helped look after some of the
sick kids and older folks in town when Pa went off to war. Then she
got sick, too.”

Trying not to be overcome with
emotion, Portia blinked back tears and slid out of the saddle, none
too gracefully. At least she landed on her feet, though her legs
felt like mush. “You must miss her a lot.”

He nodded, resting his forehead on
Jack’s nose. “Pa never talks about her, but Grandpa does. I cry
sometimes. Does that make me a baby?”

“
No, not at all. Crying is
as natural as laughing. It makes us feel better.”

Though tempted to give him a hug, she
decided it might make him feel more ashamed. She had to keep
building their connection instead of tearing it down. Sunlight
danced on the creek and sparked an idea. She walked to the water’s
edge, bent down, and picked up a smooth, flat stone. Standing
again, she held it just right, flung her arm outward, and let it
loose. The rock skipped merrily across the water, coming to rest on
the opposite bank.

“
Wow!” Jonny said, running
up to stand beside her. “You know how to skip rocks?”

She laughed. “I grew up with two
brothers. I didn’t have much of a choice. By the way, now that we
know each other a little better, you may call me Po if you wish —
that was the nickname my brothers gave me and it stuck.”

“
You know something?”
Jonny squatted down and inspected a few rocks before he settled on
one.

“
What?”

“
I like you, Po,” he said
matter-of-factly, and flung his rock out over the water. It skipped
along and landed right on hers. “How about a contest — best two out
of three wins?”

Feeling lighter than she had in
months, she put her hands on her hips and said, “I thought you’d
never ask.”

~~~~

Portia read the
to-do list over lunch. Guest rooms would have to
be prepared, since the Clemons family would be staying in the
Stanford home for an undetermined time until their own home was
renovated. They’d have to re-stuff some pillows, and Portia wrote
next to that,
Add a few sprigs of
lavender.
Dusting, sweeping, and window
cleaning could be done that afternoon. Tablecloths and napkins
needed pressing, meals needed planning. Someone would have to shop
for dry goods, candles, and other necessities.

Sleeves rolled up and apron on, Portia
was ready for battle. She tackled the dusting and sweeping. Bessie
cleaned the guest room windows, took all the rugs out back and
slung them over the clothesline for a good beating. Every surface
shone from their efforts by the time they were done. During supper,
Portia sat with Bessie in the kitchen and started planning meals.
Excited voices carried from the next room, with several mentions of
Lydia Clemons.

“
She must be quite a
sight,” Portia said.

“
You’d think the Lord
himself was arriving on the back of a donkey colt,” Bessie said,
rolling her eyes and laughing. “Everybody thinks she’s going to be
the next Mrs. Stanford. I hate to tell ’em this, but Beau ain’t
gonna take to that idea.”

Portia felt strange about
eavesdropping, but she couldn’t keep herself from listening in on
the conversation in the dining room. Besides Jonny, the only
one
not
talking
about the incoming guests was Mr. Stanford. Every now and then,
she’d hear him give a one word answer or some general statement,
but he certainly didn’t sound as enthusiastic as the other
men.

Maybe Bessie was right and he didn’t
have any intentions of marrying Miss Clemons. She realized that her
employer’s decision about marriage would naturally affect her
situation. If he chose to remarry, his new wife would likely want
to take Jonny’s education into her own hands. But if he didn’t
marry Miss Clemons, Portia would still have a job and be able to
stay with Jonny for a while longer.

For a moment, she pictured Beau
Stanford in the paddock, training his new filly. She remembered the
peaceful light in his eyes and the way his strong hands moved so
expertly along with the horse. Warmth crept up her neck, so she
quickly stood, went to the basin, and started washing dishes before
Bessie could see her blush.