A Time for Everything (21 page)

He has some nerve, spewing
that filth here at my table.
Beau yanked
his napkin from his collar and threw it onto his plate. “Maybe he
knew a lot more than you think he did.”

“
Damn Yankees couldn’t
leave well enough alone. They’re hell bent on making this a colored
nation, and you can see what’s come of it.” Oliver pointed his fork
at Portia. “That poor woman’s husband would still be here, and so
would my niece if it weren’t for them.”

Beau glanced at Portia, who clenched
her locket and stared down at her uneaten food. Under the table, he
gripped his knees so hard it hurt. Had the ladies not been present,
he would have said exactly what he thought of Oliver
Clemons.

“
Daddy, please,” Lydia
protested with a pretty pout. “Let’s not ruin the evening for
everyone with such depressing talk. Think about our friends back in
Philadelphia who were nothing but hospitable to us.”

“
I’m speaking truth, young
lady. We
had
to
consort with them to survive.” He glared at Beau. “We didn’t throw
our lots in willingly like some people here.”

Beau looked away, and it took every
ounce of willpower he had to hold his tongue. Harry wasn’t so
censored and muttered, “Bullshit,” under his breath.

Ezra shook his head at Harry and
smiled at Oliver, but he had that fire in his eyes that used to put
the fear of God into Beau before a good whipping. He struck the
tabletop with the butt of his pie fork, drawing everyone’s
attention. No one even so much as twitched, as they waited for Ezra
Stanford to have his say.

He let his gaze meander from one
captive audience member to the next. “I wouldn’t complain so much
if I was you. I mean, look at that jacket of yours. That’d pay for
ten hired men’s wages for a month, and look at me — my suspenders
are so threadbare, I’m about to lose my drawers.” He pulled out his
suspenders and snapped them against his belly, prompting a giggle
from Lydia, but no one else made a sound. Ezra’s voice took on the
authoritative tone he’d handed down to his son. “I think we’re all
capable of being civil at the dinner table, aren’t we?”

Oliver slowly wiped the corners of his
sneering lips, tucked his napkin back into his shirt, and picked up
his fork. Beau breathed a little easier when he turned his glare
from Ezra back to his dinner plate.

One by one, the rest of them finished
dessert. He’d lost his appetite by then, but Beau was grateful for
Ezra’s attempt to lighten the mood. Without him there, things would
have likely gotten out of hand.

With a wary glance at her father,
Lydia tried to divert Portia’s attention back to their end of the
table. “Mother and I want to start an organization here to help
widows and orphans. We did something similar in Philadelphia, but
this is our home town, you see, so we feel even more
obliged.”

Aunt Amelie cupped her ear toward
Lydia and yelled, “Who died?”

Lydia sighed and closed her eyes
briefly before continuing, “Would you be interested in helping us
sew garments or knit socks? Anything at all would be of great
service.”

“
Indeed,” Polly said,
smiling indulgently at her daughter.

“
I’ll do what I can,”
Portia answered. “But like I said earlier, my teaching must take
precedence.”

“
Teaching is such an
admirable profession, if you have the patience for it. But I’m sure
you’re much more agreeable than the governesses I had. Hampton’s
finishing school did much more for me than those strict old
disciplinarians.”

“
A fine education is a
blessing and privilege.”

“
I agree, and new schools
are opening everywhere, even for the colored children. The
Freedmen’s Bureau is seeing to that.”

Oliver belted out a sarcastic laugh.
“Don’t get me started on the Freedmen’s Bureau. Giving land and
literacy to Negroes who don’t even know what to do with
it.”

Bessie entered from the kitchen. She
wore a deep frown but cleared the plates along with Lucy, who
showed no emotion whatsoever. God only knew why she and Tipp stayed
on with Oliver. He probably had them under contract, with the
threat of impossible fines, imprisonment, or worse if they broke
it. He’d heard talk of such shady activities before, but had hoped
they were rumors.

Beau opened his mouth to
suggest the women retreat to the parlor so they wouldn’t hear the
foul language he was about to throw at his late wife’s uncle. But
then he saw Portia’s face.
Oh, dear
Lord.

Cheeks fiery red, she sat ramrod
straight in her chair and glared right at the old fool. “If any
child wants to learn to read, it is his or her right and should be
encouraged.”

Oliver yanked his napkin from his
collar, swiped his mouth with it, and tossed it on the table. An
amused smile puckered his thin lips and creased around his eyes,
but Beau could see the fury behind his mask.

“
Mrs. McAllister, did your
late husband ever own any Negroes?”

“
No.”

“
I see. If you had, then
you might understand the weight of my words. Why, we have a little
colored child in our midst.” He pointed toward the kitchen, where
Sallie Mae peeked around the doorway. She quickly darted out of
sight. “Perhaps you will feel the impulse to teach her a thing or
two while she is here, and then you will see how futile your
efforts will be.”

“
Perhaps I will take you
up on that challenge.” She flattened her hands on the table like
she might launch herself at Oliver and claw his eyes out. Her chest
heaved and nostrils flared. Not taking her eyes off the old
bastard, she turned her head slightly and said, “It’s getting late,
Jonny. You should go to bed.”

The poor boy looked scared to death,
but damn, Portia sure could put up a fight. Beau cupped Jonny’s
shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Go on now, get
upstairs.”

He nodded, shot out of his chair, and
fled the room.

Beau would have loved to do the same,
but instead, he rubbed the throbbing pain in his temple and
abruptly stood. “I think the ladies should convene in the parlor
while we take our conversation to the study.”

Lydia nodded emphatically. “Great
idea.”

Portia was up and gone before Harry
could help with her chair, but he took off after her. Beau heard
the front door open and slam shut, and it took everything he had to
keep from following them. He wanted to reassure her that Oliver
Clemons would be here no longer than necessary, and he hoped to God
she wouldn’t let the bastard drive her away. Harry was probably
saying as much. He should have been grateful, but as the man of the
house, it was Beau’s job to protect her. But he had to stay there
and play host, if nothing else, so he could keep an eye on Oliver.
He would have to apologize to her when he got the
chance.

Lydia, Polly, and Amelie headed to the
parlor.

“
Women never know when to
keep quiet,” Oliver said, grasping his lapels like he’d conquered
an army.

Beau waited until Pa left the room
before he stopped Oliver at the doorway. “I’d like to have a word
with you, please.”

“
I’m listening.” The older
man pulled a cigar from his pocket and struck a match on the door
facing.

Standing half a head taller than his
ass of a houseguest, Beau closed the gap until mere inches
separated them. He held the stubborn old man’s gaze with one just
as commanding. “I’ve always tolerated you because you’re Claire’s
uncle, but this is my house. I will not have my decisions
questioned, or my employees disrespected. Is that
understood?”

“
Perfectly.” Oliver puffed
on the cigar and grinned around it. “But you know why we came back.
Lydia hasn’t shut up about you since we left. So
I
expect that our return
won’t leave her disappointed. Besides, this little farm of yours
could use some financing, couldn’t it?”

Beau didn’t answer. True — he needed
money, and Lydia probably had one hell of a dowry. He had to do the
right thing for his family and make certain they would have food on
the table and a roof over their heads. If marrying Lydia meant he
could do that, then he had to consider it. But goddammit, he wasn’t
about to let Oliver or anyone else force him into marriage. If
Lydia really had marrying on her mind, he had to get to know her as
the woman she had become before he made any decisions. Oliver he
couldn’t care less about, but he didn’t want to hurt Lydia. She
might be spoiled and materialistic, but she didn’t seem to have
inherited her father’s nastiness. Besides, Claire had been crazy
about her, so Beau had to play this right.

Calling forfeit to the stand-off for
now, he stepped back and gestured toward the study.

“
Smart man,” Oliver said
through a cloud of acrid tobacco smoke. “Let’s go have a shot or
two. I’m in the mood for some libation.”

In the study, Pa perched on the chair
by the fire, stuffing his pipe. Beau poured their drinks and passed
them around, while Oliver plopped down on the settee and raised his
glass.

Oliver toasted the occasion, eyeing
Beau expectantly. “Here’s to a strong and united country and a
bright new future!”

“
A bright new future,”
Ezra muttered.

Beau downed his shot, hoping the
whiskey would numb his pounding headache. Lydia’s laughter rang out
from the next room. He poured another one and in hindsight,
realized he should have followed Portia outside instead of letting
Harry chase after her. She was probably out there now, all wrapped
up in his arms. Beau stared at the window but couldn’t see anything
in the darkness on the other side. The only thing he knew was that
he didn’t like the notion of Portia and Harry together. Not at
all.

Portia stood at
the far right end of the porch, one arm wrapped
around the freshly painted corner post, the other hand gripping the
top of the porch railing as though she needed anchoring to keep her
from flying into a blind rage. Stars twinkled in the indigo sky,
and a gentle breeze ruffled her dress. Her hair had already started
to escape, and now rogue strands of it whipped about her ears and
neck. Leaning her head against the corner post, she breathed in
cool April air scented with daffodils and horses.

She’d come there to get away from the
toll grief had taken on her but had never expected to be barraged
with different emotions that were equally as strong. How could she
handle this job if she was always in a state of such constant
turmoil? She had to calm down and focus on her work. Beau, Ezra,
and the rest of the family were good people. They were the only
ones she should concern herself with, not that hateful old pig of a
man.

Harry had followed, much to her
dismay, and now he stood beside her, telling her something about
how Oliver had been one of the wealthiest slave-owners in Wilson
County.

“
He’s just upset that his
old way of life is gone,” Harry said. He rested his hand on hers
softly, but she didn’t recoil from his touch this time. “I’d guess
two, three weeks at the most, and they’ll be out of here. Beau and
Oliver never did see eye to eye, but Claire always tried to get
along with him. Her folks died young, so she wanted to cling to
what family she had left. I guess you can understand
that.”

Portia nodded. Harry squeezed her hand
gently, staring at her like he thought she might break into a
thousand pieces at any moment.

She looked out over the starlit yard.
“It must be hard on Beau, trying to be hospitable to his wife’s
family without her here.”

“
It is,” Harry agreed,
moving in a little closer. He picked up her hand and brought it to
his lips, applying a warm, gentle kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sorry
you had to witness all that.”

“
Thank you.” She wanted to
pull away and go to bed so she could fall into the blessed oblivion
of sleep. But much as she didn’t want to admit it, Harry’s presence
and touch were comforting. At least he cared enough to apologize.
Beau was still in there smoking and drinking, maybe even making
wedding plans. Surely he was smitten with the beautiful Lydia
Clemons. What man wouldn’t be, especially if he thought she wanted
him?

Harry let go of her hand and slid an
arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “It’s hard being
people like you and me, not much more than poor relations and no
real power to change anything. The only way to survive is to show
’em we can stand on our own two feet.”

Portia lowered her head, turning it
away from him, and squeezed her eyes shut. She shouldn’t be out
there alone with Harry. She shouldn’t want to lean into his strong
arm and the warmth of his chest. She shouldn’t be trembling with
the need for his gentle voice in her ear, someone to whisper away
the shroud of loneliness she had worn for so long — especially when
she didn’t really feel anything for him where it counted. And
especially when she pictured herself in Beau’s arms
instead.

Growing closer to Harry felt a little
like standing on the edge of a snake pit. If she took another step,
she could be bitten. It had never been that way with Jake. Maybe
her emotions were out of control, making her more scared than a
woman in her position ought to be, but she couldn’t take any risks
in becoming attached to anyone… not yet.