A Time for Everything (28 page)

“
You can do
that?”

“
Of course.” He must have
looked surprised, so she continued, “I’ve been sewing my whole
life. Stitching up wounds isn’t much different, just messier.” Her
face wrinkled up in an adorable grimace.

It hurt, but Beau couldn’t help but
laugh. “So I’m your test subject?”

“
Lucky for you, no. During
the war, men from both sides found their way to my door, asking for
help from me and Ellen. Some had minor wounds that needed
stitching. Others were starving. I did what I could,
but…”

“
But what?”

She fiddled with the handkerchief on
her lap. “There’s always a cost.”

“
Tell me. What
happened?”

“
Typhoid.” Fresh tears
dripped from her eyes as she twisted the handkerchief into a tight
rope. “A Rebel came to the house sick — a boy both Jake and I knew.
He was so young, I took pity on him. His folks were gone, and he
had no one else. I let him have a bite to eat. I gave him some of
Jake’s clothes and washed the filth from his. Not a week later,
Abby took ill. I should have turned him away. She’d still be here.
My baby would still be here.”

She buried her face in her hands.
Wracking sobs shook her body. Beau sat up, steadying himself as the
room wobbled. He leaned out over the edge of the bed and took her
in his arms. Gently, he stroked her half-fallen hair. Things like
money and marriage seemed trivial now; his heart ached for Po. On
one level, he understood her pain. He’d lost Claire, but to lose
Jonny, too? He’d have probably put a bullet in his head.

“
Shh. It’s not your fault.
It’s nobody’s fault. You did what you could, like any good woman
would. And you put yourself in harm’s way for my son. I can’t thank
you enough for that.”

After a little while, her crying
subsided and her body relaxed, but she remained in his arms and
rested her head on his shoulder. Beau closed his eyes, glad that he
could offer her solace.

“
Beau,” she said, her
voice muffled against his bare skin. “What was it like? The
fighting, I mean. What was it like out there?”

His jaw tightened as he released her
and sat up again. “I don’t think you need to hear about all that
now.”

“
What are a few more tears
in the sea I’ve already shed?”

Elbows resting on his knees, he hung
his aching head. He’d never spoken about the specifics to anyone,
not even Harry, though they’d lived through the same hell
together.

“
I want to know,” she
said, her voice quaking. “I heard the cannons and gunfire, and I
heard stories from the men who sought our help. But Jake never
talked about it in his letters, and I never got the chance to ask
him face to face. My mind sculpts images of what he must have seen
and felt, but I can’t sort truth from fiction. It haunts me, not
knowing, and I fear I might lose the courage to ask about it
again.”

A war raged inside him, but courage
won the battle. Po’s husband fought and died out there, so she
deserved to know the truth of how things really were. Or at least
what he could remember of it. He swallowed hard and forced himself
to speak.

He scratched the stubble on his jaw,
focusing on the rug and her little feet. “No one thought the war
would amount to much when it started. We enlisted and went through
training, learned about formation, how to use cover fire, things
like that. It was all orders and marching, forming columns and
dressing the line. We got to know each other, and we learned to
hate the enemy.”

Portia let out a soft groan. He looked
up to see if he’d said too much. Her fingers curled around the ends
of the armrests with white-knuckled tension, and she averted her
eyes. But she hadn’t moved, and she didn’t ask him to stop, so he
continued.

“
Once the real fighting
began, everything changed. One minute you’re cuttin’ up with your
friends, and the next minute you’re watching them get blown apart.
And you forget all the strategy, you forget the reasons you’re
there in the first place. All you want to do is stay alive. You
want to get back home. Nobody’s your enemy — not in the smoke and
blood and sweat. It’s life or death, shoot and don’t think. Just
get back home.”

She turned to him again, tears budding
from the corners of her eyes. Without a word, she reached for his
hand and took it in both of hers. When she nodded for him to
continue, his muscles relaxed; her strength gave him the courage to
keep talking.

“
And when it’s all over,
if you’re not dead or wounded, you have to bury the bodies. You
have to bury your friends. And God… some of them were just boys,
Po. Little boys who would never get back home.”

He didn’t realize he was crying until
she moved from the chair to sit on the bed beside him. Without
hesitation, she gathered him in her arms. Resting his forehead on
her shoulder, he wept as quietly as he could and dried it up with a
few sniffs. Someone would be in any minute to ask about him. They
didn’t have much time.

He lifted his head and cupped her
cheek in his palm. She shivered as he searched her eyes. They
matched her hair — honey-brown and beautiful. “Do you hate
me?”

“
No,” she whispered.
Tentatively, she touched the bandage on his head. “I can’t hate
you. You saved my life.”

Beau drew her closer, feeling her
sweet, warm breath on his chin. He had to kiss her, just
once…

The door opened. “Any change? Oh…” Pa
stood there, half shocked, half grinning.

Beau broke away from Portia, sitting
up straight on the edge of the bed. Jonny ran in and threw his arms
around him. He held his son while Lydia peered over Pa’s shoulder,
glaring daggers at them.

May 8, 1866

Dear Ellen,

I didn’t aim to write you
two days in a row, but I had to share this news with you.
Yesterday, at Market Day, we had a wonderful time,
except that
Harry
A wretched incident occurred when a
robber
criminal tried to
flee on horseback and headed straight at Jonny. I threw myself on
him,
knowing
dreading our departure from this earth in that manner. Mr.
Stanford intervened, waving his arms and shooing the animal aside.
But that man, whoever he was, shot
Beau
Mr. Stanford.

He’s fine. By God’s grace
the bullet only grazed him. I stitched his wound. When he woke we
spoke at length about the war and the things he saw because I had
longed to hear them from Jake’s mouth, but — What happened next, I
don’t know how or why, but we came so close to
ki
being more intimate than an
employer and employee should be. What ails me most is that Miss
Clemons might have witnessed it. To my knowledge, I have never been
viewed as a woman of loose morals, but now I dread facing
anyone.

It’s already well past
sunrise, and no one is stirring. The events yesterday must have
taken their toll on everyone, though I’ve been up for a good while.
Lessons will be late, later still for I must help Bessie prepare
brunch for Miss Clemons and her acquaintances. It’s one of their
charity meetings, I believe, though the few things I’ve knitted
still sit unused in the parlor. Should they not be taken today, I
will deliver them to the preacher. He should know who would benefit
most from them.

I hope to hear news of a
healthy babe from you. What will you name — Sorry, I hear the
family stirring in the hall. Please write soon…

As Portia helped Bessie cut sandwiches
into fancy shapes, tension boiled over. Ellen wasn’t there, and
writing it in a letter wasn’t the same as a good old-fashioned
talk. She and Bessie were alone in the kitchen. She had to spill
her secret.

“
I almost kissed Beau,”
she blurted out as quietly as possible. “Or rather, he almost
kissed me…”

The look on the older woman’s face —
something between bewilderment and disbelief — had Portia’s cheeks
sizzling and her hands trembling. She grimaced at what should have
been a plate of egg salad sandwich triangles. Hopefully the ladies
wouldn’t mind abstract shapes.

Portia set the knife down before she
turned the sandwiches into hash. She went on to tell her about
their heart-wrenching conversation and how Lydia and Ezra had seen
everything.

“
How do you feel about
him?” Bessie asked, her even voice masking any tell-tale
emotions.

“
I… owe him my gratitude.
He did save my life, after all.”

“
And you saved his son. He
won’t forget that. And neither will I.”

Her kind words made Portia smile a
little. They weren’t the best of friends, not like she and Ellen.
But a pleasant warmth had formed between them that was finally
melting the ice like a spring thaw.

Bessie wiped her hands on her apron
and leaned on the counter. “I’ve been around awhile and know these
things don’t make sense sometimes. I think you care about him, and
he cares about you, too.”

“
What about Miss
Clemons?”

“
Oh, he’s noticed her, all
right. Ain’t no doubt about that. She’s a pretty belle and rich to
boot.”

“
That answers my question,
then.”

“
Not until they say I do.
Besides, I helped raise Beauregard Stanford right alongside my own
boys, and I raised him better than that.”

Better than what? To trust
his common sense and marry someone who could provide everything he
needs?
Portia shook her head to clear it.
At least Beau and Jonny were all right. That was all that mattered.
He left early with Harry that morning to look at a new horse,
grabbing a biscuit and barely looking at her on the way out. Things
would be awkward now because of her weakness. If Miss Clemons
became Mrs. Stanford, Portia wasn’t likely to have a job much
longer. It broke her heart all over again, thinking about leaving
the children she had come to love.

Once the sandwiches — Bessie’s pretty
ones and Portia’s not-so-pretty ones — were prepared, she headed to
the study, happy to see the children already there and working hard
on their assignments. Sallie Mae had written more verses from
Psalms, and Portia planned to surprise her by binding them into her
own little booklet. Hunkered over her paper, she bit her little
tongue as she concentrated, just like Jonny. He even helped her
with spelling now and then and showed her the correct way to write
troublesome letters, like S and Z.

A knock at the front door drew her
attention to the foyer. Lydia glided from the parlor and opened it.
Excited chatter and laughter echoed through the house. Portia
headed to the study door, intending to close it and drown out the
noise.

She had her hand on the doorknob when
one of the ladies asked Lydia, “Have you set a date?”

“
Not yet.”

“
But he’s asked
you?”

“
Not yet, but he
will.”

“
How do you
know?”

Lydia’s eyes cut to the study door,
where Portia stood frozen. “Because I always get what I want, one
way or another.”

Portia shut the door and, closing her
eyes, rested her forehead on it. Awkward wasn’t the right word for
her situation. The whole thing had become one giant mess. She had
half a mind to run upstairs, throw a few of her things in a bag,
and go back home.

Then Sallie Mae burst into laughter.
Portia turned around to see Jonny with a piece of paper in front of
his face. He had cut two eye holes and had drawn whiskers and two
buck teeth to make it look like a silly squirrel. He wiggled in his
seat and chittered at Sallie Mae. She quaked all over with
delighted giggles.

No, not yet.
Portia couldn’t leave these children. Not until
she had to. Hand covering her mouth, she smiled and laughed quietly
then cleared her throat. Jonny slapped the squirrel mask down on
his desk and both of them immediately snapped to attention. At
least she had them trained well.

Leaning her ear close to the door
briefly, she couldn’t hear the ladies in the foyer anymore. They
must have migrated to the parlor to enjoy their sandwiches and
tea.

“
The weather is too nice
to stay inside all day,” she said, opening the study door. “How
about a round of hide-and-seek?”

The children looked at each other,
wide-eyed.

“
You’re gonna play too,
Po?” Jonny asked.

“
Of course.
Hide-and-seek’s my favorite game.”

He and Sallie Mae bolted from their
seats and flew out the open door in a flurry of excited squeals.
Lessons could wait.

~~~~

They got the
horse for a steal — the poor old man in
Cainsville looked like he hadn’t eaten well in months. He offered
to trade the Morgan stallion, which had fared much better than his
owner from grazing on the lush spring grasses, for half a dozen
chickens and two hams. How he’d acquired such a fine horse in the
first place… well, Beau didn’t ponder on that. He had enough to
think about, not the least of which was Portia and how close he’d
come to kissing her. He should have regretted it, but he had a hard
time convincing himself of that.