A Time for Everything (36 page)

Jonny whispered through his tears, “I
love you, too, Pa. I’m sorry I shot Jack.”

Beau took Jonny’s arms and
held him out far enough so he could see his face.
He spoke to me. Jonny finally spoke to
me
. His voice was the most precious music
Beau had ever heard.

Smiling through his tears, Beau hugged
Jonny close once more. “You did what had to be done. I’m so proud
of you, and I’m sorry for ever leaving you in the first place. I’m
sorry I haven’t been the daddy you deserve. Will you forgive
me?”

Jonny nodded against his chest. “I
forgive you, and I’m proud of you, too.”

Beau dried both their tears with his
shirt sleeve and helped Jonny to his feet. He looked up, but Portia
was gone, hopefully not for good. He thanked God for letting her
walk into their lives, if only for a little while. He prayed that
somehow he could find a way to let her stay before it was too
late.

Portia opened the
front door, sorrowful that her day with Jonny had
to end so soon, but at least she had witnessed a reuniting of
father and son. She could leave right now with her broken heart and
feel good about that one thing.

She stepped inside to see a bearded
man rising from where he sat at the bottom of the stairs. His
clothes were baggy, cheeks sunken in, like those poor soldiers who
once sought her help. Startled, she backed toward the door, but he
smiled… and he looked just like Mama.

Just like Mama!

Portia clapped a hand over her mouth
and cautiously approached him. She reached out with one hand to
touch those loose brown curls she used to caress to get him to
sleep at night during thunderstorms.

He brought her hand to his lips, and
kissed her palm. “Po, my God, you’re a woman now!”

“
Samuel, is it really
you?”

“
In the flesh.” He’d
picked up a lazy sort of accent that was difficult to
interpret.

“
How did you find
me?”

“
I came back home, and you
weren’t there. Wasn’t nobody there. I saw the graves and I feared
something had happened to you. I hurried to Frank and Ellen’s place
and they told me what happened and where you were.”

“
Is that right?” She
yanked her hand away and slapped him with it.

Eyes wide, he took a step back. “What
was that for?”

“
For making me think you
were dead all these years. No letters, no visits, nothing. Mama and
Daddy…”

“
I know,” he whispered.
“I’m so sorry, Po. I did write that one letter.”

She raised her hand to slap him
again.

He captured her hands in his before
she could give him the beating he deserved. “The woman I wrote
about in the letter — the Creole woman. Her name was Vivienne, and
I married her. When the war started, I joined up with Pemberton’s
forces in Louisiana and fought at Vicksburg. The Yanks captured me,
and I sat in prison for months.”

He wasn’t lying. He had never looked
her in the eye when he lied, like he did now, brown eyes as serious
and sad as they had been when the two of them used to hide from
Daddy in the cornfields.

“
And your… Vivienne?” It
was hard to imagine her little brother with a wife.

“
Dead. Buried. Long before
I could return to her. So, I started back home. I had to work along
the way to keep myself fed, else I’d have been back sooner. I’m
sorry, Po. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

She stood there looking at him for a
moment, at that manly, hairy face. Her little prodigal brother, the
only blood kin she had left in this world, had returned.

Throwing her arms around him, she
cried happy tears for a change. “I’ve missed you so much! Don’t you
ever leave me again.”

Laughing, he lifted her off the floor
and spun her around. “Just you try to get rid of me, sis. I’ll be
like a wart on your toe.”

Dinner time felt surreal, like a
bizarre dream. There was Beau at the head of the table — the man
she loved dearly but couldn’t have. To his right sat his father
Ezra, a man who’d been a better father to her in the short time
she’d been here than her own daddy had ever been. To Beau’s left
was Jonny, whom she loved like her own child. He had scooted his
chair as close to his pa as he could, and the two of them whispered
and conspired with one another like she imagined they had done
before the war. Harry, a man who made her feel uneasy and guilty at
the same time, sat across the table from her.

And there was Samuel, whom she thought
had been dead all these years, sitting beside her, solid and real,
and very much alive.

Samuel’s appearance fascinated
everyone, even Beau, who set his usual scowl on him. Ezra asked
about the battle of Vicksburg, and Samuel went into great detail
about it — the destruction, the siege, and near starvation. Portia
took her brother’s hand as he spoke, moved to tears by his account.
She’d always be his big sister, would always want to comfort him,
even if she couldn’t take away his pain.

Harry held a piece of cornbread,
crumbling it into little pieces. His half-angry, half-wounded gaze
fell on Portia, but he addressed her brother. “So, Samuel, what’s
New Orleans like?”

“
I think I can answer
that…” Samuel finished up his third piece of chicken, licked his
fingers, and peeked under the table. “Bet you a nickel I can tell
you where you got them shoes you’re wearin’.” He slid a nickel —
which mysteriously appeared in his hand — across the table toward
Harry.

Harry glanced down at his feet,
looking confused at first, but then he dug inside his vest pocket.
Slapping a nickel on the table, he said, “I’m in.”

“
On your feet,” Samuel
declared with a victorious grin. “You got ‘em on your feet, that’s
where.” He snatched up both nickels and laughed. “That’s what New
Orleans is like, my friend. You gotta be clever if you want to get
a leg up down there.”

“
I think I’m gonna like
you,” Harry said and stuffed what was left of his cornbread in his
mouth.

After dinner, Portia and Samuel walked
arm-in-arm down the wagon path that wound along the back fields.
The setting sun painted a lovely orange and red sky on the horizon.
Fireflies woke up, greeting each other with green twinkling lights
as they rose from the tender new blades of hay and corn.

“
Tell me just this one
thing,” Portia said. “Why did you leave us?”

“
I often ask myself that
same question. At the time, I thought maybe Daddy would calm down
if I wasn’t there. Every time he drank, I was the first one to feel
his belt across my back. I thought maybe if I was gone, you and
Mama would be better off.”

“
You were
wrong.”

He stopped walking and asked quietly,
“How bad was it, Po?”

Portia couldn’t look at him. A tight
knot lodged itself in her throat. “It was bad, Sam. He…” She
couldn’t finish.

Samuel drew her against his chest and
held her tight. “I’m sorry. I was still a boy back then and didn’t
have the mind to think things through. But I shouldn’t have left,
not without you. What about Mama? Did he hurt her bad,
too?”

Portia pulled away and resumed their
walk, brushing the tears off her cheeks. The memories were hard to
put to words, but he needed to know what they’d lived through.
“Mama took the most of it. I got strong enough to fight back and
busted a whiskey bottle across his face one night. He didn’t dare
touch me after that. I stayed to protect her, though. She begged me
to marry Jake and get out of there, not that she had to beg, mind
you. I’d loved him my whole life.”

“
I miss that boy. He could
shoot a squirrel dead in the eye every time we hunted.” His voice
grew somber. “Tell me about Abigail.”

“
She reminded me of you,
with those curls and her independent spirit.” It felt strange to
smile while she talked about Abby. She never thought the day would
come. “She was always climbing, dancing, being as silly as she
could to get a laugh out of us. I wish you could have seen
her.”

“
I wish I could have, too.
The last letter I got from you was about the fire.”

“
Jake and I hadn’t been
married very long. I’ll never know for sure, but I think Mama did
it. She waited until I got out of the house so she could end it
once and for all.”

“
I shoulda come back. I
shoulda been here. For you.”

“
All that matters now is
that you’re home and safe.”

“
I’ll look after you from
now on, Po, like a brother should.”

She rested her head on his
arm, and he wept as they walked, not bothering to wipe the tears
away. They turned around after a little while, and he pulled a
French harp from his pocket. The melancholy notes of
Au Claire de la Lune
followed them until they reached their temporary
home.

~~~~

Beau couldn’t
sleep,
not that he’d planned on it. He sat
on the edge of his bed, thinking about Portia. She occupied most of
his thoughts these days, no matter how hard he tried to redirect
his mind. Her brother’s miraculous return troubled him — not that
he wasn’t happy for her, but it made her imminent departure more
real. Samuel would probably take her back to Brentwood and take
care of her until she found someone else to marry.

Someone else.

Damp-smelling wind whistled through
the trees and his window, bringing with it the promise of rain and
sending a hot shiver down his spine. The mere thought of Po with
another man and how that man would know her as intimately as Beau
longed to know her… it tore at him, complicated things more than
ever. He got to his feet, strode to his window, and slammed it
shut. Standing there with his hands on the sill, he looked over his
shoulder when his door creaked open.

“
Pa?” Jonny poked his head
inside. “I can’t sleep.”

Beau turned to him and couldn’t help a
smile. “You either, huh? Want me to read to you?”

“
Can I… sleep in here with
you?” He held his pillow under one arm, ducking his head as though
embarrassed to ask such a thing.

“
Sure.”

Beau turned down the covers, and Jonny
climbed in, settling down on what once was Claire’s side of the
bed. Beau lay down beside him, covered them both, and kissed
Jonny’s forehead.

“
Goodnight,
son.”

“
Pa?”

“
Yes?”

“
Would you think I was a
baby if we slept back to back? Mama and me used to sleep like that
sometimes.”

“
You’re not a baby, and I
don’t mind.”

Beau flipped to his left side and
scooted to the middle of the bed, while Jonny did the same on the
other side until their backs settled against one
another.

“
Thanks, Pa.”

“
You’re
welcome.”

“
Pa?”

“
Yes?”

“
Do you think Jack’s in
Heaven?”

“
I don’t know, son, but if
God lets animals in, I think Jack would be there.”

“
Do you think Mama’s in
Heaven?”

Beau lay silent for a
moment, fearing the knot in his throat would betray his voice. He
needed to be strong for Jonny, had to be strong for him. His son
had been too long without him being there,
really
there like a pa should
be.

Finally, he answered, “I have no doubt
she’s there. Your mama was the kindest, most loving woman in the
world.”

“
Do you love
Lydia?”

Jonny’s questions were harder to face
than being on the front lines of a cavalry. But he had to try. His
son deserved to know these things. “No.”

“
Then why are you marrying
her?”

“
Because I made a promise
so Tipp, Lucy, and your friend Sallie Mae can be free.”

“
What about Po? Will she
have to go away?”

Damn, this is hard.
Heaviness settled in his chest, squeezing the air
from his lungs, and dampening his eyes. “I don’t know yet, but yes,
she probably will.”

“
I wish you could marry Po
instead.”

“
So do I, son. So do
I.”

Beau didn’t know if it was a good idea
to admit that much. But there in the darkness of his room, just
father and son, it felt good to express some of what he felt for
the little woman with nothing to her name who’d walked into their
lives and brought him and Jonny back together.

Jonny yawned, wriggled around a bit,
and fell asleep. It didn’t take Beau long to follow, with his son’s
small, warm body nestled against him. His thoughts painted pictures
of him, Portia, and Jonny, all together, relaxing on the banks of
Barton Creek. They rode through the tall, majestic cedars before
gazing in awe at a small bundle of joy wrapped in a warm
blanket.

He smiled as he drifted into the best
sleep he’d had in a long time.