A Time for Everything (40 page)

He threw the sheet off him and got out
of bed. Standing by the open window, he let the night’s cool breeze
calm his heated body.

“
Why did you ask me to
marry you?” she asked with a tremble in her voice. “Was it for my
dowry alone?”

“
No.”

“
Then you must care for me
in some small measure.”

“
I do.”

“
But you want
her
.”

He leaned on the window sill. “Why are
you here? We’re getting married in less than two weeks.”

“
Because I love you, even
if you don’t feel the same yet. I think someday you might. And I
don’t want you to be alone, hurting like you are. Will you let me
lay beside you, if nothing else?”

“
I can’t.”

“
Why not?”

He looked over his shoulder. Lydia’s
voluptuous body was as alluring as Venus on his bed.

“
You know why,” he said
with a smile, tearing his eyes away from the temptation.

“
What would be so wrong
with that? To take comfort in me and forget your sorrows for a
while?”

He rested his palms on the window sill
again, letting his head fall back with his eyes closed. How easy it
would be to accept her offer for tonight. No one would know but he
and Lydia, and damn, it had been a really long time. The bulge in
his trousers demanded relief, but…

“
I’m sorry,” he said, his
voice ragged and strained. “If we are to be married, I want things
done right between us. No more regrets and no resentment. I hope
you can understand that.”

He heard her slide off the bed and
heard her feet softly padding across the floor. Lydia wrapped her
arms around him from behind and kissed his bare shoulder blades.
Her lips lingered on the scarred ridges of his wound. “I
understand, and this is why I have always loved you. You’re a good
and honest man. No other suitor ever had the integrity you
have.”

“
I’ll see you in the
morning,” he said.

“
Goodnight,
Beau.”

“
Goodnight,
Lydia.”

After she left, he found some less
desirable relief and slept for a few fitful hours.

~~~~

Monday morning,
Beau
sat on the porch, letting his
breakfast settle. He expected Lydia to arrive any minute with
another team of wedding preparers. He’d have to make sure he was
out of sight, get busy with… anything to keep from thinking about a
future without Po in it.

He strode to the barn with the wind
nudging at him, threatening to throw him off course. But with every
gust, thorns of guilt pricked his conscience. Po deserved
compensation. Now, not later, and not from his soon-to-be wife’s
dowry. She deserved to have some happiness in her life, and he had
failed her miserably in that regard. There had to be something he
could do for her, to show her his gratitude.

Nashville.
Her brother had told her about a potential job
there. Some Irishman that had founded a school for blacks. Whether
or not the man was still in town, he didn’t know, but surely
someone would remember him and hopefully know his whereabouts.
Maybe Beau could convince the man to travel to Brentwood and meet
with Po. She’d make a fine teacher for any school.

He saddled up Scout and rode into
town.

~~~~

Beau approached the
general store, where one of the town busybodies
tried to intercept him on the sidewalk. “Congratulations, Mr.
Stanford. We are on the guest list, I hope. I keep watching for the
invitation…”

“
Keep watching,” he
muttered and walked inside. He headed straight to the counter. The
young shopkeeper was there again and offered a hopeful
smile.

“
Come to buy that broach,
Mr. Stanford? It’ll look good on Miss Clemons.”

He must have finally heard the news of
the engagement. “No, um…” The boy’s name eluded him.

“
Theodore.”

“
Right, Theodore. Actually
I’m looking for someone.”

“
Who?”

“
I don’t know his name,
just heard of him in passing — an Irishman — he was seen at the
tavern.”

“
Hmm.” Theodore looked
thoughtful as he tossed the broach in the air and caught it a few
times. With a sudden smile, he captured the broach in his fist and
slapped it down on the counter. “Yes, now I remember! It’s McKee.
Reverend Joseph McKee. He’s been back and forth between here and
Nashville, but lucky for you, I think he’s in town today. My pa
said he ran into ‘that Irish fella’ near the post office this
morning.”

“
Thank you.” Beau fished a
few coins from his pocket. He needed more rope, but this news was
worth the sacrifice. “You know, I think I’ll buy that necklace from
you, after all.”

~~~~

This whole idea
was a long shot. Even if he did find the good
reverend, he might offer nothing but a long-winded prayer and
a,
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
The only thing he could bank on was the man’s
connection to colored folk. If he had founded a school for colored
children, he could use a teacher like Po, and if he didn’t need her
there, perhaps he would know of another position she could take.
And then again, this whole idea might be a waste of a
morning.

But he had to try. Portia’s departure
cut him too deep to carry on like she never existed at
all.

He searched the bank, the post office,
and tavern, asking about Reverend McKee as he went. Everyone
pointed him back to the place he had just left, but they didn’t let
him escape without mentioning the upcoming nuptials.

To which he answered only with a tip
of his hat.

He was about to give up and ride
toward Nashville in case the man had traveled back there already.
But he tried one last place. Fakes & Taylor Shoes, where he
walked in and heard a man haggling at the counter… with a thick
Irish accent.

“
Come now,” he said to Mr.
Taylor, “you say you’re a man of the Presbyterian faith. As
brothers in our dear Lord Jesus Christ, you should charge me a fair
price for these boots. I’m a pastor, sir, of modest
means.”

Beau liked him already. Taylor was one
tight-fisted, greedy businessman who no one dared to challenge.
Beau cleared his throat. McKee and red-faced Mr. Taylor both looked
his way.

“
Reverend
McKee?”

“
Yes?” The man looked to
be about Beau’s age. He was stick thin and pale with dark shadows
under his eyes, but enthusiasm shined through his sickly
pallor.

“
I’m Beau Stanford. Could
I have a word with you, please?”

“
I suppose.” The reverend
abandoned his boots on the counter and strode over to Beau on legs
like stilts, offering his hand. “Joseph McKee at your service. It’s
a pleasure to meet you — I heard you were to be married
soon.”

“
Did you?” Beau said with
a chuckle.

“
Do you need a man of God
to officiate the service?”

“
No.” Before the reverend
could look too offended, Beau added, “Could I buy you a drink at
the tavern?”

“
I’ve never been one to
turn down a free drink.” He waved at an unhappy Mr. Taylor as they
headed out the door and said, “While I’m away, perhaps you’ll
reconsider the price of those boots.”

At the tavern, they sat at a small
table against the wall. Luckily, the place was nearly empty. While
they waited for their drinks and an order of fresh cobbler, Beau
took a deep breath and explained the situation — quietly of course
— gossips lurked around every corner. He wasn’t Catholic, but by
God he needed a good confession. He told him everything about
Harry, Lucy, and Tipp, the marriage contract, and Portia’s untimely
departure. McKee rubbed his chin as he listened, brow furrowed and
seemingly concerned.

They went silent when the bartender
brought their order — beer for Beau and bourbon for
McKee.

“
I didn’t think preachers
partook in such strong drink,” Beau said.

Reverend McKee laughed.
“I’m Irish-born, Mr. Stanford. The Holy Spirit understands our
relationship with
these
spirits and blesses it, I’m sure. So long as we
practice moderation, mind you.”

“
Of course. Now that I’ve
confessed my sins and shared a drink with you, do you think you
could offer her a position?”

The reverend spoke softly. “Yes. Mrs.
McAllister’s late brother, God rest his soul, was very forthcoming
after a few rounds. I’m only sorry I didn’t come to meet her
sooner. I’ve had a great deal of other business to attend to as of
late.”

Beau slumped over his beer. “I can’t
speak for her to know whether she still wants the job or not, but I
know once she’s set her mind on something, she’s going to do it to
spite the devil. If she accepts the position, you couldn’t find a
more hard-working employee.”

“
She sounds like the
perfect candidate, and I’ve no qualms about traveling to Brentwood
to interview her myself. But what about you?”

“
Me? I’m not worried about
me. I just want her to be happy.”

“
Spoken like a man in
love. But you see, we still have the issue of Oliver Clemons. He’s
got this family held hostage while you’re set to become his next
slave. I cannot in good conscience leave you with such a fate. So,
what if I told you there might be a way out of your
predicament?”

Beau sat up straight, doubt and hope
warring in his veins. “I don’t see how.”

“
Can you provide something
that will turn a quick profit?”

“
Even if I could, I’ve
signed a contract. If I don’t marry Lydia and hand over the deed,
he won’t let them go, so no amount of money I could scrounge up
will change that. Besides, even if I had something to sell, there’s
no one around here who could pay me enough to matter.”

“
I wouldn’t count on that,
Mr. Stanford. Surely you have something of value — a horse or work
of art…”

Staring down at the table top and its
circular markings left from years of drink and similar confessions,
Beau remembered the horse Lydia gave him. That was the best, and
only, bargaining chip he had.

“
Have you heard of the
great Hambletonian?” he asked.

“
Father of all
Standardbreds, isn’t he?”

“
I knew you were a horse
man. One of his descendants would be worth quite a bit to the right
buyer, wouldn’t it?”

“
I would imagine so,
yes.”

“
Then I have the goods.
Can you find me a buyer?”

“
In two shakes of a lamb’s
tail.”

“
And then?”

“
Can you get away for a
while tonight?”

“
I can make it
happen.”

“
Good,” Reverend McKee
said with a wink. “I’ll meet you up at the end of your drive at ten
o’clock. Bring the horse.”

“
You seem awful sure of
yourself, Reverend.”

“
I’ve learned to make the
right friends in the right places. Comes in handy when you have
angry mobs chasing you, but that’s a story for another
day.”

“
Then… I guess it’s a
deal.” Beau held out his hand, and they shook on it.

Quite the irony that the purebred,
expensive mare Lydia had given him could be the ticket to her
servants’ freedom. Still, he dared not get his hopes up. Even if
some miracle occurred and he could obtain twenty thousand dollars
overnight, he had no guarantee Oliver would let them go. And if he
did let them go, and if Beau could call off this wedding, there was
no guarantee Portia would want anything to do with him
again.

But he had to take the
chance.

Drizzle carried by
the relentless wind pricked Beau’s face like cold
needles. He rode beside McKee, ponying the purebred mare along with
Scout. He had no idea where they were headed, until they arrived
across town at the entrance to a very familiar estate. McKee turned
his horse down the drive.

“
This is the Hamilton
Estate,” Beau said, kicking Scout to a trot to catch up.

“
That it is.”

They reached the house as
Beau said, “
Amelie
Hamilton — my late wife’s aunt.”

“
Small world,
eh?”

“
She’s just an old
spinster living alone with her help, and not to sound
disrespectful, but the poor old girl is a bit… well…
senile.”

McKee just laughed as he slid out of
the saddle and tied his horse to a hitching post. Beau followed,
removing his hat as he climbed the steps to the big front porch.
With a huge smile on his face, the reverend knocked on the door and
stood there, hands behind his back, rocking on the balls of his
feet. Maybe Amelie had a visitor who could help them — or Reverend
McKee was out to swindle poor Amelie out of her money, if she had
any left. He couldn’t imagine the Hamilton fortune sitting for all
those years, untouched. Oliver would have surely absorbed it into
his own pockets.