The Heavenly Surrender (2 page)

“
The male ego,” Genieva sighed. “Such a fragile thing. You may call me Miss Bankmans, Mr. McLean. Very well, ticket man…stamp the return ticket…but be sure to have the local newspaper print that the hotheaded Brevan McLean is not a desirable man to enter into business with. He turns tail at the first sign of unexpected circumstance.”

Moments after the local minister had pronounced them man and wife, Brevan McLean shook Genieva’s hand firmly, fairly dragging her from the minister’s home and most indecorously proceeding
not
to assist her up onto the seat of his wagon. He slapped the lines at the back of his team and began to talk. Not to converse—for there was a profound difference—Brevan McLean then talked to Genieva Bankmans McLean.

“
I’ve got me a little brother, Brian. He married a bonny Mexican girl last spring named Lita. They be livin’ on a cattle ranch ’bout a mile south of me own land. Me sister, Brenna, just married a nice lad named Travis. He’s a good man. They live just west of me on another section.” Genieva glanced away uncomfortably as Brevan turned his attention to her—caught her staring at him. “Ya won’t see any red hair in the lot of us McLeans, ya won’t. Me mother was a Creole girl from New Orleans. She married me father when her family went to Ireland durin’ the war here. She had hair as black as obsidian and sky-blue eyes. Brenna is the image of her, she is. Me and Brian got the ugly mugs of the family.”

Genieva nervously bit her lip. Brevan McLean was not at all what she had expected. On the one hand, this fact was a pleasant one—considering Genieva had been afraid she would wind up the wife of an ancient, wrinkled-up old prune of a man. All the same, Brevan McLean disturbed her. He was so handsome that a person could feel the very fact of it even without looking at him. She knew she would have to work hard to live up to his expectations. Yet that would serve—for no doubt it would serve her best to keep busy—both mind and body.

“
There’s no high adventure out here, Genieva. If that’s what ya came lookin’ for, it’s disappointed ya’ll be,” he stated.

“I came to work. To make a life for myself,” she reminded him, straightening her back in an effort to feel more certain of her decision. “And in this world a woman cannot do that without a man…no matter how unfair a fact it is.” She could not help adding, “By the way…to dispel any misconceptions you may have…I’ll be twenty years old in three months.”

“It’s only a wee miracle, that one,” he mumbled.

The beguilingly attractive Brevan McLean didn’t say one other word as they traveled toward his lands, and Genieva was soon lost in the beauty of her surroundings. There was no horrid, frigid wind from the lake here—only a soft, cooling breeze carrying the pleasing tune of a meadowlark’s call on its breath. The scent of grasses and trees was heavenly, and all along the road there sprung wildflowers of every color and sort imaginable. A small chipmunk darted across the path in front of the team, and Genieva bit her smiling lip to keep from squealing out in delight. Chicago had been so noisy, smelly, and crowded. But here—here she felt as if her spirit were breathing for the first time since she was a child. The smooth rhythm of the horses—the fragrances of nature—the beauty of blue sky and mountains was perfect. Genieva relished it like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Time seemed unimportant—only the fact that her soul was free.

She was awestruck when her eyes, yet green in those moments, beheld one of the most beautiful sights imaginable. To her right, just beyond a neat-posted fence, stood an apple orchard—trees fully frocked in the most beautiful of white blossoms. The aroma of the blossoming flowers hung thick on the breeze, and even above the wagon’s wheels rambling on the dirt road, Genieva could hear the soft hum of bees buzzing about through the tree limbs—performing the endless work for which they were created.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she muttered to herself, dreamily gazing at the orchard.

“That be me own orchard there. The house is just a ways now, and I’ve no doubt that me sister, Brenna, will be buzzin’ ’round like the very bees in the blossoms,” Brevan McLean grumbled. He suddenly smiled then—began to chuckle. Genieva looked at him, curious—puzzled by his change of manner. “That be the one good thing about yar appearance. Brenna will drop her teeth when she sees yar not a wrinkled-up old raisin of a thing, she will.” Genieva could not hide the delighted grin spreading across her face at the sound of his chuckle. It was thoroughly engaging—and his accent was to her ears as the taste of sugar to her mouth.

The team turned the corner. A house came into view, and Genieva’s hands clutched her stomach as it churned with anxious anticipation. She had never before considered there might be other family members to contend with. What if the rest of the McLean clan was as averse to her as Brevan had been?

As Brevan brought the team to a stop directly before the house, a beautiful young woman stepped out of it. The screen door bumped closed behind her, and she stopped—staring at Genieva in obvious wonder. Instantly Genieva felt like an alley cat keeping company with purebred Persians. She knew this woman to be Brevan’s sister, Brenna—for she had the same dark hair and blue eyes that were Brevan’s. She had not one freckle on her perfectly sculpted and small nose, nor was she irritatingly petite in her perfectly curved and balanced figure.

In the next moment, the young woman placed her delicate-looking fists firmly—one on each hip—and smiled with triumph. Clicking her tongue in scolding, she approached the wagon.

“Well, Brevan McLean. I’ll say this for ya, I will…..somebody’s watchin’ over ya from above,” she said. She offered her hand to Genieva in greeting as the new bride climbed down. “I’m Brenna,” she introduced herself. “Brevan’s sister.”

Brenna laughed, then lowered her voice and divulged, “I don’t doubt it one bit, I don’t. He was hopin’ for an aged, very plump, and very large woman that wouldn’t distract him in any way, ya know.”

“You’ll be takin’ Genieva into the house now while I unhitch the team, Brenna. And you, Genieva McLean,” Brevan grumbled, glaring at his wife. “Ya don’t be takin’ to anythin’ me brazen brat of a sister says.”

“I’ll make up my own mind about people and what they say, Mr. McLean,” Genieva retorted.

“Listen here, lass…” he began with a growl.

“Strong things often come in smaller sizes, Mr. McLean. The same is true with people. So it may be in your best interest to cease in addressing me in such a condescending manner,” Genieva interrupted.

“She’s a wicked fairy, she is, Brenna,” Brevan mumbled to his sister as he urged the team forward.

“Then ya got just what ya were deservin’, brother Brevan,” Brenna called after him. Turning to Genieva, she put a comforting arm about her shoulders and said, “I’m taken with ya already, Genieva McLean. The angels sent ya to care for me brother, they did.”

“Don’t expect too much from me, Brenna. I’ll disappoint you. I’ve a way of doing that to people,” Genieva warned as she entered the house that would now be her home.

“That’s blarney if I ever heard it, it is,” Brenna argued as the screen door closed behind them. “This is yar home now, Genieva. It’s not a fancy place, for sure and for certain…but it’s strong, clean, and cozy.”

As Genieva looked around the room she had entered, pure delight began to sift through her being. It was a lovely home! This first room was large and open and obviously served as both kitchen and parlor. There was a large iron cookstove on one wall—a sink with a pump near to it wisely placed before a large window that looked out onto the orchards. A sturdy-looking table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room. All this was to Genieva’s left. To her right was a smaller section of the room, complete with fireplace and large hearth, rocking chair, small table and lamp, and a short-length, worn-looking sofa.

“The bedrooms be at the back of the house this way.” Brenna walked forward, passing through a door at the back of the front room. Genieva followed and was pleased to realize the heavenly scent of the orchards permeated the inside of the house as well as the air without. “There be three rooms at the back here. Mother and Father shared one before they passed on…that be Brevan’s now. Brevan had me prepare this one for you,” she said, entering the bright, welcoming room that was nearest the front rooms of the house. “It was mine before I married Travis. That’s Irish lace at the windows, it is. Do ya like it?” Brenna asked.

Genieva bit her smiling lower lip as she looked around the comforting room. The brass head- and footboards were brightly polished, and the washbasin and pitcher sitting on a stand next to the bed were ivory, adorned with tiny pink flowers. There was a chest of drawers with an oval mirror above, and the walls looked freshly whitewashed.

“It’s wonderful!” Genieva exclaimed.

Brenna giggled. “The window looks over the three sweet cherry trees at the side of the house. That’s where the creek runs by,” she explained. “Let me show ya the other rooms…though I’m certain Brevan’s room is in its usual untidy condition.”

Brenna explained the room next to Genieva’s had been Brevan and Brian’s when the family first moved to the West. It was unoccupied now—though clean and ready for use. The furthermost room was Brevan’s, and Genieva’s eyebrows arched in surprise as she entered it. The bed was unmade—the sheets and blankets lying in a twisted mass at the foot of it. The drawers to the bureau gaped open with the appearance of their contents having been rummaged through again and again. Miscellaneous pairs of trousers, soiled socks, and shirts lay draped over the bed, chest of drawers, and floor.

“Ya see, Genieva…he’s nothin’ more than a hog. It’s a pig, he is, and that’s the truth of it. Always worried about gettin’ up early and finishin’ chores. He falls into bed half-dead every night, tired and worn to the bone,” Brenna sighed.

“Well, this is completely unacceptable,” Genieva stated, gesturing to the cluttered room.

Brenna giggled—spontaneously hugged Genieva. “I knew ya’d be good for Brevan. The minute I set me eyes on ya.”

“She’s the livin’ banshee, she is,” Brevan McLean muttered to himself as he unhitched his team. “But if her work be as smart as her mouth…she might do in the end.” He thought again of the expression that had crossed Genieva’s face when she’d entered the station and seen him—he knew she had been unsettled by his appearance, and he smiled to himself—amused. No doubt he had the look of a great unkempt heathen from the Wild West to one such as her. He scolded himself inwardly for thinking she was attractive in those first moments before he knew her identity.

“And a good mornin’ to ya, big brother Brevan,” Brian greeted. Brevan looked up to see his brother approaching—sighed knowing he’d come to survey Brevan’s would-be bride. “Would ya be a married man now then?” Brian asked.

“I would,” Brevan answered plainly.

“And would the new Mrs. McLean be a tubby old wrinkled one? Or have the heavens been watchin’ out for Brevan McLean again?” Brian’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he winked at his elder brother.

“She’s a scrawny brat of girl, with a tongue as sharp as a sickle and a nose as high in the air as the clouds above,” Brevan grumbled.

“Ah. Then ya’d be tellin’ me that she’s the perfect lass for an old goat like you,” Brian chuckled.

“As long as she’s got the work of a horse in her…I do not care from whence she came or what she looks like.”

Brian shook his head, smiling as he concluded, “That’s a lie, it is. Ya’re as much a man as me, brother Brevan. Dad didn’t intend for ya to pass yar own life by to keep this land, he didn’t. And well ya know it.”

Brevan hung a harness on the barn wall. “It’s me he left the land to, Brian. Dad worked himself into the grave to earn it, he did…and I’ll not let it go because of me own weaknesses. I’m happy for you and Lita…and for Brenna and Travis, I am. But I’ve got me own duty…to our Dad.” He paused for a moment, sighed, and chuckled as he looked at his brother—the near image of himself. “She’s not gonna take much guff from the likes of me…I will tell ya that, Brian.”

Brian smiled, “Then she’ll be fittin’ right into the family, won’t she now?”

“I’ll testify to that!” Travis Sinclair bellowed as he entered the barn. “Everyone knows what a feisty bunch the McLeans are. Good day to you, Brevan…and how would my new sister-in-law be faring?”

“She’s merely me wife, Travis…no need to get soft on her,” Brevan responded with indifference.

“I got me a look at her from the barn door just now, Travis,” Brian explained. “She’s a wee little bit of a thing…but bonny as they come. And I think she’ll be keepin’ brother Brevan in line, she will.”

Travis Sinclair looked as nearly opposite of the two McLean brothers as was possible. He was short, tow-headed blond, and green eyed—yet handsome in a rather average way all the same.

“It will be good for Brenna. She worries about you so much, Brevan, that it’s near to driving me insane,” Travis said.

“Aye, don’t I know it. Still, she means well…I know that,” Brevan agreed, folding his strong arms across his chest. “Where’s Lita, Brian? I’ve no doubt she’ll be wantin’ to come and gawk at Genieva as well.”

“She’ll be by any moment, she will. She’s not been feelin’ herself lately. I hope she’s not comin’ down with the chills or somethin’ the like of it,” Brian answered.