The Heavenly Surrender (12 page)

Genieva and Brenna both turned to face him, and Genieva was on her feet instantly at seeing his state. He was pale and obviously weak—for he put his hand out to steady himself against the wall. His trousers threatened to slip from his hips—for they remained unfastened.

“
Get yar scrawny body back into bed, Brevan McLean!” Brenna ordered as Genieva rushed forward, tugging at the waistband of his pants to secure them.

“I’ve got to get that corn in, Brenna,” he mumbled. As he stumbled forward, Genieva’s smaller form struggled to support his incredible bulk.

“You’ve got fever,” Genieva mumbled. “He’s too warm, Brenna,” she called over her shoulder. She felt warm moisture on her hand as she fought to help support him as he teetered backward. Drawing her hand away to examine it, she gasped as she saw the bright crimson blood there—fresh and wet. “And you’re bleeding again.”

“That field has to be planted, Genieva,” he breathed, taking her face tightly between his two powerful hands and glaring down at her.

“I’ll plant the field for you, Brevan. I promise. But you must rest,” she told him. His condition frightened her! It frightened her more than anything she had ever in her life encountered.

“
I-I…” he stammered before his full weight descended on Genieva, knocking her to the floor. The crushing mass of his unconscious body descending onto her own, forced the breath from her lungs, and Genieva was momentarily paralyzed for lack of it.

“He’s as stubborn as anythin’ I’ve ever seen, he is,” Brenna complained as she worked to help Genieva push the great man off her own body. “Leave it to Brevan to pass out on the kitchen floor with only the two of us to be draggin’ him back into bed.”

Yet Brevan’s unconscious state was very brief. He woke almost immediately.

“Ya ask Brian to plant me corn for me, Brenna. It has to be done in the next couple of days. I’m late with it this year, I am,” Brevan mumbled as Genieva and Brenna helped him to his feet.

“Let’s get ya to bed, Brevan. Quit worryin’ about that corn! It’s yar healin’ that’s important,” Brenna scolded him.

“’Tis but a scratch, Brenna,” Brevan barked. “Let me be!” He pushed Brenna away from him, putting one arm about Genieva’s slight shoulders for support. “Get to askin’ Brian about that corn, lass!”

Brenna sighed heavily. She shook her head as she said, “Crack him over the head with a hammer if ya must, Genieva. But get him to bed and to sleep so we won’t have to put up with his bellowin’ for another minute! I’m off to speak to Brian, I am.” Irritated, she slammed the front door as she left.

“You shouldn’t be so short and demanding with your sister, Brevan. She’s been a great help and…” Genieva began.

“I know, I know,” Brevan interrupted. “Now, I’m feelin’ a bit dizzy again, I am. Get me to me bed, lass.”

As they approached his bed, however, Genieva stood before him, taking his arms in order to guide him into lying down on his stomach.

“Your wound is bleeding again. I’m afraid I didn’t get it stitched very thoroughly,” Genieva mumbled.

At that moment, however, Brevan’s weakened state caused him to stumble and his great hulking form was once again too awkward and heavy for Genieva to support. Before she could react and move out of the way, she felt herself fall back on his bed, his massive weight crushing her an instant later as he fell on top of her.

“Brevan,” she gasped, pushing on his shoulders in a pointless effort to remove him. “Brevan, wake up and move!” When she found it impossible to move him, she took his face in her hands and lifted his head to look directly into it. “You are smashing me flat! Wake up!” She slapped him all too gently on the cheek, but his head only fell against her neck when she released him.

Struggling for breath—for he was astonishingly heavy—Genieva tried to squirm her way out from under him. She soon realized she was trapped, however. Perhaps if she could maneuver her legs to one side a little, she could free herself. Yet it was to no avail. They hung off the bed from the knees down, rendering themselves in too difficult a position to be used to pry Genieva loose.

“What goes on here?” Brevan’s slurred words came as he tried to raise his head. “What are ya doin’, Genieva?” he asked looking at her.

“You are smashing me! Get off, you big oaf!” Genieva groaned. She could tell then that he was still close to being unconscious, for his glassy eyes narrowed.

“Make sure Brian gets that corn in, Genieva,” he mumbled as he stared down into her eyes.

“Hang the corn, Brevan!” she shouted then, pushing at his shoulders. “Get off me before I’m crushed to death!”

With a profound effort, Brevan placed his hands on either side of Genieva’s body and tried to raise himself, only to collapse on top of her once again. “I’m as weak as a bloomin’ calf, I am,” he panted.

“Just help me to roll you off,” she groaned as she pushed at his right shoulder to guide him to roll left.

With a pain-stricken moan, Brevan mustered what little strength was left to him and rolled to his side. Genieva drew a deep breath before sitting up.

“You weigh more than...” she began. But when she looked at him lying pale and silent on his side, she knew he was unconscious again. Anxiety gripped her once more, and she laid her hand gently on his chest to make certain that it did indeed rise and fall with life sustaining breath. His flesh was hot to the touch, and the fever of it caused her hand to tremble. Tenderly she caressed his rugged and unshaven face, praying silently for his well-being.

As Genieva studied Brevan’s face—a face that even in sleep donned a pain-stricken frown—her heart swelled with what she had already come to know as her astounding love for him. What manner of marvelous man was this that she was blessed to be married to? Hard-working, handsome, and capable of anything. Gently she smoothed the frown from his tired brow. Caressing his desirable lips with her fingers, she remembered the taste of them the previous day in the orchard when he had kissed her.

Suddenly, as if his subconscious had read her mind, Brevan’s eyes burst open—their deep blue mesmerizing Genieva. In a moment, she gasped, realizing that he was conscious. Even if she had wished to she could not have avoided him as he reached out unexpectedly, slid his hand around her neck, and quickly pulled her face to meet his own. His magnificent kiss was feverish in its heated thirst—exhilarating—as he seemed unable to quench some deep craving hunger! And when he pulled her down onto the bed next to him, covering her chest and shoulders with his own—delivering an intensely unbridled continuance of it—Genieva’s breath was once again wondrously seized from her body. Truly, it could only be dubbed a bewitching skill that he owned—for his kiss rendered her powerless to resist relishing in it. His mouth was warm and demanding, even for his weakened state, and each time she drew breath, Genieva basked in the pure pleasure and taste of Brevan’s affectionate wizardry.

Still, a horrible feeling of uncertainty nagged at Genieva’s mind, and she reached up, pushing his face away. “Brevan,” she asked, breathless from his kisses. “Y-you do know it’s me, don’t you?”

His glassy stare seemed unable to take note of what she had asked. He only grabbed the wrist of her hand pushing at him, pinning it to the bed as his mouth sought to enslave hers once more. After one final fervid and fevered kiss, he fell unconscious again, and Genieva pulled herself from beneath him. Though the kiss of the day before had been the stuff of dreams, this kiss was different—issued with a powerful something she could only define as wanton passion.

He slept quietly—the frown gone from his face at last. As she watched him for some time, Genieva wondered if he had known it was she he had ravished with affection. Or had his mind, in its fevered state, envisioned someone else in his arms and bed? Her mind fought back the name echoing throughout it—
Lita
.



The April sun was warm and the lilacs fragrant as Genieva drove the stick into the soil. She dropped a few corn kernels into the hole, using her foot to cover it with dirt. Having never planted before, planting the corn was a tedious chore for her. Still, she knew how important it was to Brevan—how important it was to have it done immediately. Brevan had married Genieva to help him with the farm. She knew it was her responsibility to get the planting done, especially since Brian and Travis had left for two days on important business. Though Brenna had offered to help with the planting, Genieva knew Lita was not well and needed Brenna with her while Brian was away. Brenna had shown her how to plant, and, being assured she now had a proper knowledge of it, Genieva had begun the planting herself. As she continued the monotonous process of planting, she began to dread having to haul water from the creek to the field. Hauling water would indeed be necessary—for there was no sign of impending rain.

Brevan had not stirred since the previous morning. Genieva worried over him with every step she took—with every kernel that she buried in the soil. From time to time, she would leave the field to return to the house and check on him—for she feared that, even though his fever had gone, something might cause him to take a turn for the worse once more.



Genieva’s legs, arms, back, and every other part of her body ached as she carried bucket after bucket full of water to the field. Each seed must be watered. It had taken her a full day to plant the corn, and she knew it would, no doubt, take this entire new day to water it sufficiently.

As the sun set that evening, Genieva sat at the kitchen table. Her body was racked with aching and soreness. Even for having worn gloves, blisters had formed on her tender palms. Her hands throbbed and stung, ached with the soreness of unfamiliar hard labor and the sting of swollen blisters. She placed cool, damp cloths on them, but it did little to soothe her pain. Still, it was done—after two days of hard labor the like Genieva had never known—Brevan’s corn was planted and watered in the field.

“Get yarself to bed, Genieva.” Brevan’s voice echoed through her mind. She found it hard to raise herself from the great fatigue forcing her to sleep as she sat—head resting on the kitchen table. “Genieva,” his voice echoed. This time she opened her eyes. She looked to Brevan standing near the table, glaring down at her.

“What are you doing up? You need your rest. And just give me a moment, Brevan,” she mumbled. “I’ll just sit here a moment.” Genieva was so exhausted! Her mind hardly registered that this was the first time Brevan had been about since being injured. Even when she felt herself hoisted from the chair and into strong arms, she was so worn and weary that she did not rouse more than a moment—just long enough to enjoy the pleasant smell of Brevan’s skin as her head lay against his shoulder.

Brevan laid his wife gently on her bed. She flinched as her hand hit the pillow, and he took her small hand in his own, studying her palm. A deep frown furrowed his handsome brow as he gazed at the horrid blisters there.

“What have ya been doin’, lass?” he muttered to himself. The other hand was just as blistered. Laying her hands gently on the bed and taking the lantern hanging in the kitchen with him, he hurried out of the house and to the field. He stood, astonished at what he saw.

“Surely Brian has done this,” he whispered. But when he drew near to the field and saw the small size of the boot prints in the soil, he knew. Placing his own boot next to one of the impressions in the dirt, he knew at once that the tiny boot print belonged to Genieva. Her boot prints led from the creek to the field as well. Her boot prints were near the empty buckets and seed sack sitting against the outer wall of the barn.

Guilt enveloped his conscience as he quickly made his way back to the house. He entered her room to find Genieva still slept—the deep sleep of one worn to the bone. Gently, he removed her boots and stockings to find her feet blistered and red as well. He removed her skirt and petticoats—all the time pitying women for having to wear such cumbersome gear. He rolled her onto her stomach and unbuttoned her shirtwaist, gently turning her to her back once more in order to remove it. Not once did she stir from her fatigue-induced slumber. Brevan frowned—shook his head as he fumbled with the fastenings of her corset.

“What devil invented such a device of torture?” he muttered as he removed it—leaving her looking more comfortable in just her camisole and pantaloons.

Going to the kitchen, he poured the hot water from the kettle on the stove into a basin of cool water from the pump until the mix produced a warm and comfortable temperature. He shook his head in disbelief as he carefully bathed Genieva’s dusty arms and face. As his hands worked to freshen her neck and shoulders, he was still amazed at what he assumed had occurred while his own body nursed his wound. From all appearances, this small, freckled woman had planted his cornfield and hauled buckets of water from the creek to ensure its need of moisture was met. He was angry with Brian for letting her do the work. And where had Travis been all the time?

Brevan pushed Genieva’s pantaloons up over her knees and washed her feet and legs as well before covering her with a light sheet. As he sat studying her peaceful face, he wondered at how one such as he could find such a woman with such little effort. It was as Brenna had told him—someone was indeed watching over him.

“I fear that ya deserve far better than Brevan McLean, lass,” he whispered, closing the door to her room behind him.



“Brevan, ya know Travis and me had to check with the land office,” Brian explained the next morning as he and Brevan carried water from the creek to the fields and garden. “He’s gettin’ desperate, he is, and we, neither one of us, wanted to travel alone, we didn’t. I’ve got to think of me own wife and child now too. But I swear it to ya now that I did not know Genieva was plannin’ on plantin’ the crop herself, brother…or I would’ve waited all the same.”