The Heavenly Surrender (30 page)

“So…cousin Sean says, ‘The secret to growin’ tall, cousin Brevan…to growin’ tall and straight like the man ya see before ya is,’ Sean whispered into Brevan’s ear, ‘first thing in the mornin’…and I mean first thing so the dew is still in the grasses…ya walk out to the fields, ya do, and ya find the freshest, warmest pile of cow dung that ya can. ’Tis best if the steam’s still a risin’ from it into the mornin’ air.’” Genieva’s eyes widened in disbelief, and she giggled, unbelieving, as Brenna paused to stifle her own giggles. “Then cousin Sean says, ‘When ya find the ripe pile…the freshest, warmest, and deepest one of the mornin’…ya jump quick, landin’ both yar feet square in its center, Brevan McLean! Ya stand there, cousin. Ya stand there ’til yar legs are achin’ so that ya think they might fail ya…and ya chant,
grow…grow…grow
.’”

Genieva burst into laughter. “Oh, no…no, Brenna,” she gasped, unable to control her giggling.

Brenna laughed so hard her breath had gone from her and she was having trouble inhaling another. Pounding the table several times with her palm, she mouthed, “Wait, wait.” At last having drawn breath and settled her laughter, she continued. “And so, Genieva, the very next afternoon, Dad comes to lunch and asks Mother if she’s seen Brevan all the mornin’. Mother worried, of course, because she hadn’t seen one snitch of the lad since first light. We all were terribly worried, and so we set out, cousin Sean, Mother, Dad, Brian, and me, to find brother Brevan. And do ya know where we found him, Genieva?” Brenna asked, breaking into riotous laughter once more. “We found him in the west field…standin’ in a soggy cow pile that entirely drowned his feet and ankles, sayin’, ‘Grow…grow…grow.’”

Genieva squealed as her laughter became uncontrollable. Brenna’s forehead hit the tabletop soundly as she let it fall there, no longer able to keep from howling either. Genieva had never in her life laughed so hard or so thoroughly, and when, after several minutes, she and Brenna were able to draw breath again without bursting into cackles, she sighed—contented. More relaxed and happy than she had been for some time—she smiled.

“It’s a lie, Brenna. It has to be! Surely Brevan was never so naïve. Even as a child,” Genieva giggled. Her ribcage was aching from the exercise of their laughter.

“It’s the livin’ truth, Genieva. As I sit here before ya, it’s the truth,” Brenna assured her, dabbing at her joyful tears with her apron.

“Thank you,” Genieva whispered, taking Brenna’s hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you for giving me this.”

Brenna smiled and nodded. Both women startled—looked to the front door as there came a knock. Genieva released one last amused giggle as she stood and went to the door.

She felt her face drain of color—gasped as she saw standing before her Juan Miguel Archuleta.

She started to close the door, barring him from entering, but the man pushed his way into the house saying, “Por favor
.
I’ve only come to see mí hijíta…and mí nieta.”

Genieva looked to Brenna. Yet Brenna only shook her head, uncertain herself as to what action to take.

“Brevan won’t want you here. If he finds you here…” Genieva began. “You have harassed my husband horribly and tried to…at least, your son has tried to kill him! I’ll not let you into his home!” she said—for her uncertainty had only been for a moment. She realized this man, Lita’s father or not, was Brevan’s enemy—her enemy. “If you try to come in any farther…”

“I only want to see Lita. Is she well? Is the bebé well? She is my daughter,” the man pleaded.

“And Brevan McLean is my husband, Mr. Archuleta.”

Juan Miguel scowled. He ceremoniously spit on the floor at Genieva’s feet. Provoked by his disrespect, Genieva slapped him soundly across the face.

“Get out of my house!” she shouted. “Don’t you ever dare to venture this close again, or you’ll be fertilizing my flower bed!” Before he could react, she reached out, shoving him hard in the chest. As he stumbled backward, she closed the door and bolted it. “The rifle, Brenna!” she shouted. “Quickly!”

Brenna dashed to the rack in the hallway and retrieved the large gun hanging there. Genieva watched as Juan Miguel shouted in Spanish, storming down the porch. He mounted his horse, spurring it into a mad gallop through the orchard and out of sight.

Breathing a heavy sigh, Genieva tightly wrung the folds of her apron as her tension and fear began to subside.

“My heart’s pounding so hard it pains me,” she said to Brenna. Looking to her friend, she asked, “Was I wrong to refuse him? After all, she is his daughter.”

Brenna shook her head emphatically and confirmed, “No. He means Brevan harm. And you. It would’ve been dangerous to all of us to let him in.”

Genieva nodded. She knew she had done the right thing. For all she knew, the man may have meant Lita and the baby harm as well.

It was only moments later when the sound of heavy boots tromping across the front porch caused both women to leap to their feet once again—hearts thumping frantically. Someone pushed against the door—began beating furiously on it.

When Genieva heard Brevan’s angry voice from the other side shout, “Open this bloomin’ door, Genieva,” she sighed and released the bolt. Brian and Brevan poured into the room together, and Brenna gasped as she saw the blood at Brian’s temple.

“
Brevan!” Genieva exclaimed. He held his left wrist tightly with his right hand. As Brian worked the pump at the sink, Brevan held his hands and wrists beneath the cool water. “What…what…?” Genieva stammered, unable to complete the sentence—for once again she was witness to Brevan’s blood being spilt, and it frightened her.

“Cruz,” Brian answered. “Cruz, Mateo, and their slitherin’ friends came upon us in the west orchard. But we gave them cause to think twice before tryin’ to thwart the McLeans again, eh brother Brevan?”

Brevan nodded and continued to squeeze his wrist. Genieva rushed to where the two men stood. Brevan’s shirt was soaked with blood at the right shoulder and stomach.

“What’s this?” she asked as she quickly tore open the shirt to reveal a heinous, horizontal laceration across Brevan’s belly.

“Ya’re gonna send me to debtor’s prison over replacin’ the button’s on me shirts, lass,” Brevan growled, glaring down at her. “It’s not as bad as it looks, that one,” he assured her, looking down at his stomach. Genieva gently pulled the cloth from Brevan’s shoulder to reveal yet another cut. “Nor that one, neither,” Brevan grumbled as he continued to give his wrist his attention.

“It must’ve been planned, Brian. For Juan Miguel was here only moments ago,” Brenna confessed then.

“What?” Brevan shouted. “In me own house? Ya let him enter me own house?”

“He forced his entrance,” Genieva corrected as she dabbed at his stomach wound with her apron. She wasn’t as convinced of its insignificance as was Brevan. “I sent him away.”

“What did he want?” Brian asked.

“He said he wanted to see Lita and the baby,” Brenna answered. “But I think he meant us all harm.”

Brian and Brevan shared an understanding look, and Brevan said, “It’s comin’ to a peak now, it is.” Brian nodded. “We’ll all have to be more careful and watchful than ever before,” Brevan added. Reaching down and tugging brutally at Genieva’s apron strings, he untied the apron, pulled it from her waist, and wrapped it haphazardly about his wrist. “Ya take Lita to Brenna and Travis’s, Brian. She can’t be left alone, and I think they mean the least harm to them. Take her now, for I’m sure they’re no longer about at this moment. But they soon may be.”

“Ya’re right. I’ll take her now. Help me, Brenna. We need to make her comfortable,” Brian ordered as he left and went to the back of the house.

“Ya should go as well,” Brevan said to Genieva—looking down at his buttonless shirt—trying to figure a way to hold it together. “’Tis safer the more of ya that are together, it is.”

Brevan sighed with irritation. Putting his fists squarely on his hips, he let his head drop forward as he said, “Fine. Ya’re right. Ya’re a wee little rat, and ya’ll have yar way about it. I know that well enough.”

“What are we going to do, Brevan?” Genieva asked then. “What? They’re too devious, and we have too much work to do here to be constantly watchful and inside.”

Brevan raised his head and looked at her. He seemed defeated somehow, and his arms dropped to his sides.

“We go on about it, Genieva. We go on about it. When it peaks, we’ll be ready, and we’ll prevail.” He paused when she looked unconvinced. “We’ll prevail because we’re right, and they’re wrong, lass. Good is on our side.”

After Brian had taken Lita and Brenna home, the remaining daylight hours seemed long, lonely, and anxious. Brevan insisted Genieva have the rest of the day to do as she pleased. Yet she was too insecure to venture too far from the house—and far too worried about Brevan being out alone on the farm to occupy her mind with anything else. She tried to busy herself by straightening the spare room and washing the bedding used the day before during Lita’s childbirth. Still, she felt nervous when she was out hanging the sheets on the line. She found herself constantly glancing over her shoulder—expecting to see one of the Archuletas or their vaqueros there.

As the sun began to set and Brevan had still not returned home for dinner, Genieva’s worst fears began to heighten. She paced the floor anxiously, wringing her apron and trying to calm herself.

What a barrage of emotions Genieva experienced during the past two days. As she ventured out onto the front porch, watching the sun setting over the west orchard before her, she thought of the varied and extreme feelings that had churned within her recently. So many of them were odd and uncomfortable combinations—anger accompanied elation—envy shared joy—fear coupled with delight. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes for a moment, reflecting on how fatiguing, how absolutely fatiguing it had all been. Her body was tired—her arms ached—her mind was dizzy—her legs were weak. She wondered if she could endure such fatigue for the many years and years to come.

When, at last, she opened her eyes, she gasped at what they beheld. Just in the brief moments since she had been reflecting with them closed, the skies had changed. Instead of the familiar shade of blue, white clouds drifting here and there, the sky blazed pink—the clouds boasting shades of purple the like she had never seen! The pink was a pink of such brilliance she could not compare it to anything immediately! The purples were the softest yet brightest lavenders and violets, rivaling the flowers of springtime.

“’Tis truly one of heaven’s miracles, it is,” Brevan’s voice said.

Genieva tore her gaze from the nature’s painting before her to see him standing off to one side of the porch. She’d been so enthralled by the spectacle in the heavens, she hadn’t even heard his approach.

“I know that ya miss it often for the sake of gettin’ me dinner on the table in a timely way,” he admitted, walking to stand directly next to her before returning his attention to the skies. “I’ve wronged ya there, I have.”

“It’s no fault of yours,” she defended him. “I’ve chosen to do that…to prepare dinner at that time. But I’m sad if I’ve been missing this all along.”

“It’s not always this perfect. But there are times when it takes yar breath away and helps ya to forget all else in the world,” he noted.

Within minutes, the sun had dropped just enough to fade the colors, and darkness began to replace them.

“You’d miss it if you blinked,” Genieva whispered. The fragrance of ripened apples floated on the soft breezes, and she inhaled deeply—their sweet perfume bathing her senses. She was reminded of another coveted scent, and she looked quickly to Brevan. His attention was still captured by the scene being played out in the heavens. She was glad, for it gave her several moments of freedom to stare at him without worry of being caught at it. She thought back on her dreams of the night before. What a wonderful dream it had been. She remembered vividly the scent of his skin as she had lain in his arms. If only the security and bliss she had experienced in those dreams could be real. If only.

“Did ya enjoy yar day of…normality?” he asked, without looking to her.

“
Yes. Yes and no. This morning was wonderful! Such a fun time spent visiting with Lita and Brenna. But after Juan Miguel and…” Genieva’s voice was lost as another thought entered her mind. Surely he did not mean to bring up in conversation their argument of the previous night—their argument ending in his threatening to…

“We mustn’t let the unpleasant events of today ruin our remainin’ evenin’ hours together,” Brevan mumbled.

Brevan struggled to keep an amused smile from spreading across his face. Genieva’s eyes, though wide with understanding and apprehension, were quickly turning from their docile hazel color to the soft amethyst color he preferred. He thought for a moment that perhaps the purples of sunset’s clouds had sifted themselves into her lovely eyes. He was determined to play this out. It was time he put Genieva where she belonged—really belonged.

“Let’s to supper then, lass,” Brevan said, motioning for Genieva to precede him in reentering the house.

All through supper Genieva’s senses whirled. Her mind fought to devise ways of removing herself from the situation at hand. Silently, she tried to convince herself Brevan meant nothing by his remarks on the porch. She, being so terribly attracted to him and so hopelessly lost in her love for him, had simply misinterpreted his meaning. But as he looked up from his soup, winking at her, her nerves scattered to every venue but that of calm. Genieva looked away—tried to ignore the thrill washing over her at his flirtatious gesture. Quickly, she finished her meal and washed her own dishes and utensils. As she was putting her bowl in the cupboard, Brevan approached, placing his own dishes in the sink.