Counterfeit Courtship

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Counterfeit Courtship Page 8

by Christina Miller


  The ache gripped her now as it hadn’t in years. Always hiding at the edge of her consciousness, it nipped at her occasionally, tripped her less often, but always let her know it was still there, had never left her.

  But now it had control of her.

  She began to shake, her breath coming hard and fast. Tears clogged her throat, wouldn’t well up, wouldn’t fall and release her from their grasp—

  “Ellie, sweetheart...”

  A strong voice from the past—or was it the present?—pierced the heaviness, brought her back to reality. She forced herself to breathe slowly. “This house—it’s in danger too.”

  She’d never considered that possibility.

  The ache began to lift, and her light-headedness subsided too. She couldn’t give in to these emotions. Not if she hoped to keep their plantation and town house. She sat up straight on the edge of her chair again, as a proper lady would. “I’m fine. I was just startled for a moment.”

  It was more than that, and they all surely knew it. She needed time to think, to pray.

  “There is one final point.” Joseph cleared his throat and glared at Leonard. “This man—” he waved at Leonard as if brushing away a fly “—agrees to settle the terms of the loan on one condition.”

  Then she had a way out? “You’ll give me more time, Leonard?” Had Graham been wrong about him after all?

  “He will forgive the loan if, on the date it comes due, you marry him.”

  * * *

  “Marry whom?”

  Graham knew the moment Ellie realized the truth he’d absorbed instantly. The confusion in her eyes morphed into disgust, and her attorney’s face mirrored that emotion.

  As did Graham’s heart.

  Could Fitzwald be serious? The leer in his one good eye confirmed it.

  “Marry Leonard?” Ellie said, her repulsion thick in her voice. “I’m to be the commodity that pays this debt?”

  “It’s your choice, Ellie.” The would-be bridegroom’s smug lips and sarcastic tone alone would probably have made her turn him down, even if she liked him. What was Fitzwald thinking? Ellie had never shown an interest in him.

  Graham thought back to that fateful summer eight years ago. Despite Graham’s warnings, Ellie had always thought nothing of the weasel’s frequent visits. They’d been nothing more than two chums whiling away the evening together, she’d said.

  But Graham had known better. Fitzwald had tried to court her, even back then. And when that hadn’t worked...

  The memory of a years-ago conversation, overheard in the shadowy alley Graham had cut through on his way to Ellie’s, came crashing back to him. That fool Fitzwald had the nerve to boast about his plan of enticing her to go with him to a remote spot along the river. Then he would spread the word through town that they’d been out alone after dark—and would embellish the truth, as well. Her reputation would be spoiled, and she’d have no choice but to marry him.

  He’d been as much of a weasel back then as he was tonight.

  “Ellie, I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” His lone eye wide with the power he obviously thought he had over her, Fitzwald leaned close. He reached out his hand as if intending to caress the blond curl that had escaped her hairpins and lay softly on her cheek.

  By no means would Graham tolerate that. In an instant, he crossed the gallery and stood between them, his fists clenched. “If you so much as think about touching her—”

  Ellie had shrunk back from the weasel’s hand and now locked a firm gaze on Fitzwald as if she’d tolerate no nonsense from him. “Graham, it’s all right—”

  “No, it’s not. Nothing is right about this. I told you back then, Fitzwald, and I’ll tell you again. Stay away from Ellie.” Graham yelled in a voice loud enough that the neighbors could surely hear, even the ones who’d retired from their porches early. “Remember what I told you last time, and remember how you felt after our conversation.”

  The rage heating up Graham’s chest seemed to rush upward until it lodged itself in his eyes. If flames blazed from them, as it felt they did, Fitzwald had better take notice and back away from Ellie. Graham had protected her from this man once, and he’d not hesitate to do it again.

  “Don’t forget that you left Natchez the same day I did,” Fitzwald rasped at him. “And don’t forget why.”

  “I told you before—this is a bad idea, Leonard.” Joseph pointed that long finger at Leonard like a gun. “I don’t like it, and your father wouldn’t either. He wasn’t the most honest man in Natchez, but at least he never coerced a woman into marriage just so he could get his hands on her property.”

  On her property...

  Joseph seemed to think Fitzwald’s only motivation was Ellie’s plantation, but Graham had always believed he’d been after her beauty. He thought back to the night in the alley. What exactly had Fitzwald said? Had he confessed love for her? Not that Graham could remember. Maybe Joseph was right and the weasel had merely wanted Ellie’s ground all along. Seeing his greedy, beady little eye now, Graham could believe it.

  “My father has nothing to do with this.”

  “Are we finished here?” Graham asked, glaring at Joseph.

  “We’re done.” The attorney slid his documents back inside his satchel and made as if to stand.

  “No, we’re not.” Fitzwald bounded from his seat. “Ellie hasn’t given her answer.”

  Standing there, he looked so pathetic that Graham felt a twinge of—what? Sympathy? His patched eye and deep scar, his shriveled-looking arms and sunken-in chest surely did nothing to gain him favor with the Natchez girls.

  Well, if he wanted to find love, he needed to start acting different. He couldn’t buy it from Ellie.

  “You know my answer. I’d let go of all I own before I’d marry you.”

  “But, Ellie, Talbot has nothing.” His voice came out in a strange, abrasive whine. “You heard him say so.”

  That was enough. Graham escorted the spindly-armed imposter of a soldier down the steps. “Time to go, Fitzwald. You heard her answer. She doesn’t have to explain herself.”

  As the weasel drove away, Ellie rang the bell for Lilah May. “I want that glass cleaned up so I don’t have to look at it. As late as it is, I should do it myself, but I couldn’t bear to throw Mother’s crystal into the trash. Let’s move to the other side of the gallery.”

  As soon as they were settled in rockers on the north side, Joseph let out a groan. “That was the worst thing I’ve had to do in all my years of law.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Graham said as Lilah May stepped outside, saw the mess and immediately went back in, presumably to get a broom and dustpan. “I’ve never heard more ridiculous terms. No woman should have to go through that, and no attorney either.”

  Ellie didn’t look any happier than Graham felt. “What can we do? Does the loan have a loophole, anything that would help us straighten this out?”

  “I spent the past two days searching for one.” The lines on Joseph’s face made him appear older than he had the last time Graham saw him—the day Noreen brought Betsy home. “The loan is perfectly legal. His terms of marriage have nothing to do with the law.”

  “Even so, he ought to go to jail for trying to force Ellie to marry him that way.”

  “Agreed. But that’s impossible.” Joseph crossed his arms over his chest as if ready to defend what he was about to say. “You could put this house on the market, but since the war, nobody is buying mansions in Natchez. As I see it, you have only once choice. Sell the rest of your property. That way, you’ll still have this house.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s not mine. Uncle Amos will have to sell it, but he’s not well enough to do business. Besides, if he signed the papers tonight, he might not remember doing so tomorrow.”

  “He can’t legally sell a
nything now because of his mental condition,” Joseph said. “His power of attorney will need to do that for him.”

  Of course. Graham should have thought of that. Ellie would know who the power of attorney was.

  But if he knew this woman the way he used to, she wouldn’t let go of Magnolia Grove and still keep her heart intact. That place was her true home, her refuge. Finding a buyer wouldn’t be easy, and letting go of the ground would be harder yet.

  But what choice did she have? Graham certainly couldn’t help her, as much as he wanted to. For their friendship’s sake, of course, nothing else. At least that was what he kept telling himself. “Who is his power of attorney?”

  “That’s the problem, Graham,” Joseph said. “It’s your father.”

  Chapter Eight

  What an agenda for a man to wake up to on a Saturday morning. First, he had to send another telegram to General Lee to find out if he had any more news concerning Father’s whereabouts. Then he had to go to the post office to see if President Andrew Johnson had answered his letter, requesting pardon for the crime of treason against the United States of America.

  Granted, he’d sent his letter to Johnson only a few days ago, but rumor had it that the Yankee president was trying to send replies as quickly as possible. Graham had never dreamed he’d write to a president, and he certainly never considered he’d be accused of treason. How his world had changed since he last lived in this house.

  It seemed it had changed in every way but one: Ellie. She was still here, still the belle of Natchez, still the sweet, impetuous girl he’d fallen for on a summer night—in the garden, surrounded by white Natchez crape myrtle. In his mind he could smell them now, their fragrance mixed with her perfume to create the headiest of scents—

  But she still didn’t want him.

  As soon as Father came home and this mess with Fitzwald was straightened out, Graham was leaving.

  But for now, he needed to find a way to earn a living in this new country that no longer felt like home. And he had to complete this list today, since tomorrow was the Lord’s day. He threw back the sheet.

  He rose then bathed and shaved in the tepid water in his white china bowl decorated with brown horses, the bowl he’d used as long as he could remember. When dressed, he knelt beside his bed. Here his knees had met the carpet from the time he was old enough to whisper “Now I lay me down to sleep” until the morning he left for West Point.

  But his prayer today wasn’t that of a boy with childlike faith. Today he prayed as a man with a stone for a heart. The words came fast, but he sensed no depth to them. He’d always prayed fervently before battle and given profuse thanks afterward. So why could he now not—

  The ringing of a bell interrupted Graham’s thoughts.

  What was going on? It sounded as if it was coming from inside the house, but Noreen had never used bells, even back when they’d had servants. From an old but less prosperous family without domestic help, she always said she felt silly, ringing a bell and expecting someone to come running. He scrambled to his feet and headed downstairs, finding Noreen in the hall, carrying the laughing baby, and Ellie holding two ridiculously large brass bells. Ellie grinned, no doubt at the shocked expression that must have been on his face.

  It was a relief that Betsy had laughed at that bell, considering how she’d cried about everything the night of Aunt Ophelia’s party. Well, everything except the dog. He reached for her little fist. “Good morning, Betsy.”

  She smiled at him and made a cooing sound. Was she trying to speak to him or merely making a noise? Either way, she looked as if she might like him a little. Funny what that did to his heart.

  “I’m sorry to surprise you so early in the morning,” Noreen said, “but Ellie brought these bells over. She thought you and I could ring them when we need each other, to save me from climbing the stairs with Betsy in my arms.”

  Noreen and him, ringing bells in the house? That was absurd. Why did they need such a thing? They’d never done this before, and they didn’t need to now. Ellie and her ideas...

  “You can keep one on the walnut table on the upstairs landing, and the other down here in the hall.” Ellie placed a bell on the receiving table by the stairs. “Uncle Amos rings his all the time.”

  “Or we could make it easier and just shout up or down the staircase.”

  Ellie’s laugh tinkled like a bell, but not like those giant ones. “You’ve lived in army camps too long. One simply does not shout up the staircase in Natchez.”

  She may have been right about that, but—

  “You have a letter, dear.” Noreen held out an envelope. “That’s why we rang the bell.”

  Graham took the letter from her and immediately recognized the handwriting. “It’s from General Lee. He must have news about Father.”

  Noreen turned a shade paler and handed the baby to Ellie. “Let’s all sit down. You too, Graham.”

  She swayed a bit, her hands trembling, and Graham took her arm. “Stay calm, Noreen. It’s as likely to be good news as bad.” He helped her to the sitting room and seated her on the stiff blue settee. As Ellie sat beside her, he pulled up an ottoman for Noreen’s feet. Unable to sit, he ripped open the envelope and read aloud.

  June 2, 1865

  G. P. TALBOT:

  I have received word of your father and my friend, James P. Talbot, on this date. For the sake of his health, he was detained at the home of Colonel E. W. Banwick, of Galveston. Colonel Talbot suffered much in the many battles in which he was engaged, and he collapsed after attending the surrender of the Trans-Mississippi Army in Galveston. Colonel Banwick, former West Point classmate of both your father and myself, notified me of your father’s departure from his home, after having tried in vain to keep him there. The only clue Colonel Banwick has of James’s intention is his repeated request to visit his daughter. That makes me wonder if James is headed for your mother’s family home—River Bluff Hall, isn’t it?—to see his daughter’s grave. It is my earnest hope that you are able to locate him. Please inform me of his wellbeing at such time. May God be with you as I pray for his return to your home.

  R. E. LEE

  “Father—wounded in battle?” Now that he knew his father was still alive, Graham suddenly realized he’d always imagined him riding back to Natchez, unharmed. “I should have expected something like this, but I guess I didn’t want to face the possibilities.”

  “Poor James.” Noreen’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “He struggled so with this war and the issues behind it.”

  “I wish General Lee had given us some details about Father’s condition.” Graham studied the letter again. “This is dated June 2. He could have been on the road for weeks now.”

  “Do you suppose he’s headed for River Bluff Hall?” Noreen asked in a tiny, childlike voice.

  For a moment, Graham had to turn from the pain in her eyes. He felt a twinge of betrayal for her, as well. Why wouldn’t Father want to come home to Noreen, his beloved wife since Mama and Daisy passed? It didn’t make sense.

  He raised his head and met his stepmother’s teary-eyed gaze. “I’ve seen similar situations after battle. All the afflicted men wanted was to go home. Since Father was talking about Daisy, he might have gone to her grave.”

  Noreen’s eyes cleared and took on a steely acceptance, the likes of which he’d seen in his men who’d seen their comrades shot in battle. “That’s probably what he did. We’ll remember to give thanks for General Lee’s letter. Without it, we would still have no idea what happened to James.”

  “It’s a three-hour trip to River Bluff Hall.” Tentative plans began to take shape in Graham’s mind. He couldn’t ride Dixie as far as Texas, not after the hard ride home from Virginia, but she might manage the trip to River Bluff Hall. “We don’t know if Father has a horse or is traveling on foot, so we need
a carriage of some sort. What became of our conveyances?”

  “I sold the barouche and the runabout last year and, of course, the Confederate army confiscated our horses before that.”

  Graham paced to the fireplace, his mind racing and his steps slow.

  Ellie brushed her hand over Betsy’s peach-fuzz hair. “Why not take our phaeton? It has two seats, so Mister Talbot can stretch out in the back if he needs to.”

  Graham stopped his pacing. Why was this woman still here? And why did she interject her ideas into every conversation? Especially this one, which didn’t involve her. “Thanks, but I’ll think of something. I’ll rent a carriage.”

  “I agree with Ellie. James would be comfortable in Amos’s phaeton. If he’s injured, I’d feel better knowing he wasn’t in some rented buggy.”

  Graham held back the tart words that wanted to shoot from his mouth. What happened to the days when he made a decision, gave an order and people obeyed?

  In his moment of hesitation, Ellie handed Betsy back to Noreen, who looked better now with her color back and her hands no longer trembling as she held them out to the baby. “I’ll go with you,” Ellie said, as if Graham had no say-so in the matter. “Lucy and Buttercup have been skittish lately, and I know how to calm them.”

  No, no, no. “But what about Betsy? Don’t you have to stay here and help Noreen with her? And what about your uncle—doesn’t he need you?” He was grasping at any idea, anything that would keep her from tagging along with him today, and he knew it.

  Her wide grin told him she knew it too. “Why don’t you want me to go, Graham?”

  “Yes, why?” Noreen asked.

  “Because...because...” His stepmother’s piercing gaze made him realize she, too, believed he and Ellie were courting. He had to set her straight, even if nobody else in town ever knew the truth. “Because things aren’t as they seem...”

  “In what way, dear?” Noreen asked, leaning forward as if to catch every nuance of every syllable he would utter.

  “This is all for the sake of convenience. I needed to—”

 

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