Counterfeit Courtship

by Christina Miller

  She knew her cotton farming, of that much he was sure. In fact, she knew a lot more about the market than he did. “Why don’t you sell half of the ground then?”

  Ellie lowered her parasol and met his gaze. “Because we barely survive on twenty-five hundred acres. How could we live on less than that?”

  He had no answer.

  “How did you get the manpower—and money—to plant and cultivate that much ground?” He paused, realizing the Andersons’ entire financial situation didn’t add up. “What about taxes? Hardly anybody around Natchez has this much cotton planted, because no one had the money.”

  “Miss Noreen and my uncle were quite clever. Two years ago, they guessed how the war was headed, so they converted most of their Confederate money into gold coin. It wasn’t the most patriotic move they could have made, but seeing how things turned out, I’m glad they did it.”

  As Graham had done in Virginia. “But Union troops occupy this whole city. How did they not confiscate the money?”

  “We hid it in our matching mahogany sideboards—in our dining room and yours.”

  “But the Union soldiers would have known to look in the sideboard for valuables. We kept our silver in there.”

  “They did, but they didn’t know the mahogany was a veneer, and the sideboards are actually three-thousand-pound cast-iron safes with secret recesses in the doors.”

  That could not be true. “I lived in that house for years. I would have known about a giant safe that looked like a piece of wooden furniture.”

  “No one knew except your father and Uncle Amos. They ordered them together, from Philadelphia. Before your father left for war, he told Miss Noreen about it, and when Uncle Amos got sick, Miss Noreen told me.”

  Secrets. He didn’t like it. But at least they’d had the money they needed. “I assume that’s how Noreen kept the house. She paid the taxes with that money.”

  “Some for daily expenses too, but she’s been exceedingly frugal.”

  He didn’t allow himself so much as a moment to hope there was money left. “It’s gone now, I’m sure.”

  “Miss Noreen used the last of it to buy several hams, sacks of flour and some laying hens. I have enough to pay our workers this week. Nothing more. And I have a gold dollar in my reticule for groceries when our hoard runs out.”

  Ellie gazed off into the distance as they turned into the Magnolia Grove drive.

  He’d seen that look before. She was lost in her dream world, and there was no sense in trying to pull her out of it.

  “I admit I haven’t paid attention to the cabins all spring. Let’s drive straight there and see them. Maybe we can talk to the workers too. It’s so hot, everybody might have decided to stay close to home. Either that or they’ll be at the river.”

  “You mean you’ll talk to them. I have no part in this.”

  She smiled in a way that was downright calculating. “Of course you do. You’re my beau, remember?”

  He didn’t bother to hold in his groan.

  Then he remembered his vow to court her with all he had. “That’s right. I am. And since I’m your intended, it’s my duty to make some decisions to protect you. First, we’re not paying double-eagle coins. Second, I’m not repairing any cabins. Third—”

  Her giggle tinkled in his ears. “Graham, you always make me laugh.”

  Laugh? “I was being serious.”

  So much for courting. He had to get somebody to tell him what he kept doing wrong.

  As they approached the cabins, the half dozen or so older men, lounging in the shade, stood and took off their straw hats. As soon as the carriage stopped, Graham bounded out of his seat, unwilling to sit in her conveyance a moment longer than he had to. He helped Ellie out, who helped Sugar out. The workers must have been used to seeing the dog there, since each one petted and spoke to her before she ran toward the nearest cotton field.

  “Sugar always greets us before she takes off to do whatever dogs do.” The Andersons’ longtime overseer, a gray-haired man in a patched, rolled-sleeved shirt, ambled their way. “You remember me, sir?”

  “Moses Lark. You used to keep us out of trouble in the old days.”

  “Colonel Talbot is now my intended, Moses,” Ellie said. “And we have some things to discuss with all of you—things you will like. Could you get everyone together?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He motioned for one of the younger men to ring the dinner bell by the big house.

  “Ellie, let’s look around the cabins to see what repairs are needed while we wait for the workers.” Graham extended his arm to her, and they started toward the cabins. They remained more or less as he remembered—small and hot, but now in poor repair. “Some of these roofs need shingles, siding needs paint.”

  Ellie took a small ledger and pencil from the handbag she carried, and they stopped while she made notes, starting with the chapel.

  “The wood is rotting near the foundation on this one. You’ll have to replace that.”

  They inspected each cabin until her page was full of her list of necessary repairs. By that time, the workers had assembled in front of Moses’s house.

  Ellie put away her book and pencil and gave them her attention. “I have some changes in mind that I think will benefit us all...”

  A half hour later, Ellie had addressed all her issues and answered every question, except the one that kept invading Graham’s mind. Where would the money come from?

  “I will be here every morning as usual and will speak to anyone who wants to come to work for us.” She brightened then, in that way that always meant she had another idea. And he could tell by looking at her that she was going to announce it now rather than thinking it through first.

  “Ellie, wait—”

  “If we pick every boll of cotton on this plantation, everyone who has worked here for at least thirty days will receive another double eagle. Tell your friends to be here tomorrow afternoon if they want to work for us.”

  Graham lowered his head, not wanting the workers to see what he was sure was in his eyes. What was she thinking? She could never pay that bonus. He started to say so, but the shouts and laughter of the workers would have drowned him out anyway.

  When the roar quieted and the workers went back to their homes or the river, Ellie turned to Graham, her face flushed and her eyes sunny. “That went well. I think we gained all the workers’ complete loyalty, and I’ll be surprised if each of them doesn’t bring a dozen friends along.”

  Graham cupped her elbow and guided her toward the carriage before she could give away anything else. “How will you handle it if they do? That’s a dozen double eagles for the friend and a dozen for each worker who brings a dozen more. You’re going to have to sell the ground in order to pay this debt, let alone your other one.”

  “I have one idea left.”

  He should have known.

  Ellie twisted the ring on her right hand, then pointed to the field where a white tail waved like a flag above the cotton plants. “Sugar explored that entire field during the meeting. When she plays in the fields, I see nothing but tail.”

  “Don’t change the subject. If this new plan of yours doesn’t work, you’ll see nothing but Leonard Fitzwald standing at the altar, waiting for you.”

  “I will never see that.”

  No, she wouldn’t, not if Graham could help it. But she needed to face reality. “Ellie, it’s time to give up these schemes of yours. We need to find some way to sell this ground. I’m praying that Father will come around soon. If he does, you need to sell enough of your ground to pay off your debt to Fitzwald.”

  “Let me show you my plan, and then we’ll see what you think about that.” Her saucy tone almost gave Graham a shred of hope. Whatever that plan turned out to be, she believed in it, that was for sure. She started toward
the carriage. “Get in and drive away from the river. Sugar, come!”

  Graham obeyed, but the dog didn’t. She headed toward the river instead. He’d never seen a dog with more of its master’s personality than Sugar had of Ellie’s. Stubborn, bound to go her own way, heedless of the words of others...and sweet. Heartbreakingly sweet.

  Twenty minutes later, they left the edge of the field and drove into the woods. After another five, they stopped on the rutted dirt path and faced a barn of some sort, amid waist-high weeds and brambles. Its ridge sagged and its paint peeled, its huge doors closed tight.

  “This rickety old barn is your secret weapon?” Graham tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “You’ll see.” Ellie opened her door and descended the carriage steps before he could get there to assist her. She plowed through the weeds ahead of him.

  “Ellie, wait. Let me go first.”

  She paid him no mind. Rather, she fought the foliage until she reached the barn, then shoved the wooden door on its track. It budged about ten inches.

  Graham wrangled ahead of her. “Let me do that.” His voice sounded like a growl, and he softened it as he tried to grab the handle. “Step to one side so you don’t get hurt.”

  “How do you think I did this before you got home?” She gave his arm a little push. Then she put her weight into it and got the door open wide enough for them to walk through.

  Stubborn woman. “Are you going to let me go in first to make sure it’s safe, or can you do that too?”

  “I can do it.” She marched into the barn and crooked her finger for him to follow.

  This was what he’d been reduced to—following a woman’s orders. He stepped inside as she’d commanded.

  The sunlight gleamed against what must have been fifty or more giant rectangles tied in jute. Cotton bales.

  Graham took a step back. Dust motes floated in the sunshine, with little specks of cotton fluff in the stifling air.

  “This has to be at least five thousand dollars’ worth of cotton.”

  “If I sold it today, it would be worth seventy-five hundred dollars. If I sell through the Texas border to Mexico.”

  He moved closer to the first bale and then rubbed his fingers over the soft cotton. “I admit it—this is an effective secret weapon.”

  “I have four more loads like this scattered about.”

  “Five barns full of cotton?” He’d sure been wrong about this scheme of hers. “That’s enough to pay your loan.”

  “And to pay the laborers. Of course, it leaves us almost nothing to live on until harvest.”

  Graham pinched a bit of cotton from the nearest bale and pulled apart the fibers. He tossed it in the air and blew on it. The fluff drifted to the rafters. “I can’t believe you have this. Why didn’t you sell it last fall?”

  “I sold three quarters of the cotton and held on to the rest, because I thought the prices would rise about now. And they did.”

  “But your uncle was still able to work last fall. Why didn’t he make that judgment call?”

  “Because that’s my job. I watch the cotton futures and trends and decide when we sell and to whom. Several years ago, Uncle Amos recognized that I have a bit of talent in that area, so he let me make those decisions.” She paused, glancing at the cotton bales. “Of course, I have to make all the decisions now.”

  And she shouldn’t have to, at least not alone.

  “I have a lot to do these days. I’m going to hire field help and contract men to work on the cabins. I also have to check the fields every day so I’ll know when to start harvesting. Lilah May needs my help at home because that big house, plus Uncle Amos, are too much for her to take care of alone. And Miss Noreen needs me to help with the baby. So I have a business offer to make you.”

  “I’m afraid to hear it, but ask anyway.”

  “I want you to be my broker. I’ll teach you what I know about price trends and markets, but I’d like you to negotiate and decide who we’ll sell to—take care of all the details.”

  Graham—a cotton broker? He had to admit the idea intrigued him.

  “You’ve always been interested in planting, and you have a mind for numbers. I can’t help thinking how much more profit we’d make with you as our broker—someone with a personal interest in this farm.”

  He lifted his gaze from the cotton bales and took in the beseeching look in her eyes. She was right—he had an interest here. And he used to love working with Father on their two plantations. If he hadn’t gone to West Point, he’d have taken over operations on his own ground, Ashland Place, and eventually Ammadelle, his father’s property, too.

  “I’ll spend some time praying about it.”

  Her blue eyes glowed. “Don’t wait long to decide. Prices are high now, and I want to get this cotton on a boat as soon as I can.”

  They exited the barn and Graham pulled shut the door as Sugar bounded up to them. Then she suddenly stopped at the door and growled at who-knew-what. Graham glanced around and saw nothing. The dog probably smelled a tortoise.

  Ellie had been right about one thing—this hoarded cotton would pay for the labor, even enough to get the new crop in. Graham wasn’t sure he would have been smart enough to have saved this much of the crop last year. But as sure as he was about this good move of hers, he was equally certain of another fact—that Leonard Fitzwald was not going to sit idly by and watch him ship Ellie’s cotton down the river. If he sensed God leading him to take this job, part of his work would be to anticipate the weasel’s next move.

  Chapter Twelve

  The river at sunset, a string quartet playing, a nice breeze—the perfect setting to court a pretty woman. As Graham and Ellie approached the gathering at Joseph’s palatial home that evening, Graham glanced around at the other picnickers, especially noting the courting couples. This time, he’d get it right. He’d not give Ellie reason to laugh at his attempts again.

  “I can’t remember the last time we had a picnic at the river bluff.” Her honey-colored hair glowed in the waning light—at least the part that wasn’t covered by her little white bonnet.

  He did remember. She’d worn a soft yellow dress that made her skin look creamy and her eyes sparkly. “It was the first weekend in September. Aunt Ophelia made me set up all those tables in that same spot under the oak.”

  Holding his arm, Ellie turned to look toward the tables. Graham dodged her white parasol to keep it from knocking into the brim of his hat. In so doing, he felt his elbow connect with someone’s ribs.

  Susanna Martin. With Leonard Fitzwald at her side.

  Of all the people to jab. “Susanna, forgive me. Are you hurt?”

  “Oh, I don’t know...” Her syrupy voice sounded like that of a melodramatic actress.

  “Colonel, you need to watch what you’re doing.” Fitzwald’s scowl, along with the eye patch, made him look like a villain.

  “I’d advise you to let this drop.” Graham kept his voice as low and calm as he could.

  “You’re in no position to advise me about anything.” Fitzwald stepped closer, edging nearer to Ellie.

  As Graham stepped up to put a quick end to it, Ellie laid her hand on his arm, stopping him. “Leonard, we all know you’re upset with me, not Graham, because I won’t agree to your terms about the loan. This has nothing to do with that, so let’s forget about it. An elbow in the side certainly didn’t hurt Susanna.”

  Graham kept his gaze solidly on the weasel, although he would have liked to have seen Susanna’s expression. Ellie shouldn’t defend him—it was his job to take care of her. “Just move along, Fitzwald. Ellie, let’s get something to drink.”

  He drew her closer to his side as they left those two behind. It was just like Fitzwald to ruin the evening for them. The evening he’d intended to show Ellie tha
t he wasn’t a complete chowderhead when it came to courting.

  Well, he was a complete chowderhead about that, but tonight he wanted to rid himself of that description in her mind. “That man is determined to make us miserable.”

  “He tried, but he couldn’t do it.” She hugged his arm and turned her face upward, giving him that sweet smile of hers.

  The combination nearly knocked the ground out from under him.

  Oh, Ellie. She had no idea what she still did to him. No matter how he fought it.

  She shifted her gaze to the table. “Since it’s early, the punch might still be cold.”

  “Chatham Artillery punch as usual?” he asked as he tried to regain his composure.

  “Yes, without the alcohol, of course. Which means it’s mostly tea, orange and lime juices, sugar, and lots of citrus fruit and cherries.”

  Graham poured two glasses of punch. “I need to find a place where I won’t have to look at Fitzwald’s sorry mug for a few minutes.” And a place where he could get all those emotions under control.

  “The swing?”

  “It must have rotted away by now.” But he headed in that direction anyway.

  “I was here last fall, and someone had painted it and repaired one of the arms.”

  If he remembered right, the swing was just upriver, hanging from a live oak branch. A short walk would do him good.

  Strolling along the edge of the river bluff and upriver, they soon approached the swing. Sure enough, it was painted and looked big enough to hold both of them, plus Ellie’s skirts. The tree was as he remembered, its Spanish moss swaying in the breeze and its branches stretched low to the ground.

  Ellie settled onto the swing and arranged her skirts as he eased down beside her. She still held that renegade parasol over them, blocking both the sun’s rays and his view of the party downriver. He leaned forward and gazed around it. From this distance, he could barely see the people, let alone tell which one was Fitzwald. He handed a glass of punch to Ellie and took a drink of his own. It tasted just as it had eight years ago at this spot. Well, not right at this spot. He hadn’t been able to talk Ellie into sitting on the swing with him that night.