In His Eyes: A Civil War Romance

by Stephenia H. McGee

  The major had managed to get Sibby off the ground, and had one of her arms draped over his shoulder. He supported her under her ribs, and leaned hard to the side, letting the cane support the weight of them both. He grunted, and tried to snatch the cane free from the muck it lodged in.

  Remembering herself, Ella plunged into the flying current of water and ran down the front steps. She slipped on a slick bit of ground and nearly lost her footing, but managed to regain herself and duck under Sibby’s other arm.

  A flash of light scored the sky, searing lines in Ella’s vision. She tightened her grip and tugged her shoes from the mud that wanted to claim them. On Sibby’s other side, the major mumbled words Ella guessed were curses. They slowly moved forward against the current of icy rain, each step a disjointed lurch.

  Major Remington struggled against Sibby’s weight and his own, the cane in his hand sliding on the ground and seeming to make things all the more difficult. Ella tried her best to hold as much of Sibby’s weight as she could, but each time the woman took a hop forward, Ella felt as though they would all tumble to the ground.

  A few more steps, each seeming to take hours rather than moments, and they made it to the bottom of the stairs.

  Sibby cried out when they almost dropped her trying to get up the front steps. Never had Ella tried to support so much weight, and the steps nearly proved her undoing. By the time they reached the cover of the porch, she and Major Remington were both heaving air.

  They pulled Sibby inside the house and deposited her on the settee in the parlor. Ella reached down and slipped her hand under Sibby’s knees, shifting her to lie down.

  Sibby wailed and turned her head into the cushion. Ella glanced at Major Remington’s scowl. “Do you think it is broken?”

  The muscles in his jaw worked and he lowered himself to the floor. With gentle fingers, he probed the skin around Sibby’s lower leg and ankle. When he tilted her foot up, she screeched.

  Ella bit her lip. “Is it broken?” she asked louder.

  Major Remington growled. “If only you would give me a moment, Ella, I will try to tell you.”

  Her breathing stopped. The sound of her name on his lips, even said in annoyance, sent a shiver down her spine. She stood there dumbly until she reminded herself to draw air. As the shiver died, anger brought heat. Who did he think he was, calling her by her Christian name without invitation? Indignation chased away more dangerous feelings and settled on her chest like an anvil.

  “Well, Sibby, I think you have sprained it,” he said, his tone gentle and not at all like a heartless soldier. “There is some swelling, but I don’t think you’ve broken anything. We’ll keep it lifted for tonight, and send Nat after the doctor first thing in the morning.”

  Sibby sniffled. “He ain’t here.”

  A shadow passed over Major Remington’s features, but he swept it away before Ella could analyze it. “Oh?” The word, obviously meant to sound unconcerned, fell heavy on the room. “And where could he have gone?”

  Tears streamed from Sibby’s eyes and she chewed on her lip.

  Major Remington grunted. “Very well. We will send another.”

  “I will go.”

  He turned his eyes on Ella. “You?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Why not? I can send the doctor back here whilst I care for other business.”

  That infuriating amusement that seemed to take residence in his eyes at the strangest times flared. “Oh? And what business, might I ask, could you possibly have in town?”

  Ella crossed her arms. Arrogant bampot. “I don’t see where that is any concern of yours.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed and all humor left his eyes, taking them from gold-flecked hickory to mahogany. “Indeed.”

  Ella grasped the sides of her dress, trying not to shiver. She must look like a drowned kitten. All bones and angles and matted fur. She reached up and smoothed her hair, sending water droplets down her neck.

  He studied her, no doubt seeing her as a wretch. He opened his mouth to say something when a tiny cough turned their attention to the cradle. Ella stepped past Major Remington and knelt beside Lee.

  She frowned. The wee one’s cheeks were cherry red, and he wriggled under the quilt. Ella pulled it from him and placed her fingers on his face. He felt hot to her touch. Alarmed, she scooped him up, and he coughed again, a terrible hack that sounded like wind through reeds.

  Major Remington leaned over her shoulder and peered at the babe. “You should change out of those wet clothes before you hold him. A child that small can take to sickness quickly.”

  Her heart pounded, and she wanted to fling words at him defending her ability to care for her own child, but she bit them back. It would be a lie. She knew nothing of caring for a baby. Her chest constricted. And what if he came down with an illness from her temper-induced walk in the storm? She could not bear it.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, the weight of it bringing an unexpected comfort. “I shall watch him while you change.”

  “What…wrong with the boy?” Sibby asked, her voice threaded with pain.

  “Nothing,” Ella lied. “I’m sure he just needs to be cleaned and fed.” She slipped out from under the major’s touch.

  “That’s good then.”

  Ella settled Lee back into the cradle, leaving the quilt off of him. She looked at the major, and the compassion on his face stabbed her. How could he go from arrogant Yank to concerned gentleman in so short of a time? She pressed her lips together. It didn’t matter. Any man who lingered with the drink could not be trusted. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  He considered her for a few seconds and then lowered himself into a chair next to the settee Sibby occupied without a word.

  “Miss Ella…?”

  She leaned near Sibby. “Yes?”

  Sibby squeezed her eyes tight. “I do hurt somethin’ fierce.”

  Ella patted her shoulder. “I am terribly sorry, Sibby. I wish there were something I could do to ease your pain.”

  “Well….” Sibby drew a shuddering breath and then clenched her teeth.

  “Well what?”

  “I got some laudanum in a tin in the back of my drawer,” she whispered.

  Laudanum? Where had Sibby gotten such a thing? Medicine was nigh impossible to find, most of it being used for the soldiers if they were able to get any past the lines. Ella dismissed the thought. Sibby had likely stored away all manner of remedies that belonged to her mistress. Why should she be surprised? It seemed very little of the war had tainted Belmont.

  She gave Sibby’s shoulder a squeeze. “Very well. I shall bring it to you.”

  Sibby turned her face back into the cushion. Ella rose and grasped her skirts. As she turned to leave, her eyes slid over the major and the odd expression on his face. Then his focus snapped to her, and their gazes locked.

  Something in that moment sent a fire sparking through her middle and flying to every inch of her limbs. She backed away, terrified though somehow unable to force herself free of the intense gaze that watched her. He continued to brazenly stare at her until she whirled around, spraying droplets, and hurried from the room. And even then she could still feel the embers of his eyes following her.

  Westley tapped a finger on his chin and eyed Sibby where she lay on the settee. The conversation he’d overheard near the kitchen returned to him. It seemed unlikely the hushed tones and Nat’s absence were unrelated.

  He rolled his shoulders. Or perhaps he merely saw shadows where none existed. It could mean nothing that Sibby had medicines—a rare commodity, especially this far south—she may have just been able to keep some hidden. And as for Nat’s absence, they were free people and could move about as they chose. Still, the suspicion niggled.

  “Sibby?”

  She sniffled. “Yes, suh?”

  “Where is Nat?”

  The tightening of her neck and shoulder muscles gave Westley a clear indication of her stress over a simple question. He narrowed his
eyes.

  Sibby fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve. “He, uh, done went to fetch some flour for me.”

  Westley sat back in his seat, not wanting to dub her a liar, but not believing her, either. He intended to question her further, but the babe coughed again. Westley shifted his weight and peered over the edge of the cradle. Nestled in a lovingly prepared nest, a tiny round face with rosy cheeks beneath dark little eyes stared up at him.

  Who had fathered this child? And under what circumstance? He looked nothing like his mother, so he must favor his sire. Unless….

  Westley leaned closer. Unless he wasn’t hers either. Shame seeped into his chest. Could it be possible that Miss Whitaker had somehow rescued the child rather than birthed him? In the heat of their argument, Sibby had said that the boy wasn’t Ella’s. Had he wrongly assumed things about her? It would certainly explain the inconsistencies.

  The child wriggled a fist free from the coverings and waved it in the air at Westley. His mouth curved. “A young fighter, are you?”

  He felt, rather than saw, Sibby turn eyes upon him. Still, the little human held his attention. So innocent, this babe who had not yet been tainted by a cruel world. A pity that would not last for long. Growing up in a war-torn land with only an unwed mother to care for him would soon force many unpleasant things upon the child.

  The boy gurgled, making happy little noises and swinging his fist, and Westley clenched his hands. A right shame, indeed. A sudden cough ripped the happy look from the cherub’s face, making his features scrunch. As the cough subsided, the babe began to cry.

  Westley frowned and peered closer at him.

  “Ain’t you gonna pick him up?”

  Westley glanced at Sibby, who tilted her head back to regard him.

  He scratched his head. “Well, I….”

  “I can’t be liftin’ him myself, so you is gonna have to do it.”

  Westley regarded her a moment, her face painted in an odd emotion he could not place. She thrust her chin toward the child. Westley clenched and relaxed his fingers. It seemed there would be no other option.

  He gained his feet and reached into the cradle, his hands appearing much too large and cumbersome. How to lift the boy without causing harm? Westley shifted his weight to his good leg and bent closer, trying to get an arm under the baby. The little fellow squirmed, his cries gaining intensity and causing Westley’s anxiety to spike as though he were saddling up for a skirmish.

  “Just scoop him up, Major Westley. You ain’t gonna break him.”

  Damaging him was precisely what Westley feared. He ground his teeth and put both hands under the child. With the tiny head cupped in his hands, he lifted the baby from the cushion. Then he stood there, paralyzed, with the infant lying on his upturned forearms. He bounced his arms gently, and the boy’s cries softened. “Here now, little fellow. There’s nothing to fear. Your mother shall return shortly.”

  The soft, soothing words spoken in a gentle tone Westley didn’t know he possessed flowed from his mouth and, to his utter amazement, calmed the crying. The baby looked up at him, blinking dark eyes as though he knew he held Westley under his spell.

  “Hmm. Seems like that little man be likin’ you, Major Westley.”

  Westley stilled. “Nonsense. He merely wished to be removed from the cradle.”

  “Hmm. Well, he needs to be out of dem damp wrappings anyhow.” She twisted around farther, trying to get a better look, and shifted her injured ankle. She winced and pain clouded her face.

  Westley limped over to the settee, the inability to use his cane making him feel unstable. He took careful steps, lest he drop the child. When he made it alongside Sibby, he extended his arms to her. “Here.”

  She shook her head. “I ain’t going to be able to do it.”

  His stomach tightened. “Then we shall wait for Miss Whitaker.”

  “Why? You mean you can’t unwrap him and then wrap him up again in another blanket?”

  Westley shrugged, the little boy rising and falling with the movement of his shoulders. “Such is women’s work. It can wait for her to return.”

  “Well, then, I reckon that him gettin’ the sickness be more important than you doin’ women’s work.”

  The distain that dripped from her lips cut him. He clenched his teeth and had to speak through them. “And what of his infant’s wrappings? I know nothing of the proper changing of such things.”

  Her face contorted, then understanding smoothed her features. “Miss Ella can do that part. You just go on and make sure his gown and blanket is dry.” Pleading leapt into her eyes, and Westley could not deny her. She’d lost her own son to coughing sickness. It stood to reason she would be overly concerned about such things now.

  Westley considered the best way to handle his task. Never had he held such a fragile thing. Finally deciding the floor the safest place for the assignment, he painstakingly lowered to his knees.

  Ella pulled the dripping frock over her head and draped it across the back of a chair. She shivered. Soaked all the way through her corset and her chemise! She pulled off every stitch of clothing and grabbed the towel by the washbasin. She rubbed her arms and legs until they tingled and then turned her attention to her hair. She wrung out its lengths until the cloth would absorb no more of the moisture and then padded toward the armoire.

  She made it three steps when the mirror claimed her attention. Copper and cherry hair fell in wild waves all the way down her back, and her skin looked splotchy. She crossed her arms over her chest and hurried away. She needed to dress quickly, lest the major get some mad idea to barge in on her again. Seeing her in her underpinnings had been mortifying enough.

  Ella wrinkled her nose. Her only corset was soaked, and her spare chemise was in the wash. Oh, the shame of it. She hadn’t the time to wait for the things to dry, and she couldn’t very well put on wet garments underneath the fresh ones. She’d just have to put on a dress without them and pray no one noticed. At least until after Sibby had her medicine and she could return upstairs with Lee. That is, if the major would let her.

  She bit her lower lip and tugged a work dress out. She paused. Maybe not. If Major Remington saw her as a lady, perhaps he would treat her with more respect. She pulled down the blue silk gown Sibby had altered. Yes, better she look like a lady in proper attire. Assuming one could be properly attired for begging, anyway.

  Ella plucked a petticoat from the trunk and stepped into it, then let the dress slide over her head. As long as she didn’t entirely undo the fasteners, she could get into it without Sibby’s aid. She managed to tug on the strings behind her back and get the ribbon tied at the bottom of the bodice.

  There. That should suffice. Ella ran her hands down the bodice. The fabric slid against the skin underneath, and she felt naked without proper undergarments. Why, she was worse than a harlot. Dressed in naught but a petticoat and a gown! The scandal of it.

  Ella stepped back to the mirror and examined herself. The bodice left her neck and the hollow of her throat exposed, but otherwise appeared modest. She leaned closer. Could anyone tell she didn’t have on any stays?

  A knock pounded on her door and Ella yelped.

  “Miss Whitaker. I must speak with you.”

  Strain laced the man’s voice, and Ella placed a hand to her thudding heart. “I’m not ready.”

  A growl. “Your son requires you.”

  Her heart beat faster and Ella hurried to the door on bare feet, leaving her ruined shoes by the bed. She cracked open the door and peered at him. “What do you mean?”

  He shifted his weight off the cane. How had she not heard its thump up the stairs?

  “He requires….cleaning.” Red splotched the man’s neck and spread to his jaw, getting lost beneath a day or two’s worth of beard.

  Ella’s mouth twitched. This hardened soldier was embarrassed by an infant’s need for fresh napkins? Thankfully, she contained her odd amusement at his discomfort, lest it anger him. She could not afford to anta
gonize him further, not if she hoped he wouldn’t toss her out into the daunting shadows tonight.

  He cleared his throat and she realized she’d been staring. “He is quite restless, and as Sibby is still in pain….”

  “Oh! The medicine.” She’d forgotten. How selfish of her. Worrying about clothing while poor Sibby sat in agony down below. Ella threw open the door, and the major’s eyes widened. He took a small step back, and then his gaze unabashedly roamed all the way down her figure before returning to her eyes.

  Determined not to show the mortification that surely already reddened her face, Ella lifted her chin. “I told you I was not yet ready. I haven’t had the opportunity to pin my hair.”

  His eyes darkened. “I like it falling free.”

  She gathered the locks at her nape and tugged them to the front, her fingers seeking to undo enough of the knots to tame the disarray into a braid. “A man should not see a woman with whom he is not intimately familiar with her hair around her shoulders. It isn’t proper.”

  His brows lifted, and mischief danced in his dark pupils. “Oh, but don’t you remember? You are my wife.”

  Her fingers stilled and her pulse quickened. He didn’t think to use her ruse to take advantage of her, did he? Her fingers flew faster, and she tried to conceal a tremor that found its way into her voice. “Not in truth.”

  He watched her, emotions parading across his face. Curiosity, attraction, confusion….

  Ella turned her back. “If you will excuse me, I will pin up my hair, fetch Sibby’s medicine, and be down shortly.”

  “I will retrieve the laudanum. You should see to the babe.”

  She snatched a few pins from the dressing table and hurried back to the door. He still darkened the frame. “Well? Do you not know where it is?”

  “I know.”

  Infuriating rascal! Then why did he still stand there? “It is in her drawer.”

  “I heard.”

  “In the nursery.”

  “Yes.”

  She twisted the muddled braid at the back of her head and jammed the pins into it, scraping her scalp. Ella stepped up to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Will you not allow me to pass?”