Counterfeit Courtship (8 page)

“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 anything 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

W
hat 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—”

He stopped the sentence cold and moved to the east window. Something nagged at his mind, just beyond his grasp, giving him the sense that he was on the verge of making a big mistake. He was overlooking some fact, some need. Everything in his life had changed in the past forty-eight hours. Unfamiliar emotions had assaulted him. He felt so unstable now, he had to collect his thoughts and discover what his subconscious mind was telling him before he could answer Noreen. On occasion, he'd felt this way during battle, and he'd always been glad he'd heeded the silent warning.

He turned to face his stepmother. “Please excuse me for a moment. I just realized I need to check something. I'll be right back.”

Graham fled to the stable, praying silently that the two women would stay in the house until he had things sorted out in his mind. He'd spoken truth when he said he had to check something. He needed to check this strange, unrelenting sense of foreboding.

Inside the stable, he grabbed Dixie's brush and ran it down her back and neck. How had things gotten so mixed up since he came home? The methodic strokes helped him clear his mind and sort through his jumbled thoughts. “God, help me to see what I'm missing here. I don't want to do something stupid.”

It was time to look at the situation objectively, as he had when forming battle plans. First, it was true that Graham entered into the “courtship” agreement to keep all the Natchez girls at bay. And although Ellie didn't know it, he'd secretly vowed years ago to help her whenever she needed it. But her need had now become much deeper, with Fitzwald acting as if he had no sense.

Second, as the temporary head of the family until Father recovered, Graham had the responsibility of providing for Noreen and Betsy.

Father couldn't be injured too badly, since it seemed he was able to travel alone. However, he may not be well enough to work and earn a living for them for several weeks or even months. And he was sure to have little or no money since his army pay, like Graham's, had been in now-worthless Confederate bills.

Therefore, Graham couldn't think of courtship or marriage now. But if he admitted that to Noreen and told her his courtship with Ellie was a ruse, she'd demand to know why. No matter what he'd tell her, she'd surmise that he couldn't support a wife because what little money he had would barely be enough to take care of her and Betsy. She had no way of knowing he didn't even have that much. He could never let Noreen think she was a burden to him. Better to let her assume he'd received enough pay to keep them comfortable.

Graham gave silent thanks to God that he had been able to change some Confederate money into gold last fall. He had only a double-eagle coin left, but if asked, he could honestly tell Noreen that he had some gold. Even though it was a mere twenty dollars.

It looked as if his future continued to be written in stone, just as it had been his whole life. It was time to face facts. What God meant to happen would happen, and that apparently included taking a certain blond-haired lady to River Bluff Hall. In her uncle's carriage, pulled by her uncle's horses.

It also included a temporary, make-believe romance with the woman he'd once hoped to marry. He had to do it, had no other choice. And Ellie was right—it would keep Susanna Martin and her gaggle of women away. At least he had that small comfort.

Women. Ellie's uncle seemed smarter than Graham, remaining a bachelor all these years and never courting at all, as far as Graham knew. The question in his mind now was whether he was smart enough to keep a distance that would protect his heart.

Smart or not, he had to do it. Her refusal of him eight years ago had driven him from his home, his family, his legacy of becoming the head of Ashland Place. Coming home, he'd found in Ellie the same sweet, pretty girl he'd once loved, but now she'd matured into a generous, caring woman. If she rejected him again, he'd have no means of escape—at least until Father got home and got well. A Southern gentleman didn't leave an elderly woman and a baby to fend for themselves.

Graham set aside the currycomb and made for the house. Following the chattering voices of the women and the baby, he found them puttering in the kitchen dependency.

If he had to endure Ellie's company, he at least needed to exert some control over her wild ideas, as a courting man should for his intended. Maybe that's where he'd gone wrong the other time.

As he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, he caught a snippet of Ellie's muffled conversation. “I've heard about the parties and picnics planned for Graham too. I've figured out a way for us to miss at least some of them.”

Graham leaned against the brick wall. Another plan. This woman was harder to manage than a whole platoon of new recruits. Maybe he was foolish to think that would ever change. But he was committed to taking care of all these females until Father could take over the responsibility.
Dear God, please help me find him—today.