Counterfeit Courtship (3 page)

Chapter Three

G
raham's eyes misted over at the sight of his stepmother, and that surprised him more than anything else that had taken place this morning. What had happened to the soldier, the commander in him? He'd apparently been replaced by a nose-wiping ball of mush who hadn't even realized he was homesick.

He also hadn't realized he'd been running toward Noreen, but his slightly elevated pulse told him he had. He reached for the slender, gray-haired lady to give her the hug of her life—

And was met with a tiny fist to the gut.

“What? What is this?” In his relief and joy at seeing Noreen, he'd noticed but paid little attention to the white blanket he'd thought was merely wadded up in her arms. But there was something in that blanket. And that something was raising a fuss. So the crying hadn't come from the baby buggy Mrs. Lemar was pushing up the walk as he'd thought. “What's going on?”

“Graham.” She laid one hand on his upper arm and leaned toward him. “I thank God you made it home.”

He bent down to receive her kiss on the cheek. That alone would have made him start to bawl right here in the street, along with the baby, if he hadn't been so shocked by his—or her—appearance.

“Everyone please come inside,” Noreen said. “Ellie, you too, dear, and Joseph.”

Joseph? Graham shot a glance back at the carriage. Their attorney, Joseph Duncan, climbed out and stretched his long legs. His suit was somewhat shiny from age and his stovepipe hat faded, but his famous, magnificent mustache was groomed to perfection as always and white as the clouds overhead.

Graham was about to offer his hand when the old gentleman gave him a snappy salute. “Welcome back, Colonel. I was a captain in the War of 1812. I know how pleasant it is to come home.”

Although it felt rather silly to salute a civilian more than three times his age while wearing a borrowed suit, Graham returned the gesture. “What's going on? Whose baby is that?”

Joseph ambled down the walk with him. “We'd better let Miss Noreen tell her story.”

Noreen and Ellie—and Sugar—were halfway to the gallery by now. “I should carry that baby for her.” Graham started to pick up his pace, but Joseph clasped his arm.

“I wouldn't. Let her hold the child.”

Inside, Noreen seated everyone in the parlor—Graham in his favorite leather wing chair, Ellie in the old-fashioned writer's chair in the far corner and Joseph on a comfortable upholstered settee. Noreen chose the gold damask settee for herself. “In a few minutes, I'll ask Ellie to prepare refreshments for us. We'll all need strength by the time I've finished my story.”

She unwrapped the quieted baby from the blanket and cradled him—or her—in her arms. “This is my granddaughter, Noreen Elizabeth. She's eight months old. Her mother called her Betsy.”

Ellie gasped, and until that moment, Graham had forgotten she was in the room.

“Yes, my daughter-in-law named her after you,
Elizabeth
.” Noreen smiled a tiny smile. “Apparently, she called her Betsy instead of Ellie to avoid the confusion of your shared name.”

Just what Graham needed—another female with Ellie's name. What were the chances that her namesake would be as maddening as Ellie? “Why do we have Betsy?”

“I learned of her existence only this morning. You know that my son, Stuart, died of dysentery in Tennessee a year ago last March. Shortly after dawn, Joseph brought me word that his widow, Francine, succumbed to pneumonia.” Noreen's always-soft, always-gentle voice was now edged with a sorrow Graham had never before heard. “A neighbor cared for Betsy overnight, and at first light, Joseph took me to Harrisonburg by ferry to fetch the child.”

“I didn't know Stuart had a child.” But he'd had a furlough shortly before his death, so it made sense. And now the poor little girl was fatherless. And motherless. That mist threatened Graham's eyes again. He swallowed hard to choke it down. He must have been more exhausted than he thought, as blubbery as he was.

“Neither did he. Stuart had just gotten back to his camp when the sickness swept through it. And Francine didn't know Betsy was on the way until after she learned of Stuart's death.” Noreen caressed the top of the baby's head and then kissed it. “Now I'm her only relative, besides her step-grandfather when he gets home from war. And you, of course, Graham. I've always considered you my own.”

Graham put his head down and pinched the inner corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. If he didn't get control, he was going to embarrass himself. He cleared his throat and searched his stepmother's eyes. “Thank you, Noreen. I feel the same.”

He stood and went to the window, not to see what was out there but to hide the fact that he had to wipe a bit of moisture from his cheek. What was wrong with him, anyway? He hadn't cried in eight years.

Turning back to Noreen, he rubbed his face hard and focused on keeping that stupid huskiness out of his voice. “I've been your son for the past twenty-two years, and Stuart was like a brother to me. I'll take care of you and his child as long as you need me.” Although he had no idea how he was going to do that, since the government had confiscated everything he owned.

“I'm sure we'll hear from your father soon, and he'll return with his own troops. Between the two of you, and with God's help, we'll all be fine.”

Did that little quiver in Noreen's voice mean she harbored some doubt? Well, so did he, so he could hardly fault her.

“I'll help you take care of Betsy, Miss Noreen.” Ellie got up and rushed to the older woman. “I don't know much about babies, but you can teach me.”

Seeing her mistress crossing the room, Sugar did too, and gave the baby a tentative sniff. Betsy reached out her impossibly small hand and grabbed the dog by the ear. Sugar stood still as the baby pulled her ear and giggled.

“Sugar won't bite, will she?” Graham sprang to his feet.

“She's never even snapped at anybody in her whole life, and she's ten years old. She's not going to start now,” Ellie said, but Graham noticed her moving in closer too.

Betsy apparently grew bored with Sugar's ear and released it, and the dog lay at Noreen's feet, facing the baby as if guarding her.

Joseph laughed his rich, deep laugh. “I'd say this is going to be the best-protected baby on Pearl Street.”

As Noreen smiled at him, Graham drew in a huge breath. Ellie had certainly lightened the mood for them and helped them through this hard time, or rather, her dog had. But that didn't mean she had to help care for the child. He and Noreen could manage that just fine.

“Would you like me to watch her this evening and give you a chance to rest?” Ellie said as Noreen handed Betsy to her.

“No, you and Graham have a party to attend. Betsy and I will be fine by ourselves.”

“I'm not going,” Graham and Ellie said simultaneously.

Noreen gave Graham her mother-knows-best look.

He ignored it. “I'm going to take a hot bath. Then I'm going to the train station and sending a telegram to General Lee to ask if he has any news of Father's whereabouts. I'm going to write a letter to Andrew Johnson, asking for pardon and amnesty, and then I'm going to bed early.”

“Graham, you have to go to the party. Ophelia has gone to great trouble and expense, more than she can afford, to give it for you. You'll break her heart if you don't go.” Noreen turned to Ellie. “You too, dear. She thinks as much of you as she does of Graham.”

He held in a groan. This was already the longest day of his life, and it was only noon. Did the women in his life have to make it the longest night too?

“Would you like me to come tomorrow afternoon and help?” Ellie asked.

The little minx, changing the subject like that. Sure, she didn't like the Natchez social whirl any better than he did, but if he had to go, so did she. He'd just sit back and wait for the best time to break that news to her.

“You can come back as many afternoons as you like, when it's too hot for you to be at Magnolia Grove.” As the baby began to fuss again, Noreen took her from Ellie and bounced her on her knee.

“Noreen, you'd be better off without her help. If you let her hang around, you'll end up engaged to somebody.” Graham started for the center hall, beckoning Ellie to follow. “But for now, we have some things to discuss.”

He strode to the door and out to the front gallery, not bothering to see whether Ellie—or her dog—followed. Outside, he eased himself onto one of the old rockers. It still felt as good as it had before he left.

Within moments, Ellie came outside and chose the rocker farthest from him.

“Sit over here by me. I don't want to have to yell so the whole neighborhood can hear.”

She took her time in complying, which was no surprise, but she eventually sat next to him.

“We need to talk about this party,” he said, using his colonel voice.

“We already did. You're going. I'm not.”

He should have known it wouldn't be easy. “Oh, yes, you are. You cooked up this courtship idea, and you're not leaving me to explain why you're not with me on my first night home. You owe it to me after causing this fiasco.”

She huffed out a big sigh. “It's not that bad.”

“It's not?” He leaned forward in his chair. “What happens when time goes by and there isn't a wedding? Did you think of that?”

Her wide eyes and surprisingly silent mouth told him she hadn't.

“You're the big plan-maker. I hope you have a solution for this.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

“Now that you mention it, I have thought of something—”

“No!” The word came out like the howl of a man falling off a cliff. He sprang from his chair and headed for the door. “No more plans! I'll call at your house at eight. Just don't think between now and then. Please do not think!”

But he could see from her dreamy-looking eyes and the angle of her cocked head that she was, indeed, thinking.

* * *

Another orphan.

After dark that evening, Ellie leaned against one of the massive white columns on Miss Ophelia's back gallery and waited for Graham to return with her cold drink. Since he'd left her at this secluded corner, she'd discouraged eight hopeful suitors, from around age seventeen to over sixty. Now she finally had a moment alone to think, with the gentle strains of orchestra music wafting out all six of the floor-to-ceiling jib windows. If only a cool breeze would come and blow away the fog in her mind. In wartime, one heard of orphans all the time, but to have held one in her arms this afternoon—it made her want to cry.

As Graham had.

He'd tried to hide it, didn't want to admit how that baby had affected him, but she'd seen him wipe the tears. And that might be a good thing, after four years at war. Perhaps he was starting to heal from its horrors already.

If only Ellie—and Magnolia Grove—could also recover from the war. Her visit to the plantation this afternoon hadn't eased her mind. The cotton was squaring nicely, but the fields were full of weeds, and the workers were few.

And what of that cryptic note from Leonard Fitzwald? What could he possibly have to say to her that she didn't already know? It was no secret that Uncle Amos owed Leonard's father fifteen thousand dollars, due after this year's harvest. She didn't like the fact that they'd borrowed money from their broker. But they'd had little choice, and nearly every planter in the Natchez area, plus across the river in Louisiana, had to do the same.

Magnolia Grove had to do well this year. They couldn't sustain another year like the past three. And with Uncle Amos laid up, Ellie had to make the ground profitable. If only she could be sure she could do it...

You can do anything you set your mind to.

Her mother's voice drifted back to her from the past.

I married an Anderson, but remember that I am a Stanton, and therefore, so are you. Stanton women have pulled their families through Indian raids, fires, death and destruction. God may call you to hard things too, but you'll come through, because you can do anything you set your mind to.

She twisted Mother's pearl ring, the one Ellie had worn on her right hand ever since Mother placed it there on her last day on earth. Yes, her mother and grandmother had been strong, but it would take more than the Stanton backbone and the Anderson name to keep Magnolia Grove in the family this year.

The tall case clock chimed the quarter hour in Miss Ophelia's center hall. Ellie glanced at her timepiece—a dainty little brooch from Uncle Amos last Christmas—and realized Graham had been gone nearly half an hour. Had Susanna or one of her friends cornered him? Did he need help escaping?

Just as she was about to go in and look for him, he strode out the jib window, open tonight to extend the dancing to the back gallery, and handed her a silver cup. “Just as I thought, everyone in Natchez has heard about us.”

Ellie turned from the view of the formal gardens and gazed into the crowded ballroom as the quartet transitioned to a sweet rendition of “Aura Lea.”

“Who are they gossiping about? You and me? Or you, Miss Noreen and Betsy?”

“All of us. We're the talk of Natchez tonight.”

Susanna and a man Ellie didn't know, dressed in a Confederate officer's uniform, whirled across the brightly lit room, her emerald hoopskirts sweeping the expanse. The woman seemed to think it was her responsibility to dance with every former Confederate soldier at the party. Ellie had to admit it was nice to see a few gray uniforms again after two years of occupation by the Union army.

Susanna's cloying smile turned to a frown as she caught Ellie's gaze.

“She's going to cause trouble.” Ellie kept her own smile intact until Susanna and her partner danced across the room and out of sight.